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

Gordon and Peter went outside, and the rain stopped.

Outside, crowds thronged the campus, countless horse-drawn carriages lined the roads, and students thronged the Boshi Square.

There were too many students attending the report meeting, spanning different grades. If they were to go on stage one by one, everyone would leave before lunchtime.

Therefore, each group of students had their own booth for guests to browse.

Upon seeing Peter, many students from his college raised their hands to him.

"Mr. Geshkovich! I need some more tents!"

Where are the spare glass jars?

"My sample is missing! Please help me find it!"

"I'm going over there now. There are two hundred students exhibiting, and all they do is ask me for this and that. Universities should be teaching self-care skills." Peter walked away wearily.

Gordon thought to himself. Peter's departure wouldn't magically erase the chores. Considering the professor's high regard for him, the next errand boy would likely be named Vic.

We need to find a responsible but unlucky person in advance who can't say no.

  

Gordon walked toward his booth.

Today's goal is very clear.

First, prove that the Blackwater River is reshaping the rat.

Let's see if any fish are disguised as humans and attending academic conferences.

Then he let the reporter know the name "Fishing King" so that Eve could return to Lundenim to make a living.

Last but not least... sell the rats for a good price and recoup your investment.

Inside the booth, Charlotte's servants were busy.

Forty cages were neatly arranged, with one cage placed on a feed box a little further away—that was the rat's deluxe private room.

As always, it lay on its back on the wood shavings, pretending to be dead.

Gordon stared at it.

Speaking of which...

Why does the mouse keep pretending to be dead?

Alert, he immediately tapped the cage with his blackthorn cane, sending out invisible ripples that then returned.

The rat cage was fully modeled.

Gordon raised his eyebrows.

You damn rat!

There was a hole on the underside of the rat's body!

A hole just big enough for a fat rat to pass through, through wood shavings, landing in the shadow behind the feed box.

Beyond that, there's a busy road with people coming and going.

It clearly spent the whole night digging a path to freedom through wood shavings and planks with its two claws, then covered it up with its usual feigned death pose.

It's flawless. The only problem is that Gordon is a master, and it's normal for a master to have X-ray vision.

Gordon stood with his hands behind his back, leaning forward.

"Rat, you've really disappointed me."

"..." Mouse remained motionless, confident that Gordon wouldn't notice anything.

Humans are just bluffing.

The way to salvation is right beneath you.

Humans fenced it off with iron bars, saying that the mice should live inside.

The mouse does not accept this explanation.

"You're planning to slip away when the meeting gets chaoticest?" Gordon pointed out ruthlessly. "You'll sneak out when those careless servants forget to check, won't you?"

Rat Stick's whiskers twitched.

Human creations have many flaws.

But why is it that this person...can't escape, can't be deceived?

Gordon was very pleased with the planning ability that Mouse Bar had demonstrated.

Then, suppress them immediately.

He reached out and deftly wrapped the rat's limbs with the Divine Thread, skillfully moving its hands and feet as if manipulating a puppet, thus removing it from its grasp.

"!" Mouse's body jolted, and he tried to move to the left, but his body moved precisely to the right.

Its eyes widened. What evil human technology!

Their hands and feet have betrayed them!

The mouse was forced to walk away in small, hesitant steps.

then……

The complete and hopeful escape hole was exposed.

"The nature of the crime was heinous, and the plot was well-premeditated. He should be shot on the spot." Gordon shook his head.

The rat shook its head frantically.

"You want to live?"

"Live. Live."

"Okay, redeem yourself. I need you to perform, to move the audience." Gordon flicked his fingers.

The lines are jittery.

Thanks to Gordon's skillful maneuvering, the mouse was forced to stand up.

It tiptoes, turns in circles, and its tail traces an arc behind it, like a dancing little swan.

The other mice watched the rat dance, unable to contain their excitement, pointing and whispering among themselves.

Gordon nodded; this was the key to making their project stand out today.

He disconnected.

"You bastard!" Mouse immediately pounced on the railing, his expression furious.

"Our experiments shaped your intelligence; you should be grateful."

"Freedom!" Mouse gripped the railing. "Mouse wants freedom."

"Freedom doesn't come that way; you have to create value."

Gordon avoided being seen and carried the cage deep into the tent, where there was no one around except for a few feed boxes.

Then, he took out a tiny bit of amniotic fluid from his bosom and wrapped it in sealing wax.

The mouse didn't feel anything at first.

