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

Gordon's cheeks were buried in an indescribable, irrational warmth, which lingered there for a while without resistance.

His breathing gradually became deep.

Every breath he took was filled with Vera's scent; he could clearly feel her heartbeat and hear her contented sighs.

Vera had good reason to be worried about Gordon.

The executions of traitorous Source Hunters were all carried out on Mount Monarch, where many renowned hunters perished.

After a while, she made sure Gordon's head was still attached to his neck, and then she was completely relieved and put Gordon down.

She showed no shyness, simply staring at him with wide eyes.

"...Alright, let's go." Gordon straightened his collar, reverting to his "nothing happened, I remain unfathomable" demeanor. He then hurried upstairs, Vera following closely behind.

The six patients who had been squatting across the street with umbrellas felt as if they had been granted a pardon and entered the clinic, covering their cheeks.

Back on the second floor.

The room was a mess, but it was a natural kind of mess. Gordon and Vera could find everything accurately with their eyes closed, knowing where things were and where to get them. That's life.

As soon as Gordon entered, he began telling the story of King's Mountain.

"We talked to the student loan king of Lundnim about dredging mud from the river in bulk, hiring a large number of people, and buying huge reactors. I also reminded her that the Blackwater Hermitage stole two million pounds from the Empire..." Gordon muttered.

Vera was leaning over the edge of the table, a lemon-flavored energy candy in her mouth, her eyes fixed on Gordon.

Gordon spoke of the eternally bright mountain, the Imperial Government Building, the cabinet in the office of the Gentleman of the Palace containing all his debts, the Earl of Montfort climbing the steps with utmost respect, the mud refinery, and the possibility that the future railway might be built underground.

"That's amazing." Vera listened intently.

He spoke of it casually, as if he had just gone downstairs to buy bread that day.

Is it confidence? Or courage? This person can be happy over a mere copper coin, and can also stand on Mount Monarch and talk at length with high-ranking officials of the empire about the fate of the merfolk.

Vera never imagined she would be able to climb that mountain.

That was the domain of the powerful, who stood atop the mountain, looking down upon the world with detachment; the dead and the living were merely numbers to them.

"Will you go there often in the future?" Vera asked, biting into a piece of candy.

"Absolutely not. Even if I had the chance, I wouldn't go. Staying in a place like that for too long would only make you inhuman."

Vera finally breathed a sigh of relief and swallowed the candy in her mouth.

"But your relationship with the Blackwater Hermitage is even worse," Vera said.

"I reckon they've been moved up on the assassination list again."

Thinking about the Secret Order, Gordon found the recent newspapers on the windowsill, many of which were related to the Secret Order's activities.

  

Signs of significant biological activity have been detected in the city; experts advise against feeding animals near the site.

Beautiful singing was heard coming from the sewers; the mayor confirmed that he never approved any underground performances.

Hundreds of unclaimed shoes found on the banks of the Blackwater River; in good condition, buy now!

Other newspapers also reported drownings on shore, and the number of deaths continued to rise at a rate of one or two per week.

"..." Vera looked at Gordon, hesitant to speak.

"explain."

"I can't stay here any longer." She lowered her head.

The Blackwater Hermitage is continuing to search for Gordon Vick's whereabouts.

The next attack could be now, or it could be tonight.

They might not die if the enemy makes a move, and they can retreat at any time. But Knight Road No. 9 is definitely doomed.

"Let's pack up and run away from Golden Oak Manor at any time. Time is of the essence, and the city isn't safe." Gordon looked around.

Vera didn't start tidying up. After a few seconds, she couldn't help but speak.

"But I like it here."

She traveled to many places around the world—warehouses, attics, under bridges. Vera in the past was never afraid of wandering, nor did she care about her living conditions.

But now, how lovely is the 55-square-meter Knight Road No. 9?

The room is compact, with one bedroom being large and the other small, both filled with their own belongings.

The shower room was narrow, so people had to take turns using it; one person would shower while the other could only listen and imagine.

