Chapter 179: A Historian

Chapter 179: A Historian

The black ink glistened under the ambient amber light, spilling from the hallway gas lamps, thick and oily as it dragged itself down the stone wall in uneven, sluggish strokes.

Mo Fei’s breathing caught in his throat. His spiritual perception, already frayed from the events on the Bloodborne Sea, gave a sudden throb.

Revealed behind the heavy crimson curtain was a manic sprawl of symbols. They didn’t seem to be standard glyphs of the ancient languages taught in orthodox churches, nor were they the structured runes of ancient mausoleum scripts.

Some of these were drawn with a charcoal stick that had snapped under immense pressure; others were painted with a foul-smelling ink that bore a faint trace of copper.

At the center of the mural was a large, cracked skull wrapped in withered ivy vines, its empty eye sockets staring directly into Mo Fei’s soul. Surrounding it were concentric, warped circles that resembled a celestial chart, but instead of stars, the orbits were populated by upside-down eyes, feathers that ended in skeletal fingers, and a repeating, geometric pattern of a headless chariot.

’Is this a divination map...?’ Mo Fei’s mind raced with thoughts. ’Someone is desperately trying to piece together a fragmented place. They are drawing their own divine past to keep from dissolving into complete madness.’

The sweet, cloying scent of cocoa that filled the room suddenly mingled with the sharp, unmistakable odor of an open tomb, merging with the dense smell of soil.

Just as Mo Fei’s fingers tightened instinctively around the hem of the long coat, preparing to retreat into the Spirit World to ask the Mirror of Truth, the temperature in the office plummeted.

The flickering gaslight outside the door instantly shrank, turning the warm amber glow into a pale green before dying out entirely.

The shadows in the corners of the room extended behind him.

A shadow detached itself from the side of the vast bookshelf, merging with the darkness of other objects.

Before Mo Fei’s spiritual intuition could register a warning, a figure was already standing a mere two paces behind his right shoulder.

"The Kemetian script for ’eternity’ is still missing many strokes at the base." A low, gentle, and utterly calm voice remarked.

Mo Fei froze, his expression entirely wavering. Every muscle in his body tensed up. The sheer presence of the individual behind him felt like a vast, bottomless ocean of an Authority’s spirituality.

Slowly, with deliberate, non-threatening movements, Mo Fei turned his head to look behind.

Standing in the shadows was Aiziq Grieger. He looked exactly as he had at the Ciradyl port. This time, he wore a simple, dark brown professional suit that looked slightly dated, as if tailored in a previous era.

A dense, clean linen blindfold was tied securely around his temples, completely obscuring his eyes. Despite the lack of sight, he was looking directly at the freshly painted mural on the wall. In his hand, he held a porcelain teacup; the steam from the dark cocoa inside rose lazily.

"Professor..." Mo Fei spoke, his voice trying to utilize the polite, guarded cadence of his Ascended persona to mask the terror clawing at his throat. "Forgive my intrusion. The door was unlocked." He paused and took a few steps back and quickly gave him a respectful bow. "My name is Sherlock Hermès, a Midnight Wings member."

Aiziq took a slow sip of his cocoa, and a slow melancholic smile tugged at his lips. "It is quite alright, Mr. Sherlock. Or do you prefer the name Hermès? Mr. Juliet in the hall speaks highly of your curiosity."

’He heard our conversation from the entire length of the west wing...’ Mo Fei realized, a cold sweat breaking out of his neck. He took a slow breath to compose himself and forced a polite smile.

"Sherlock is fine, Professor." Mo Fei adjusted his top hat slightly, forcing himself to maintain the etiquette of a gentleman. "I confess, I was intrigued by the news of a remarkable historian and physician. A man of your academic stature wandering in such a provincial university was quite surprising. When I found myself near Lakeview, I felt compelled to visit; I’m overly interested in historical things."

Aiziq turned his blindfolded face toward Mo Fei, his head tilting slightly. Though his eyes were covered, Mo Fei still felt an intense, golden-hued gaze piercing through his flesh, examining the crimson-stitched bandages on his right arm, and sinking deep into his very soul.

