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

Gordon is leaving Lundnim...

"Will you come back?" Charlotte asked with concern.

"certainly."

"You answered too quickly."

"There's no need to think about it." Gordon pointed to Charlotte's pocket. "61 gold pounds, and these are sixty-one iron chains. Even if I die, they will be the driving force that pulls me back to the human world."

"Oh dear..."

Gordon took out the letter he had prepared beforehand.

"And this, try to anonymously deliver it to the Gray Witch Hunter Agency on Wycliff Street. Find someone completely unrelated, preferably through two intermediaries."

"A secret operation. I'm so nervous." Charlotte felt the mystery growing stronger.

"It's time to go," came the Earl of Montfort's voice from outside.

He was about to pick up his daughter from school when he saw her and Gordon whispering to each other inside the tent. He couldn't help but tap the ground with his walking stick.

  

Judging from the distance between the two, their conversation had gone beyond academic collaboration and might have involved planning their elopement or discussing what to name their child.

"..." Charlotte and Gordon went out together.

The count swept Gordon over with his usual cold gaze.

Then he noticed the trainee investigator badge pinned to Gordon's chest.

The octagonal emblem of the Bureau of Otherworldly Affairs.

The doubt in his eyes vanished quickly, replaced by a calm assessment.

Gordon went out for a stroll and came back with a different identity?

This rate of progress was incredible, even to the Earl.

In less than three months, Gordon had risen from a high-quality pauper to Professor Winslow's top student, the discoverer of the Blackwater Syndrome, and a trainee investigator for the Department of Extraterrestrial Affairs.

Therefore, he couldn't help but blurt out:

"...Would you like to have dinner together? I've already had someone make a reservation at the Silver Lamb Restaurant."

This was the first time her father had invited Gordon to dinner. Charlotte's eyes widened slightly. This meant many possibilities for the future.

Gordon was also aware of the significance of this.

"Very well, but... I must decline," Gordon replied earnestly. He had reasons for having to leave.

The count did not try to persuade him further.

He saw that Gordon was strangely serious, and Vera was standing not far away. The black sword looked calm and solemn in the twilight, clearly ready to set off.

He was just disappointed to have missed a golden opportunity.

The Earl was keen to spend a few hours having an in-depth conversation with Gordon, to learn more about the man, and to find out what his long-term plans were.

"Let's do it another day then, let's go home." He gestured for Charlotte to follow him.

"Goodbye... goodbye, Gordon." Charlotte walked away reluctantly.

The father and daughter walked toward the large carriage parked at the edge of the square.

"...Charlotte, you also participated in the report. From today onwards, you are also within the range of certain people."

"Um……"

"I suggest minimizing unnecessary outings, taking a bodyguard with you when leaving home, and avoiding handling unfamiliar mail alone."

"I can do it. I know what to do." Charlotte didn't want to be treated like a little girl anymore.

"I know, so I'm just reminding you, not making the decision for you."

The servants took the rat sticks away, and the Montfort family's carriage left Place de la Bosch.

Gordon watched them go.

"Shall we go?" Vera asked.

"I need to see the professor." A sense of indescribable melancholy welled up in Gordon's heart.

To be honest, he had no idea how many unexpected troubles he would encounter on this trip.

From the past to the present, he has accumulated a great deal of resources and made many plans within his capabilities.

Amniotic fluid in a warm bed, brand new source of matter, genetic information, water-like spirituality, artificial womb.

The conditions for Tide's birth ceremony have finally been met. Only he knows how many roads he has traveled behind the scenes.

But fate is always unpredictable, like the mythical loom Gordon saw. There were too many lines, too many intersecting threads, and even if he could see some of the connections, he could not calculate all the changes.

Before embarking on his journey toward unknown miracles, Gordon wanted to say a few words to those he needed to say goodbye to.

Professor Winslow, dressed in a black suit, sat on a bench.

Many scholars had gathered around him to congratulate him on nurturing such an outstanding student as Gordon.

Only when the crowd dispersed did he have a moment of peace.

Gordon walked over and sat down next to the professor.

"professor."

"Um."

"I've taken leave until summer vacation. I might go back to university in the middle, or I might not come back at all," Gordon said in a low voice.

Winslow took off his glasses, wiped the lenses, and put them back on. He neither scolded nor questioned him.

In his thirty years of teaching, he had heard at least seven young people say similar things. Some of them came back, and some disappeared forever.

