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

Charlotte was very surprised and put the gun back.

"How did you do that? It suddenly became well-behaved!" She found it incredible.

"Conqueror's Haki, it's not important." Gordon bent down to examine the white rat's mouth and eyes.

Its mutation intensity was significantly higher than that of the mice in the same group, with mutations in the laryngeal cartilage, and the tongue structure and vocal cord shape were sufficient to mimic complex syllables.

What's most special about it is its brain, which has evolved advanced cognitive abilities. It can play dead to observe human reactions, and it can also make sounds and mimic sounds. It can use a bell to manipulate its keepers and imitate dog barks when threatened with death.

Furthermore, the mouse exhibited a very strong spiritual response, emitting a faint glow in Gordon's eyes.

This is a typical case of consuming too much spiritual energy, which could very well condense into some kind of primordial substance within the body.

Then we can kill the goose that lays the golden eggs, or kill the rat to get the source of the problem.

The source material in the Blackwater River clearly suggests the concepts of evolution, adaptation, deformation, and reorganization... representing infinite possibilities.

"Although this guy is annoying," Charlotte nodded, "we can have him perform at the presentation; the judges have definitely never seen a rat that swears before."

"Do you think you can get the top prize now?"

"Of course, we did it together, together." Charlotte put her hands on her hips and emphasized the last two words very clearly.

Gordon quietly retracted the semi-transparent line, and the white rat regained its freedom of movement, curling up into a ball and watching Gordon warily.

"Let's give it a name," Gordon pondered. "Rat sticks, rat slices, rat cakes, or pan-fried rat chops?"

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"Fries." Charlotte replied without hesitation; she still wanted to take Gordon to the docks for fries.

The white rat had no objection to the name, or rather, it had learned to reserve its opinion in front of Gordon.

After inspecting the rats' prison life, Charlotte did not leave immediately, but instead led Gordon to the corridor near the garden.

The June sun shines outside, warm and inviting. Beyond the glass curtain wall lies a neatly manicured garden, where pink roses, blue irises, and purple hydrangeas sway gently in the breeze.

"Ahem." Charlotte looked at Gordon. "There's one more thing to prepare: etiquette."

"Teach the mouse to dance?"

"No, it's you, your manners. Tomorrow, there will be not only academics, but also various nobles and military officers present," Charlotte said reservedly.

"I know a trick called tipping my hat in greeting."

"Well said, where's your hat?" Charlotte asked, looking at Gordon's loose hair.

"I've already paid my respects, how could it be on my head?"

Charlotte closed her eyes, held back, and then began to teach Gordon better handshakes, bows, and various forms of address.

Gordon learned quickly: a 15-degree bow meant respect, a 30-degree bow meant obedience, and a 45-degree bow meant money had fallen on the ground.

I learned some etiquette for a while.

"Is there such a thing as a kiss on the cheek?" Gordon suddenly thought.

"...!" Charlotte blinked.

"I don't mean anything by it, I just can't tell whether to go left or right first, I'll never know."

"There are no absolute rules." Charlotte clasped her hands together.

"Wouldn't that mean we'd run into each other?"

"No, you'll see once you try." Charlotte stood in front of Gordon, smelling of hazelnut perfume. "Left first, whatever you do, don't bump into anything. My left and your left."

"Don't worry, I could tell left from right when I was one year old, and I've always been proud of that."

They turned away from each other, Charlotte's cheek gently brushing against Gordon's left cheek, soft and warm. Then they switched sides, their cheeks close again.

They paused for a moment, and no one asked whether it was still part of the etiquette.

Charlotte closed her eyes, unconsciously listening to the voices of the Earl, the gardener, or any servant, afraid they would see her, and finally took a step back.

"We'll talk about it at tomorrow's report meeting. I'll remind you then." Charlotte turned and hurried away.

"I thought today was all there was to it."

"No." Charlotte lifted her skirt, smiled at Gordon, and then slipped away down the sun-drenched corridor. "It's only just beginning."