There was always beef simmering in the pot, and the coffee pot was always steaming. The dining table was used for meals, but also for displaying account books and ingredients.

She had many similar memories, scattered and worthless, but they were all in her heart.

"It's just a trip to the countryside to get some fresh air and maybe turn the estate into an anti-cult fortress. Besides, we're going to stay there for ten days anyway, so we need to bring some toothbrushes, blankets, pots and pans. If we don't bring them from home, we'll have to buy them all over again..." Gordon reassured him.

"I like it here," Vera said again.

"It's not like you're not coming back." Gordon walked up behind Vera and patted her on the shoulder.

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"I'll be late getting to the university from that manor," Vera said, looking up.

"I have no choice but to move in with Charlotte. After all, I'm her governess," Gordon said seriously.

"How could that be? No. That's terrible." Vera's eyes turned fierce.

"Where is it broken?"

"Everything is broken."

"Temporary, I swear it's very, very temporary. I'll come to the manor to meet you as soon as the report meeting is over."

"..." Vera took a deep breath. "If the enemy follows us there, I'll kill them."

"Very good, full of energy, that's more like you."

Vera finally stood up and went to her small bedroom.

She opened a small tin box and slowly packed her things, as if with each item she put in, No. 9 Knight Road would move further away from her.

She had never hated an organization so much. The Blackwater Hermitage not only killed people and polluted the Blackwater River, but now it was forcing her to move.

Vera first stuffed the wind-up bird she got at the charity sale into a corner, with a portrait of Gordon underneath it.

"Take the pot with you too?" she asked.

"Bring it, there's no pot over there."

"Your water cup with the chipped bottom?"

"It reminds me that this world is not perfect."

"The towel I bought for you?"

"It's very important. The bathing facilities there are probably not very good."

Gordon packed everything up.

Finally, he picked up that coveted embryo again.

He wrapped a thin thread around its body, transmitting his breath and pulse to it, hoping it would understand something.

After this period of prenatal education, it seems to respond to Gordon more frequently. Sometimes when his breathing quickens, it contracts gently. Sometimes when his heartbeat slows, its activity subsides.

"You little rascal, all this trouble I've been going through lately is for you." Gordon lifted it up high and looked at it with his hands behind his back.

It moved slightly, looking completely innocent.

……

After that, Vera stayed at Golden Oak Estate until June to prepare.

She moved in the experimental equipment, applied anti-fouling paint, laid iron plates on the ground, and prepared an escape route. She cut off the manor's water pipes, sealed the well, and stockpiled food and water, waiting for Gordon to finish this crucial report so the two could meet.

Gordon temporarily stayed at the Montfort home on Golden Lion Avenue.

The reason was perfectly legitimate; after all, he was Charlotte's tutor, and they were going to work on projects together.

It's perfectly natural and innocent for two college students to spend the whole night discussing how to solve a group assignment; it's not something the Earl should overinterpret.

What made it difficult for the Earl of Montfort to intervene was that Charlotte's studies had indeed improved.

For example, she had already written a complete paper titled "Preliminary Association between Blackwater River Water and Abnormal Digestive Symptoms," which reads like a real research report. The control group was set up correctly, and the conclusions were based on rigorous evidence. The teachers' evaluation of her continued to rise.

Therefore, whenever the Earl saw Gordon appear at the dining table, he had to silently recite something.

He is helping the family with investment planning.

He was indeed tutoring his daughter.

Charlotte would be sad if he died.

Only after he finished reciting it could he swallow the "Get out of here" that was on the tip of his tongue.

The day before the report meeting, Charlotte took Gordon to check the experimental mice.

"Here..."

Charlotte led Gordon into the large room.

The brass cages are still neatly arranged, like a strictly managed rat prison.

The mice in the no-concentration group lived a peaceful life, eating and sleeping, with males and females nuzzling each other across the bars, enjoying their blissful mouse life.

The low-concentration group has damp fur and likes to lie in the water dish, like a white rag.

The group with medium concentrations seemed very anxious, always craving more water, and after finishing their own, they would look at the group next to them.

High concentration group...

