Unable to repay my student loans, I had no choice but to work part-time as a demon hunter.

In the afternoon, on the banks of the Lundnim River.

Gordon went to find aquatic spiritual sediment, which is mud.

Even a stinking ditch can become a river of wealth if the value of mud can be discovered.

He and Charlotte arrived at Land Wharf, where a sewage pipe below the riverbank was spewing brown foam into the river, and the air was filled with the smell of rotten fish and shrimp.

[A boot. Its owner went deeper than it.]

Gordon pulled it out of the mud, checked it for any hidden banknotes, and then put it back in disappointment.

Charlotte stood on a relatively clean stone slab.

She wore a gray coat, white gloves, and a pair of small leather shoes she hadn't worn since she was fourteen. Although they were a bit tight, it didn't matter at all on the muddy riverbank.

Passersby kept turning their heads, all sharing the same thought: the young lady's carriage must have overturned into the river.

She took a breath of air and immediately regretted it.

"This place looks..." Charlotte searched for a suitable word, "very worthy of research."

"You mean it's wet, dirty, and smelly."

"Indeed. And it's really annoying."

The research team consisted of Gordon, Charlotte, and a wheelbarrow.

[A handcart. It has a large capacity; it can transport coal, potatoes, eels, and even a drunkard.]

Several rats emerged from behind the wooden barrels under the bridge. They looked a size larger than ordinary rats and walked with the air of dock thugs.

[A rat. A rather robust one.]

[The mouse. It's been getting good nutrition lately.]

[White Rat Monster. Too weak, evolve it another level.]

Otherworldly demons?

Gordon's gaze fell on the last rat.

Its tail is short and muscular, with a pair of gills prominently displayed below its ears, and throbbing glands pulsating at the back of its neck.

Gordon had seen white rat monsters, but never ones with gills. And tremor glands are typical organs of rodent demons.

A few silly mice sat together, baring their front teeth. The one with gills gave them a cold look, then crawled away alone, full of arrogance.

Charlotte approached Gordon discreetly.

"Those rats seemed to be smiling at me."

"Don't worry, if they try to extort protection money from you, just hit them with this." Gordon took a shovel from the cart and walked step by step toward Charlotte.

  

"?" Charlotte looked at the shovel, feeling that the rat wasn't the biggest problem today.

"Now, we're going to collect mud from different depths and locations," Gordon announced.

"Us?" Charlotte muttered. "I thought my job was to stand by and say a good word for you when the patrolman suspected you of doing something wrong."

"You only have the confidence to be listed as an author if the entire research team participates."

"I can take charge of the report," Charlotte said quickly, coming up with a quick idea.

"Um?"

"You can let your wildest imagination run wild. But no matter how well you write it, I will explain it clearly in front of a large group of people, I promise."

"Okay. I'll do the digging, you'll be in charge of recording the samples, labeling them, and pushing the cart."

"Pushing a cart doesn't sound like something I should be doing."

"To stand on this podium, you need to know where each box came from. And with just a little effort, you can add a touch of elegance to our work today."

"I just hope there won't be a mud stain on my dress," Charlotte muttered.

Gordon rolled up his sleeves, put on his big leather boots, and first checked that there were no fish, glass, or steel bars inside before stepping into the water.

*Pfft!*

The Blackwater River extended a warm welcome to him.

He dug out a clump of dark brown mud, which was full of things like cinders, shells, fish bones, and opened cans.

Gordon glanced at it and found a copper coin that had fallen in sometime in the past.

[A copper cent. Despite enduring countless hardships, it is still worth a copper cent.]

Gordon happily wiped it clean, stuffed it into his pocket, and then shoveled the mud onto the bank.

With each shovelful, the bottom became increasingly sticky, and each time it was pulled out, there was a strong suction sensation, as if the Blackwater River was unwilling to let go of the disgusting stuff it had treasured for many years.

After cutting off about ten kilograms, Gordon poked it with his blackthorn cane.

...spirituality.

Yes, it does exist, but the concentration is far from high.

Gordon leaned against the shovel, gazing at the slowly flowing Blackwater River.

Where does spirituality settle?

Sewage outlet? No, that only determines where it comes from; the course of the river determines where it ends up.

What concave areas, low-lying areas, flow direction...

Some words flashed through his mind, along with the blurry face of his high school geography teacher, whose face said:

"...The water flow is slower on the convex bank of the river, reducing its carrying capacity and making it easier for sediment to be deposited...This question is sure to be on the test."

Dead knowledge attacks Gordon's brain.

Yup!

Gordon picked up his shovel and ran downstream.