After Charlotte left, Gordon touched his face and then returned to Mouse's side.

"Rat bar." He placed one hand on the cage bars.

"..." Mouse-like creature lay on the wood shavings, pretending to be dead.

"If you cooperate with tomorrow's report, I'll give you more feed afterward. If you don't cooperate, once something valuable solidifies in your stomach, I'll tear you into eight pieces. Your fur, all your organs, and your overdeveloped brain will all have a price tag."

Rat Bark's whiskers trembled violently.

"Did you understand?" Gordon emphasized.

"I understand." Mouse opened his eyes.

"very good."

Ding. The mouse pressed the bell.

"Food? We'll talk about it after your performance tomorrow." Gordon left.

The rat lay on the wood shavings, its hands behind its head, seemingly lost in thought.

Gordon returned to the bedroom the Earl had arranged for him and lay down. For some reason, this room was extremely far from Charlotte's room. Just as he settled down, he suddenly heard lightning and thunder outside.

It was a perfectly sunny day, but then it started raining again a few moments later. This has been happening frequently in Lundnium lately.

……

……

That night, at four in the morning, at the old fish market.

The torrential rain has been falling since the afternoon and shows no sign of stopping.

Investigator Martin Hott received the report and led patrol officers to the Old Fish Market, heading straight for the Blackgill Gang's warehouse.

Old Baz stumbled and crawled out, his speech slurred, no longer displaying the ferocity of a gang leader; he was just like an ordinary middle-aged man. Several patrol officers took him away.

"Inside...inside...inside..."

"What is it?" the patrolman urged.

Old Baz opened his mouth several times, but couldn't say anything.

"Be careful," Martin gestured. "Grip your gun tight, and don't fire blindly before you can clearly see the target."

They advanced slowly.

It was very dark inside.

A tall man stood in the middle of the warehouse.

The other person was wearing a wet leather jacket, had broad shoulders and back, wore a mask, and had a protruding lower half of his face with cone-shaped teeth arranged on both sides of his mouth.

A tail covered in bluish-gray scales emerged from under the coat and slowly swept across the floor.

Black Gill Gang members lay scattered around, their faces ashen, with no external injuries, but black liquid oozing from their mouths and noses.

"Who are you?" a patrolman bursting with a sense of justice shouted.

The crocodile man did not answer.

"What is your connection to the drowning case on the shore?" the patrol officer pressed.

"I killed them with the waters of the Blackwater River," the crocodile-man whispered.

The patrolman's eyes lit up, and he sneered.

"Interesting... I never said they died from the Blackwater River, did I?"

There was a moment of silence in the warehouse.

Martin looked at him, eager to know where the police department had recruited this genius.

The case suddenly experienced a huge setback.

The crocodile-man slowly turned his head, his tail sweeping across the ground.

rustle……

In an instant, several patrol officers' expressions changed drastically. They clutched their necks and backed away, a loud gurgling sound coming from their lungs as water was being poured in.

Martin also felt a tightness in his chest and immediately activated his Source Essence, using a force field to protect himself.

As long as a force field can be deployed, resistance to enemy ability users can be slightly increased.

Martin was about to pull the trigger...

boom!

The wooden planks underfoot bulge upwards.

The next instant, the floor exploded!

Tons of river water carrying wood, nails, and rotting fish bones shot into the sky, splitting the entire Blackgill Gang warehouse in two, with the walls collapsing into the water on both sides.

A head covered in bluish-black scales burst out, instantly shattering the entire warehouse!

Martin rolled backward and looked up at the alien head in the downpour.

Like a dragon, or a giant lizard that has over-evolved in the dark, deep waters, its bone spurs extend layer by layer along its skull, like a crown, its massive body tumbling in the black water.

It continued to rise, and the crocodile man stood atop the Otherworldly being, arms crossed, looking down at Martin and his group.

"...Sir..." the patrolman said in terror.