"Mr. Sherlock... You have the scent of the deep sea upon you. And something else... woven from threads that do not belong to this era... it’s almost as if you aren’t from here; where do you belong?" Aiziq asked softly, his tone devoid of suspicion, carrying only a profound curiosity to understand him.

Mo Fei paused and blinked twice. ’Where do I belong...?’ He thought of that question seriously. Was it his original world 0? Or was it the Epilogue? A place where he found his new family, or was it the Midnight Wings, a simple Midnight Moon of the government? Or was he a Detective who had lost his mind over mysteries? Was he Sherlock Hermès, or was he Mo Fei, who was just a student at Qinghua University? Did he belong there? Maybe all along, he was still a Lightless now; he belonged to the spirit world, just another Ascended in the race of thousands to survive.

Seeing that conflict over Mo Fei’s face, Aiziq’s expression changed as he raised his hand and patted his shoulder. "I see, you are as lost as me. You are an Ascended, right?"

"You already knew?" Mo Fei glanced at the weathered hand of Aiziq, resting upon his shoulder. The strange coldness of his hand had the opposite effect, offering a slight warm reassurance.

Aiziq chuckled softly and slowly walked toward a sofa. He gestured toward the drawing on the wall and asked in a deep tone, that... Slightly seemed sorrowful and bothered. "I have always wanted to know who I am... every time I awakened, every time I resurrected, I kept forgetting increasingly with each slumber. Do you understand what this is?"

"It looks like something to anchor your thoughts... maybe it is an attempt to remember the memories." Mo Fei replied, stepping slightly to the side to give the Angel space, adhering to the logical rule of never cornering a volatile entity. Afterward, he followed Aiziq and sat before him on a sofa. "Old Bai... a senior colleague of mine, once mentioned that when the great empires of the past collapsed, their rulers often left behind fragments. Shadows that wander the world without a name. The war eighty years ago left the worse outcomes for the Grave Walker or can say the Death Authority."

Aiziq’s smile faded slightly as his mind shifted back to that same blonde woman returning deep in his mind, walking in the field of yellow lilies. That day, he sat with her under a tree of pomegranates. He set his teacup down on the edge of the desk with a soft click.

"I remember the taste of pomegranates." Aiziq murmured in a low tone. "I remember the sound of bronze wheels grinding against gold dust. I remember a chariot that flew beneath the golden sun. But when I wake up in the mornings, the ledger books tell me I am merely Aiziq, a fellow of the History Department."

He exhaled a long sigh, forcing his mind to reach every deepest thought, anywhere that could get his memories back.

"My colleagues show me records of my employment spanning twenty years. They show me photographs. They remember my lectures; every time I return, my colleague changes, but new ones always know my name. When I ask, they say one name, my friend who died a century ago. No one questioned me who I am."

He turned back to Mo Fei, a hint of genuine, terrifying distress underlying his calm demeanor. "But I know the photographs are a lie, Mr. Sherlock. The world remembers me, but I do not remember the world. Tell me... why would a university keep a professor who doesn’t exist? Why can I not remember my closest friend... if it’s true, then how do I remember?"

Mo Fei’s heart thudded. In the books of divinity and bibles of various Gods he had read from Old Bai had dictated that an Angel’s amnesia was a consequence of divine concealment or a defense mechanism against losing control.

Maybe Mr. Aiziq’s friend knew this, and he used this university as an anchor for him... that was why he always returned here. All of it was a final, fragile attempt of his friend to keep this Golden-Eyed Shadow from awakening and triggering a calamity even if in the end he knew... that Aiziq would forget him.

"Perhaps, Professor." Mo Fei began with a soft whisper, choosing his words with precision to offer a psychological lifeline without revealing too much. "The university isn’t actually trying to trick you. Perhaps it is a cradle. A quiet room built by those who wished for you to rest before the war eighty years ago catches up to you. Maybe it was a concluding attempt for you to be you."

Aiziq’s blindfolded head snapped toward Mo Fei. The linen cloth over his eyes seemed to glow slightly with a blinding golden light, and the phantom sound of a massive, iron-wheeled chariot echoed through the closed room.

"Mr. Sherlock..."