"Where are you going?" Charlotte quickly pushed the stroller to catch up, her little shoes rubbing against her heels.

Gordon ran downstream to the convex bank and finally found the treasure on the riverbank.

This is a huge, thick mass of river mud, black and sticky.

When you poke it with your cane, it glows green almost from head to toe, radiating spiritual energy.

[The silt of the Blackwater River. Give it a foot, and it will leave you with half a leg.]

His eyes immediately lit up.

"Waaah..." Charlotte had already followed Gordon for several hundred meters, sweat dripping from her forehead.

"Here, right here! This is the mud we need!" Gordon exclaimed, getting excited.

He shoveled and shoveled, filling the cart with river mud.

Charlotte reluctantly picked up the sampling box, closed her eyes, aimed the cart at it, and bravely poured the sample into it, making a crackling sound.

Next, she put labels on the boxes.

"Sampling point, Land Wharf." Charlotte pinched her nose with her left hand and wrote on it with her right. "The smell... is degrading."

Then, Gordon filled the second chest.

The third.

the fourth.

Finally, there were four boxes of river mud, each weighing about 100 jin (50 catties), which totaled 400 jin (200 catties).

The sun was already setting.

Gordon was having a great time, while Charlotte felt tired just watching him work.

"Ouch!" Charlotte squatted down, rubbing her calves, her heels itchy too.

"Very good, very good..." Gordon looked at the full of spiritual mud.

Now, once Sinclair's artificial womb is complete, he can use these aquatic spiritualities to imbue it with extraordinary vitality, creating an extremely perfect growth environment that can replace the dubious Blackwater River itself, and the effect may be a hundred times stronger.

"What's there to be happy about?" Charlotte punched Gordon on the back.

Gordon looked at Charlotte with satisfaction.

Her hat was slightly askew, and there was a little mud on her skirt.

Standing on the city’s dirtiest pier, Land Pier, having come here with Gordon, I looked absurd, reckless, and confused, yet also quite unique.

"Just wait, the mud will be useful. We'll hire a truck now and take it back to the university," Gordon announced.

"If our project doesn't win first prize, I'll seal you in a box along with all this mud."

"box?"

"Yes, a wooden box that is 2 meters long and 80 centimeters wide."

"That's called a coffin, miss."

"You know that much," Charlotte said with a sweet smile.

……

Royal College of Natural Sciences, Sherwood Laboratory Building.

"Extraordinary Chemicals and Spiritual Materials Processing Department..." Gordon used the elevator to transport the cart to the second floor, his first time visiting this legendary place.

This is one of the craziest places at the Royal Academy of Sciences, where many students and teachers have spent their entire lives researching wonders, primordial creations, and spiritual products.

The reaction vessel room is at the far end of the second floor, and there's a queue outside.

Gordon peered through the crowd and saw six separate rooms, each containing a spiritual reaction vessel used for scientific research.

[Explosion-proof glass. Regardless of whether it works or not, just tell me whether it's installed or not.]

[Pressure gauge. The redder the needle, the closer death is.]

Gordon had already informed Professor Winslow, but that didn't solve the queue problem.

In front of them, an older girl was holding a sealed lead box, from which came a constant, faint knocking sound, as if a little dwarf was typing out a distress code inside.

Two students were holding a rubber fish that would spit and swallow on its own, and nobody knew what they were up to.

In such a place, pushing a heavy box in a cart wouldn't even be considered conspicuous.

Gordon and the others lined up for a while.

Peter came to replenish the consumables for the reactor.

He saw Gordon pushing the strange box closer to the school's most important equipment, looking uneasy.

"What is it this time?"

"A research paper," Gordon said.

"This doesn't smell like a research paper," Peter said, leaning closer.

"The first drafts were all terrible."

Peter then looked at Charlotte.

Charlotte stood upright, but her gloves, sleeves, and skirt were speckled with mud, like bullet holes left by war.

"Miss Monford did it too?" Peter frowned.

"I am a member of the research group," Charlotte said in a pleasant voice.

"This in itself is enough to warrant a paper," Peter said, taking a step back.

"In short, I want to use a reaction vessel," Gordon said.

"This box?"

There are three more boxes downstairs.

"A reactor isn't a washing machine. Some people have been waiting here all afternoon." Peter glanced at the queue.

"Professor Winslow gave me a note."

"No, the reactor is the only place in this school where you can't get in through connections." Peter pointed to a few heads in the queue, "This one, this one, and that one... they're all professors from this school."

"Could you point to something even more abstract? All I see are three bald heads."

"Those three bald men."