Chapter 145: The Lamb and the Cross

By the time the family reached the train station, a few people were already waiting on the platform.

There were still forty-five minutes before departure.

Richard pulled his train ticket from his pocket to check it again. The northbound train left at eight o'clock sharp, with one transfer along the way.

His mother held his hand tightly.

A little too tightly, even. Richard could feel the tension through her entire palm.

But she didn't say a word.

"Did you pack enough?" his father asked.

"I did, Dad."

"Don't read on the train. You'll ruin your eyes."

"Okay."

"And don't stay up late once you get there."

"I won't."

His father stepped away to check the platform number for him.

His mother finally spoke. "Be careful on the way."

"I will."

"Call us when you arrive."

"Okay."

She slowly let go of his hand.

Her gaze drifted from Richard's face to the far end of the platform.

Beside them, Evelyn suddenly chimed in. "Don't forget what I told you, Richard."

"What was that?"

"Bring me back a present!"

"I'll try."

"Don't just try. You have to!"

"All right, I have to."

A train whistle echoed in the distance.

The locomotive emerged from the tunnel, gradually slowing down until it came to a smooth halt next to the platform.

The carriage doors opened, and a few attendants stepped off to organize the luggage racks.

Richard handed his suitcase to a porter and climbed aboard with his backpack.

The seats in the second-class carriage were upholstered, much more comfortable than the hard wooden benches in a third-class seat.

He chose a window seat and set his backpack on his lap.

Outside the window, his father waved at him.

His mother stood in the mist covering the platform.

Evelyn stood beside her, wearing her new dress under the coat Richard had bought for her.

"Toot!"

The whistle sounded a second time.

The train shuddered and slowly pulled away.

He pressed his face against the glass.

The young girl ran alongside the train for a few steps.

Unfortunately, her clothes and shoes weren't suited for running today.

The train quickly outpaced her. Evelyn stopped on the platform and stomped her foot in frustration.

The carriage left the station and plunged into the tunnel.

Richard pulled the Iron Box his sister had given him out of his bag.

He opened the lid, picked out the dog-shaped gingerbread cookie, and took a bite.

The cookie's surface was slightly damp from condensation, but inside, the strong taste of ginger powder blended perfectly with the aroma of molasses and butter.

...

The train rumbled north. Outside the window, endless rows of factory smokestacks and textile mills rolled past.

Richard leaned against the window and watched for a while before pulling out his notebook to review the materials Mr. Hutton had given him.

Leaving at eight o'clock meant he arrived at the transfer station by ten.

Because his destination was so remote, he ended up waiting three full hours for his connection.

Once the branch line train set off, the scenery outside changed drastically.

The industrial district was left far behind.

An endless expanse of grey-brown moorland stretched outside, dotted with the ruins of abandoned stone houses. In the distance, a thin layer of snow capped the mountain ridges.

In the wilderness of late December, the vegetation had shriveled into clumps of grey.

Occasionally, a hare or two darted through the brush, startled by the rumble of the train, and scrambled frantically into the rocky crevices.

Richard took out the sandwich his mother had packed and ate it slowly.

At two-forty, the train pulled into a tiny station.

"Whitcom Station. We have arrived."

The announcement echoed from the front of the train.

Richard checked his ticket one last time, grabbed his suitcase, and stepped off.

The platform was completely deserted.

Here in Whitcom, the station consisted of nothing but two waiting benches.

There was a small ticket booth, but not even a clerk could be seen behind the glass.

The wind blew down from the highlands, carrying the scent of peat, limestone, and sheep dung.

Richard carried his suitcase out the exit.

Mr. Hutton was standing on the other side.

The old man wore a heavy coat, his white hair tousled by the wind.

It looked like he had been waiting for a long time.

"Smooth journey?"

"Very smooth."

"The others have already arrived."

Mr. Hutton didn't bother with further pleasantries.

"We're heading straight to the inn."

A carriage was parked outside the exit, driven by a quiet older man.

Naturally, the carriage had no heating. It was freezing.

Richard shrank into his collar.

Outside the window, the endless grey-brown moorland continued.

He watched it for a while before trying to strike up a conversation.

"Sir, how long have people lived in this area?"

"Over six thousand years."

Mr. Hutton said, "Far longer than the history of ancient Rome."

"That long?"

"Archaeological remains of the earliest settlers have been discovered right here."

The old man's gaze shifted to the scenery outside.

"We can no longer determine who those people were, but the stone tools and early tombs they left behind date back to the Neolithic age.

Then came the ancient Celts of the Bronze Age, followed by the Romans, the Saxons, the Normans... Wave after wave of different peoples lived and died on this land."

"The older the land, the more prone it is to problems."

Mr. Hutton stroked his beard.

"Every wave of civilization leaves its mark.

Religions, inscriptions, tombs, seals... Over thousands of years, these layers of history stack on top of each other, occasionally producing strange reactions."