Most of them were exercising, releasing the excess energy they had gained after their mutation. Some were holding brass nuts, lifting them over their heads repeatedly. Others were hooking their tails around the cage bars, doing inverted crunches. Two others were wrestling, using spinning mouse kicks, which required Charlotte to separate their cages.

"The one with the nut, yesterday I could only lift the nut, but today I can lift it over my head," Charlotte noted her new discovery.

"How much do you eat?"

"A significant increase, 22% more than yesterday. The nostrils have become narrower, and there are more gills."

Gordon checked each item one by one.

These experiments are very valuable, as they not only demonstrate the eerie shaping effect of the Blackwater River's spirituality on living organisms, but also clearly record the process.

First, change habits, then change metabolism, increase appetite, boost physical ability, and finally distort respiratory organs and skeletal structure.

"And..." Charlotte walked to the end, "that guy is dead again."

As always, there's one mouse among them who likes to play dead.

This large white rat was exceptionally fat and robust. It lay on its back with its four legs in the air and its tongue dangling from the corner of its mouth, on wood shavings. In front of it were the water trough, the feed trough, and a small bell.

[Transformed into a white rat monster. Yes, yes, a rat-like creature.]

"It's okay. He's still alive." Gordon could feel the deliberately slowed heartbeat.

This guy dies for a short time every day, but as long as the person and the maid are far away, it will revive and continue to steal food.

Charlotte bent down and observed carefully; the white rat remained motionless.

"You know what..." Charlotte said mysteriously, "It can talk now and ring a bell, all thanks to my training."

"Zun Du Jia Du".

"Is this Logarithmic?"

"It will be like that in the future."

"Watch closely." Charlotte snapped her fingers.

The white rat turned over.

The next moment, it looked at the feed in Charlotte's hand, the deformed cartilage in its throat slowly rubbing together, its vocal cords vibrating, and it slowly uttered a muffled syllable:

"eat."

Gordon's eyes lit up.

The evolution is too fast.

This is an advanced stage of adapting to the environment...

imitate!

"What's the matter with ringing the bell?" Gordon asked.

The white rat looked at Charlotte and rang the bell.

Ding.

Charlotte immediately sprinkled the feed mixed with scaly salt crystals into it, which it devoured in three bites, then pressed down again.

Ding.

Charlotte frowned and gave it a little more.

Ding.

Charlotte continued feeding.

After a few times, she emptied the feed bag in her hand.

Charlotte nodded in satisfaction.

"Look," Charlotte explained, "this is the result of the training. Through my efforts, it has linked the bell sound with eating. I've named it the 'Charlotte's Mouse' effect."

"Is it possible that you feed the baby as soon as it rings the bell, so it should be called the 'Charlotte the Rat' effect?"

"..." Charlotte slowly turned her head.

Sure enough, the white rat started ringing the bell again.

Ding, ding.

"Hurry up," it urged.

"It has learned new words again," Charlotte said in surprise.

"It seems the training has been very effective." Gordon observed carefully.

"That's all for today," Charlotte announced to the white rat.

"You motherfucker, you're bad!" the white rat protested.

Charlotte Red Temperature.

"I'll go get the gun," Charlotte said with a smile as she turned around.

"Eat! Eat!" the white rat continued to scream.

Gordon narrowed his eyes, released a divine ray that invisiblely passed through the gaps in the iron cage, secretly climbed up the tremor glands on the back of the white rat's neck, wrapped around them, and tightened instantly.

The white rat shuddered and urinated a few drops in fright.

It stopped barking and making noise, and its expression showed extreme fear. The expression was bizarre and vivid, and it didn't look like a rat at all.

"You understand human speech?" Gordon stared at it. "Come here."

The white rat obediently walked to the cage door.

"sit down."

It sat down.

Open your mouth.

It showed its two front teeth.

"Do a handstand, spin around three times, and bark like a dog."

The white rat looked at Gordon for a while.

That look held humiliation and anger, but Gordon had grasped the trembling thread of fate, forcing it to stand upside down and spin three times.

"Woof woof woof."