The crocodile man raised a hand, and the black water surged up a wall several meters high, blocking out the torrential rain and the night sky, as if the entire river had suddenly stood up.

"Back off!" Martin shouted.

The wall of water crashed down, sweeping people into the tide. The laughter of the crocodile man came from the depths of the rain curtain and disappeared into the rolling night along with the giant beast, leaving only the broken warehouse slowly sinking.

Martin quickly climbed ashore from the river and organized the survivors to rescue the wounded.

He worked until dawn. His black clothes were completely soaked, and his mind was in turmoil.

……

……

A few hours later, on June 14, 3E355, the day of the report meeting.

Gordon went to the university with an umbrella. Before giving his report, he collected the last of the amniotic fluid from the embryo's gestation period, intending to use it for the embryo.

[The amniotic fluid, a warm bed. Probably the last bit in the world.]

"You want to take it all?" Peter crossed his arms.

"I know this can fetch a few gold pounds."

"No, nobody's buying them."

"What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you in a bit." Peter's attitude was strange today. He was usually miserable, but today his expression was complicated, with a hint of happiness mixed with unease.

"Anyway, I'll call you again if there's anything else that makes me rich. Now, let's put an end to the matter of the silver fish box." Gordon put the box away.

"You probably don't need to call me anymore, I'm going back to Ross soon." Peter said smugly.

"What's wrong?" Gordon's hand stopped.

"The great ruler of all Rus', Emperor Alexander, personally inquired about my studies in Lundnium, the heart of the world, and invited me to return to the country to teach."

"personally?"

"Well... to be precise, his Minister of Education asked the diplomat, the diplomat asked the student affairs officer, the student affairs officer asked my alma mater, my alma mater asked my grandmother, and my grandmother sent me a letter saying that my motherland needed me."

"Yes, with only five people in between, it's true that you can contact anyone in the world through no more than six people. I also know Emperor Ross now."

Peter was triumphant.

"Perhaps. I'm just an assistant here. Back in the Ross Empire, I'm a senior scholar with immense, rich, and unparalleled experience in overseas exchanges." Peter puffed out his chest.

All the operational practices and source material knowledge that were commonplace in the Logris Empire would become advanced experience in the Ross Empire. Peter could only move boxes here, but back home he could command a group of people to move boxes for him.

"Can I keep the things I can't take with me?" Gordon reached out his hand.

"You want this too?"

"Plan ahead so you don't have to rush."

"I'm just returning to my country, not dying."

"The journey is long, anything can happen."

Please say something auspicious.

"Hey bro," Gordon shook hands with Peter, "we're fucking brothers. Don't die on the way back."

Peter let go, and a complex expression finally appeared on his rigid face—a mix of emotion, reluctance, and an urge to smash something over him.

"...Anyway, give it your all today." Peter nodded. "The Department of Paranormal Affairs, the Navy, the River Management Bureau, the Health Committee, and the Duke of Wellesley, who is in charge of the entire project, have all sent people. There are also reporters, lots of reporters."

"Why is it so lively?"

"The Blackwater River has been turbulent lately, which is another reason why I decided to return home," Peter said. "Early this morning, the Blackgill Gang was wiped out by monsters and Blackwater River killers. Survivors say a dragon flew out of the river... Some people fell into the water and were pulled out with only half their clothes on."

"Where's old Buzz?"

"He's delirious. Martin, the investigator who visited the university, is also here. You can ask him yourself after the meeting."

"Tsk..." Gordon nodded. If he were still at Knight Road No. 9, he would probably have been caught up in this kind of thing and would probably have been killed fighting monsters.

"Not to mention those who inexplicably drown on the shore... These things are troublesome, and no department has issued a report. Everyone hopes that the students from the Royal Academy of Sciences University can bring some information."

"I hope I can make a lasting impression on them."

"I'll wait and see. Gordon, this is probably the last time I'll see it." Peter and Gordon walked out of the anatomy lab together. The entire Lundnim was waiting for these college students to submit their reports on the Blackwater River.