"Pursuing the truth?"

"You could say that."

Winslow watched the sunset gradually sink to the other side of the horizon, the sunlight slowly descending on the rooftops, dyeing everything golden and red.

"You've given me many surprises, Gordon. Late in my academic career, I didn't expect anything truly surprising to happen," Winslow said slowly.

Gordon listened quietly.

"In the past, they would classify gill slits as deformities and fatigue and photophobia as laziness. People would just tremble when they saw those strange shapes and abnormalities."

"The mystery remains, but it has a name. The Blackwater Syndrome, and other professionals will continue their research under this name. Some will refute you, some will correct you, and some will try to steal the credit. But the breakthrough has already been made."

"Anyway, you did a great job, Gordon."

"I wouldn't have gotten this far without your support. I truly mean it." Gordon sat up straight. "If I had a different professor, I don't know what my fate would have been."

Winslow's expression softened somewhat.

"You won't fully understand now because you haven't taken on any apprentices or had any experience in nurturing people. You don't understand this feeling... Entrusting your hopes to a young person and then watching them slowly walk onto the right path—that feeling is better than publishing ten academic papers."

"I'm raising a lentil. I really hope it grows well," Gordon said with a touch of sadness.

"..." Winslow glared at him. "Can you keep a serious topic going for more than half a minute?"

"Sigh, lentils are in a really serious situation..."

Winslow paused for a moment, then changed the subject.

"Eve should be coming back soon."

"How many more procedures are needed?"

"About two weeks. On the eve of the meeting, many people came to inquire about Eve. Everyone remembered that five years ago she submitted a large number of analyses on the Fisher King myth to academic journals, which resulted in insults and exile. And those who used to curse her are now beginning to claim that she is very farsighted."

"You should be happy."

"I'm unhappy. It's mainly because of her...this person."

"You said she looks a bit like me."

“More dangerous and worse than you.” Winslow pondered for a moment. “...There’s a group called the ‘Primal Knowledge Council.’ It’s...how should I put it? A meeting of ambitious superhumans.”

"I had no idea."

"They are a reclusive group. After being exiled to Lumin, Eve and I wrote several letters about her joining them. Their only ambition is to collect Source Material, design rituals, and pursue the path to godhood."

"Becoming a god..." Gordon thought of what Vera had said, "The Hunter School said that you only need to refine six or more source essences. This is the process of transforming a human body into a divine body."

Winslow glanced at the sky.

"Yes, perhaps, this is what's widely circulated right now. Some say you need six large-scale source materials, while others say you only need one mythical-level source material. In fact, the direction is the same: find enough source materials of sufficient quality, quantity, and affinity, and then ascend through different rituals."

"Can small source matter evolve into large ones?" Gordon thought of his own question, then of Vera's, "Can source matter with poor compatibility change its nature and re-establish balance?"

"Yes, both are the same; both require the introduction of new source matter. If the properties of two source matters are too similar, they will merge or devour each other, with the stronger absorbing the weaker. As a result, the size and integrity of the source matter will increase, and its properties may also change. This is exactly what those people are doing... constantly collecting source matter."

Gordon nodded.

Devouring, fusing, evolving, deflecting...

This means that there is a solution to the imbalance of the source matter within Vera's body. It also means that his small, unbroken string has a path to evolution.

This is indeed a path to godhood, but each step is paved with a source substance.

"It sounds like you don't really want Eve to become a god."

"Why?" Winslow's expression showed a rare hint of distress. "That child's heart is empty. She is intelligent, self-disciplined, and determined. She can endure a price that ordinary people cannot bear for a goal, but she doesn't know the purpose of her pursuit of power. She becomes stronger for the sake of becoming stronger. It's a broken bridge. When she reaches the end, she finds that the other side does not exist."

"Do you think I can become a god?"

"Perhaps in the end you are neither a god nor a man. You are a god-man."

Gordon never imagined that the first time his bandages would break would be in front of the professor.

"My sense of humor is not even one ten-thousandth as good as yours."

"At least you..." Winslow thought for a long time but couldn't find the right word, "...know what's going on."

"As for the amount of gold pounds, I do have a count."

Winslow didn't know why fate had arranged for him to mentor Gordon.

"In short," Winslow stood up, "if Eve returns to Lundnim, please persuade her to see the error of her ways and leave that dangerous and unpredictable organization."