"Whitcom is exactly that kind of place."

He looked at his student.

"Now you should understand why I said this mission would not be simple."

Richard pulled his gaze back into the carriage.

"Have you worked with the other seniors before?"

"I've undertaken a few missions alongside Mrs. MacNeil."

Mrs. MacNeil was the leader of this mission. When Richard first heard the news from his teacher, he had wondered if it was a bit too coincidental.

But on second thought, there were only so many Minor Adept mediums in the northern region.

Having a specialist like Mrs. MacNeil lead the team wasn't all that unusual.

Mr. Hutton continued:

"There is a Ms. Sarah. This will be my first time working with her.

She's an independent Hunter here, a Senior Practitioner, and she specializes in regular wilderness patrols.

She doesn't usually take part in official assignments, but Mrs. MacNeil recommended her to us."

"Why is that?"

"Her Hunting Rifle can hit some rather troublesome things."

Mr. Hutton didn't elaborate.

"You'll see for yourself when the time comes."

"What about the Newcomers?"

"Including you, there's one Secret and three in the Scholar path."

Richard nodded.

Having Newcomers from the same path participate together allowed them to observe and learn from one another.

"There's no need to force yourself to be modest once we arrive,"

Mr. Hutton reminded him.

"You might be the youngest, but in our line of work, we hate people who pretend to know things they don't just as much as we hate people who know things but pretend they don't."

"Understood."

Whitcom Village was nestled in a low-lying hollow.

As the carriage wound its way down from the highland moors, Richard could see the entire village through the window.

There were about forty households. The homes were built from local limestone, their roofs covered in dark slate.

A church stood in the center of the village. The bell tower wasn't tall, but the cross at its peak was exceptionally striking.

Near the village entrance sat an inn, with a general store and a few small workshops further in.

"We're here."

Mr. Hutton gestured toward the inn with his chin.

"That's the place."

The inn was called The Lamb and the Cross.

The sign depicted a kneeling lamb with a cross beneath its neck.

The carriage stopped in front of the inn.

The driver hopped down and helped them carry their suitcases to the steps.

Mr. Hutton paid the fare, and the driver took the carriage back the way they came.

Richard grabbed his suitcase and followed Mr. Hutton inside.

The fireplace inside was roaring, flames dancing across the logs.

Various liquor bottles hung behind the bar, where a middle-aged man—likely the owner—was wiping a glass with a rag.

The moment he stepped through the door, Richard felt several gazes fall on him at once.

The people sitting in the inn all turned to look at him.

The first to stand up was Mrs. MacNeil.

She was slightly younger than Richard had imagined.

Looking to be under forty, she was slim and wore a dark woolen skirt under a grey hooded coat.

"Little Richard."

Mrs. MacNeil stepped forward and offered her hand.

"I just told Bigelow earlier that I wouldn't get to meet you until spring. I didn't expect to see you so soon."

Her grip was firm.

Richard could feel a flow of ether emanating from her palm.

The Seat of the Sun trembled slightly, but it caused no discomfort.

"I've heard quite a bit about you from Old Biggs as well, Mrs. MacNeil."

Mrs. MacNeil looked a bit helpless. "Bigelow and his big mouth."

"Whenever he talks about his school, he always starts with 'my incredibly powerful teacher' and follows it up with 'my amazing senior sister.'"

"He actually respects the school a lot," Richard said, trying to be diplomatic.

"Respect is one thing, and bragging is another. The two can be kept separate." Mrs. MacNeil was noncommittal.

Next were the two Hunters.

Captain Field was in his thirties. Though also lean, he had a broad, heavy frame.

A shallow scar marred his left brow, stretching from just above his eyebrow down to his cheekbone.

"Hello, Captain Field."

The man didn't get up; he merely nodded.

Another woman was sitting in a high-backed chair in the corner.

She wore a hunting jacket over riding breeches and leather boots.

A double-barreled Hunting Rifle leaned against the chair next to her. Richard could tell at a glance that it was a heavily modified weapon.

"Ignore these two. Take a seat,"

Mrs. MacNeil said, pointing to a chair by the fireplace.

"Have the others not arrived yet?"

Richard sat down and placed his suitcase by his feet.

"They all arrived today,"

Mrs. MacNeil said.

"They're just upstairs in their rooms unpacking. You'll meet them at dinner."

She turned and called out toward the bar:

"Boss, get this young man a room."

The innkeeper behind the counter looked up and grabbed a brass key from a hook on the wall.

"Room Four. Second floor, east side."

He handed the key over. "The window faces east. Best view of the sunrise."

Mr. Hutton rubbed his hands together.

"All eight rooms are fully booked. Including the two the owner's family uses, we've bought out the entire inn."

Richard slipped the key into his pocket.

"I'll take my luggage upstairs first."