It wasn't until Gordon placed it under the rat's nose that it smelled a perfect fragrance through the waxy coating.

What kind of aura is this!

It's as if all the cheese, grains, and happiness in the world are concentrated in this single drop of water.

The rat's head was about to explode.

Its nose twitched rapidly, and it strained to push its head forward, its gray-brown eyes fixed on it.

Gordon took the small bottle away.

"Eat!" it said, staring longingly at Gordon.

"If you attract enough viewers, I'll pour it into the water." Gordon collected the drop of water.

"Not much," said Rat, dissatisfied.

Gordon had only recovered the last 500 milliliters, so even this one drop was significant.

"Listen to me, would you like to eat feed with scales and salt?"

"Eat, eat." Rat looked up.

"Once my sludge refinery is built, besides refining and crystallizing, the byproducts will all be this. Truckload after truckload, it's so big, we can't possibly finish it all," Gordon coaxed patiently.

The rats look promising; they mutate the fastest and have the highest intelligence, making them a valuable asset.

The sludge produced by the refinery is measured in tons, and the terrible byproduct, "scaly crystalline salt," is also produced in abundance.

If you feed it to mice...

Who knows, it might turn into a real giant rat monster that's several meters or even tens of meters tall in the future!

In that case, Gordon will also have monsters on his side, which can be used to transport goods and fight off the alien demons.

Mouse Bart listened to Gordon's words, but didn't understand them. It only heard that there was an endless supply of food, so it nodded.

It suddenly stood up straight, jumped left and right, spun around in place, kicked its legs and swung its tail, much more smoothly than before, and finally bent over at a 15-degree angle towards Gordon.

It was seen yesterday; that's called politeness.

"That's it, that's it. You'll be the best mouse in town," Gordon exclaimed approvingly.

The rat excitedly thumped its front paws.

"Dance well." Gordon held up one finger.

The rat extended its claw tip and touched Gordon's.

The man and the mouse reached a cooperation agreement, without a contract, relying solely on Gordon's most familiar tactic: making empty promises.

Gordon went out.

"Gordon." Vera has arrived.

They agreed to go to Golden Oak Estate after the report meeting, which was Gordon's last day in the city.

In crowded places like this, there are bound to be bad guys. Vera remained vigilant, because Gordon would be in the sight of many people today.

This was the day Gordon fought for funding and fame, and also the last chance for the enemy to test him in the city.

"What do you see?"

"The bad guy is over there," Vera pointed into the distance.

Two visitors entered the square.

The man walking in front was about forty years old, with long gray hair, glasses, and an exceptionally neatly trimmed beard, carrying a medical kit.

Beside the doctor was an even more familiar figure: Ellen Brundell, the singer from Green Manor, wearing a pale green coat, her pearl earrings swaying with her steps.

Several students instinctively looked at the beautiful woman, and she smiled back. They immediately started arguing, each feeling that the smile was meant for them. Their three-year friendship as classmates came to an end in three seconds.

"There are quite a few fish people here today." Gordon took out the live water compass.

They can't use their abilities to sweep around randomly. This place is full of investigators from the agency, as well as church knights and academy security personnel. Any power field user could sense someone touching them.

The compass is designed for such occasions.

Its long needle points towards the distant Blackwater River, the medium needle turns towards Ellen and the doctor, and the heavy needle is very steady.

Gordon walked around Place de la Bosch, the double needle pointing to several gentlemen in succession.

They looked perfectly normal; some wore alumni badges, some wore priests' black robes, and some were military officers.

They don't look like fish at all, but the live water compass is watching them.

There were clearly more than just one or two members of the Secret Order who had infiltrated the place.

Gordon planned his movements, circling slightly behind Ellen and the doctor to eavesdrop on their activities.

"...Are you sure you're still at the academy?"

"...Of course...there's no sign of them being moved..."

They seem to have come to the Royal Academy of Sciences looking for something.

Silverfish box? Gordon confirmed that this was the only thing on campus that would attract their attention.

Although he hadn't obtained any evidence, the thought had already made him wary.

"What are you looking for?" Professor Winslow's voice came from behind.

"Professor, I've consulted the oracle. Today, we should increase security and avoid letting students be kidnapped by cultists," Gordon said solemnly.

"Investigators from the Bureau of Investigation will be present, more than ten naval officers will be coming, and a platoon of knights from the Royal Anglican Order will be stationed nearby." Winslow stroked his beard. "You only need to explain your subject to the guests; there's no need to worry about the school's security."