"She won't listen to me."

"Then at least help her figure out what she really wants."

"Understood." Gordon nodded.

The university bell rang. Winslow went to an academic dinner. The crowd dispersed completely.

Vera's gaze was fixed solely on Gordon.

"I've already moved everything to the estate. Everything you wanted. Including that pressure cooker."

"Let's go." Gordon stood up.

"Waiting for Eve to come back?"

"It's too late. The city is too dangerous. Let's change into inconspicuous clothes, drive around the city a few times to make sure no murlocs are following us, and then leave the city. Go to the supply depot to get the necessary materials and set up our formation in the manor."

Everything that needed to be said has been said, and everything that needed to be done has been done.

The trivialities of Lundnium have finally come to an end, and the path to the source matter is now fully open.

……

……

A few hours later.

On the other side, in the territory of Gallia, in Lumin, at No. 17 St. Michael's Street.

Night fell over the streets, and gas lamps lit up one after another, their lights gazing at each other from afar.

Eve Grant's room was brighter, and the lights were never turned off all night.

Her eyes were golden as she sat on the red velvet sofa, holding a telegram and reading its description of the new events in Lundnium.

Telegrams are expensive and words are scarce, but the sender still left enough space for Blackwater General Staff, Fishing King, and Gordon Vick.

Pleasant.

There are already "partners" who have said that Lundenim officials plan to end her exile.

Gordon pushed open the door that had been closed for five years.

She tugged at the overheated collar of her black shirt, which was bulging out, with only one button desperately holding it in place.

Eve leaned back, slowly raising one long leg encased in dark black stockings and placing it on her other thigh. The stockings were extremely thin and sheer, and a slight rubbing sound was heard as her legs crossed. Her toes slowly drew circles in the air.

"A myth, a disease, a beginning..."

She closed her eyes, and the source energy began to circulate.

[A Vision Through Memory: Recalling Past Events]

The first page emerged from the depths of her heart and floated in the air, followed by the second page, the third page...

Text, images, and notes all emerge and float in the living room, forming a paper wall.

Everything she had seen, read, and recorded has now been restored to its original form, perfectly accurate, even the shades of ink retain the same appearance as when she first saw it.

Many of these materials are from very old times.

Rubbings, inscriptions, paintings, nursery rhymes... She reached out and continuously extracted fragments from them, separated by hundreds of years, which were now arranged and reassembled by Eve's hands.

The handwriting and images varied; some depicted scales, some described temperament, and some attempted to outline attire.

Finally, all the fragments came together and condensed into a huge new image in the air.

"The King of Fishermen".

An ancient being, crowned with a crown, sat on the water, fishing alone for eternity, but its belly was injured, and its land became desolate.

His retinue, cities, ships, and souls floated at his feet, almost like dust on the water.

Four sacred artifacts surround the throne.

A holy sword that cleaves rivers and commands waves.

A Holy Grail that bestows energy and fertility, and is inexhaustible.

A box carved with silver fish, constantly weeping.

There is also a fine, large net that seems capable of capturing fate, in which human choices and encounters, betrayals and deaths are all intertwined...

Eve gazed at the mythological imagery.

During Gordon's busy months, Eve also recovered information about the Four Sacred Artifacts of the Fisher King from dusty materials.

She raised her hand, the mythical images parted, and a stack of letters slid out.

These letters rubbed against each other in the air, their pages pressed tightly together, recording how two thoughts communicated across the strait.

She pulled out the earliest one.

"Dear Ms. Grant..."

"I recently came across a ritual inscription that appears to be from the ancient Logarithmic era..."

At that time, Gordon was just a slightly unfamiliar name on paper, and she almost threw him into the fireplace.

At the time, she never imagined that this person would give her the opportunity to return to Lundnium.

Courage and thirst for knowledge.

She greatly admired it.

Then, admire the transformation as it falls deeper, transcending politeness and academic interest, reaching a darker, hotter place.

It becomes a desire.

A burning desire rose from the depths of her heart, igniting upwards along her bloodstream.

In the end, the enormous image of the Fisher King vanished without a trace, and the letter and legend turned into specks of light that disappeared into her golden pupils.

The living room was tidy again. Only the desires in her heart gradually opened up, chasing the stairway to the realm of light.

"Gordon Vick..." she murmured the name softly, "I've come to find you."