"..." Upon hearing this, Gordon could only feel half relieved.

"How long will the report last?" Vera asked, crossing her arms.

"At least a whole day." Professor Winslow glanced at the stalls in the square. "Too many students are eager to prove their research topics are worthy of funding. The principal, the VIPs, and I will be visiting them one by one."

There are indeed many guests today, including the Earl of Montfort and many nobles. Judging from the stones that flew across the square, the mayor is also here.

"Let's go, Vera, let's see how much we can sell the rats for." Gordon and Vera walked away.

"Are mice that important?"

"They're in charge of deceiving us today... to secure official funding."

Gordon and Vera walked through some of the plaza booths, admiring the latest academic achievements of the university students.

One booth displayed a survey titled "The Odor of the Blackwater River and Citizens' Happiness," which found that the indicators affecting citizens' happiness, in order of priority, were wages, housing prices, commodity prices, working hours, commuting, medical insurance, and education, with the stench of the Blackwater River being the last factor.

Another booth displayed a "Research on the Success Rate of Insurance Claims for the Blackwater River". After listening to the presentation, Gordon learned that the success rate of citizens who were dragged into the Blackwater River by the demons was only 2%, because most citizens could not submit their own reports of distress. The few citizens who were successfully rescued were those who had been bitten in the waist but still had the strength to sign the report.

Gordon's classmate Percy Graham introduced "The Canning Industry on the Blackwater River," which proved that on average, 27 out of every 10,000 cans made from Blackwater fish meat would prey on humans, manifesting as a mouth jumping up and biting their face when the can is opened.

All the other booths were occupied, except for my classmate John Seymour's booth, which was almost empty. The title was "Riverbank Workers and Aquatic Alienation."

Gordon saw several deformed chunks of flesh in glass jars. They looked like people, but something was wrong with them. Their fingers were webbed, their arms were covered in scales, and their lungs were severely shrunken.

"What did you demonstrate?"

"You reminded me to investigate the water monkeys, and I ended up investigating humans through the water monkeys," John said to Gordon with a wry smile.

"I would like to hear the details."

"People have been saying that humans and water monkeys can transform into each other, so I went to observe whether there were people who were turning into Deepclaws. There was indeed a group of them. Their initial symptoms were photophobia, hydrophobia, and slurred speech. The factory doctor thought it was a kind of 'laziness disease' or an excuse to avoid work. I found 43 cases."

Gordon nodded.

John doesn't have any superpowers, but over two months, through interviews and documentation, he unearthed these facts case by case.

"Very successful." Gordon looked at the samples and handwritten notes John showed him, consistent with his meticulous nature, then looked at the glass jars. "Whose are these?"

"One of the victims. The deceased had a wife and children. He worked in an inland river fish farm, where he often had to go into sewage to catch fish. Seven months later, he completely lost his ability to speak and was killed by his colleagues on his way to work, who mistook him for a monster."

John paused, then said.

"After his death, his family agreed to let me perform an autopsy. I even sold several mutated glands that were close to the organs of the demons, for which I received two gold pounds and gave them to his family."

"Two gold pounds," Gordon pondered.

"That's more money than he earned while he was alive," John said in a low voice.

"The dead are worth more than the living, a terrible story." Vera listened for a while, then asked, "Why isn't anyone coming?"

"If this city were full of happy people, everyone would have plenty of time to shed tears for strangers. But on average, everyone in Lundnim has had a similar traumatic experience." Gordon nodded.

“…Yeah.” John thought of his family members who couldn’t straighten their backs, then noticed Gordon’s stall. “You have way more people over there than I do.”

"It happens all the time. Even someone as powerful as me has to rely on animal performances to attract attention."

He and Vera walked toward their stall.

By this time, the people watching the mouse's performance had already surrounded it in layers.

The mouse took on 70-80% of the entertainment responsibility by itself, dancing energetically in its cage!

The other four rats engaged in frantic physical training, fighting and wrestling, attracting many bloodthirsty viewers to place bets.

In the dull and bizarre exhibition on the Blackwater River, Gordon at least managed to grab attention with one gimmick. Humans won't listen to a bunch of college students rambling on, but they're willing to spend an hour watching mice perform backflips.

In addition, Charlotte told the audience the story of the mouse with a noble smile and a calm tone. Gordon's booth unsurprisingly became the most popular booth of the day.