It was already late in the night when he returned to St. Blaise Street.
The fog in the East End was thicker than during the day. The gas lamps could only illuminate a tiny circle, leaving the rest of the street completely submerged in a damp, grayish-white haze.
Ryan dragged his exhausted body up to the attic. His lungs burned with pain, and his eyes were incredibly sore.
Especially after forcing himself to “read” those words in the bookstore earlier, he now didn't even dare to stare at any single spot for too long.
Whenever he focused his mind, ordinary patterns would begin to warp and rearrange themselves, as if something were trying to surface from beneath reality.
Ryan locked the door behind him and tossed his coat onto a chair.
The cramped attic was as cold and damp as ever. The wallpaper was peeling at the edges, the wooden table was crooked, and the only source of light was the small kerosene lamp on the table.
He slowly pulled the black booklet from under the bed. Its cover remained quiet.
He couldn't tell if it was just his imagination, but Ryan felt that it was slightly “brighter” than it had been two days ago—not bright in a visual sense, but rather in its sheer presence.
Ryan stared at it for a moment, but in the end, he still didn't open it.
His current state was far too poor. His head felt as though it were stuffed with burning cotton; if he kept reading, he might actually go mad.
Ryan coughed softly a few times, fished out his laudanum, and took a small sip.
The medicine slid down his throat, and a familiar warmth slowly spread. The splitting headache that felt like it would tear his brain apart finally eased a bit.
He let out a long breath, then shoved the black booklet back under the bed.
“I'll read it tomorrow...”
Ryan murmured to himself, then blew out the light. The entire attic plunged into darkness.
Outside, it seemed to have started raining. Raindrops tapped against the roof, and the air was filled with the scent of damp, old wood.
Ryan slowly lay back down on the bed. Weariness washed over him like a tide, and before long, his consciousness drifted away.
...
The dream came again.
At first, it was still that same clearing. The grayish-white woods swayed gently in the thick fog, the ground was covered in damp fallen leaves, and a faint Glory drifted through the air.
Ryan had gradually grown familiar with this feeling, but this time was different.
The depths of the woods were darker than before, and it was far too quiet. There was no wind, no chirping insects, and not even the leaves moved; the entire dream seemed frozen.
Ryan frowned and slowly walked forward. His feet stepped on the wet leaves, but he couldn't hear a sound.
In the next second, he suddenly stopped.
Because deep in the woods, three figures had appeared. He couldn't see their faces, only their blurry silhouettes.
They held lanterns and were slowly approaching him. What was even more bizarre was that those three lanterns were entirely black, devoid of fire, yet emitting a faint, dark glow.
Ryan instinctively felt something was wrong. He immediately backed away.
But just then, one of the figures suddenly raised its head.
In the next instant, Ryan caught sight of a pair of silver-white eyes—cold and hollow.
Boom!
Ryan's brain exploded with a violent shock, and he woke up instantly.
“Ha—!”
He practically bolted upright in bed, cold sweat drenching his back.
His spirituality had already allowed him a simple premonition: the Suppression Bureau, one of the official organizations in the world of Cultist Simulator that specialized in dealing with the extraordinary, cults, and anomalies.
Although ordinary people rarely came into contact with them, once they set their sights on you, it usually boded ill.
It was still dark outside the window. Ryan panted heavily, his heart pounding wildly, yet the images from his dream only grew clearer.
Ever since coming into contact with The Glory, Ryan had begun to realize that dreams were sometimes not just dreams.
He immediately looked down under the bed. In the next second, his pupils contracted sharply.
The black booklet was emitting an extremely faint white light in the darkness. It was very weak, but it was undoubtedly there.
Ryan's scalp instantly went numb. He finally understood where the problem lay.
It wasn't that the book itself was dangerous, but rather “compatibility.” After he had repeatedly read it...
...some trace belonging to the “Lantern” had begun to cling to him. And those three people in his dream might very well actually show up.
Ryan scrambled out of bed. Without any hesitation, he grabbed the black booklet and lunged toward the table.
The only light in the room was the kerosene lamp. Ryan grit his teeth and poured the remaining half-bottle of kerosene all over the booklet, and a pungent odor instantly spread through the room.
Then, he lifted the glass chimney of the lamp and pressed the flame directly onto it.
Whoosh—
The flames flared up instantly. The edges of the black booklet curled rapidly, but the speed of the burning was incredibly slow, even unnaturally so.
Faint white patterns vaguely emerged from within the pages, like a person struggling in the fire.
A chill ran down Ryan's spine. He could only continue pouring kerosene over it. The fire grew larger and larger, illuminating the entire attic.
Finally, the booklet began to truly carbonize. The pages collapsed bit by bit, and a strange smell filled the air—not of burnt paper, but more like damp earth after a rain mixed with the scent of rust.
Ryan kept his eyes on it until it was completely reduced to a pile of black ash.
Still uneasy, he immediately found an old cloth, wrapped up all the ash, and rushed downstairs.
The communal latrine behind the East End apartment building was terribly foul. Ryan pinched his nose and dumped all the ash into the pit, even using a wooden stick to stir and break it apart thoroughly until no trace remained.
Only after completing all this did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.
Within minutes of returning to the attic, a sound suddenly echoed from downstairs.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Someone was knocking on the apartment's main door. It wasn't a regular tenant; the knocking was remarkably steady and heavy.
Ryan's body froze instantly.
Right after, the landlady's nervous voice drifted up from below. “Gentlemen... so late...”
Another man's voice calmly replied, “A routine investigation.”
Cold sweat instantly broke out on Ryan's back. They had really come. The dream was real.
He forced himself to stay calm. He couldn't panic. The book was gone, and the ash had been disposed of.
They might not have locked onto him specifically; perhaps it was just a neighborhood sweep.
But the footsteps downstairs didn't pause for a single second. They headed straight upstairs; their target had been him from the very beginning.
The wooden stairs creaked, and then, the attic door was knocked on.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Mr. Ryan Harold, is it convenient to open the door?”
The voice was very polite, but the more polite it was, the more dangerous.
Ryan took a deep breath, deliberately pretended he had just woken up, and slowly opened the door.
Three people stood outside.
Leading them was a tall, thin middle-aged man wearing a bowler hat and a tightly buttoned black trench coat, with a silver badge pinned to his chest.
Behind him followed a man and a woman. The man was tall and burly, while the woman was extremely thin, wearing black gloves, her gaze as cold as a corpse.
The middle-aged man spoke first. “Good evening.”
“Jonathan Reid, Special Investigation Division.”
“These two are my colleagues, Hobbes and Vera.”
Ryan spoke in a low voice. “Gentlemen... has something happened?”
Jonathan looked at him calmly. “A small problem occurred in the East End the day before yesterday.”
“A few street thugs suddenly went mad. One of them smashed his own face into a gas lamp post, while the other two kept repeating strange words.”
Ryan's heart sank, but his expression remained perfectly steady.
“I didn't know about that...”
“Of course.”
Jonathan smiled slightly. “We didn't say it had anything to do with you.”
He spoke very slowly, seemingly making casual conversation, but in truth, every word was designed to observe Ryan's reaction.
“It's just that nearby residents mentioned you were seen near Church Street the night before yesterday.”
Ryan nodded frankly. “I was mugged, and then I ran away.”
This was the truth, so he spoke with exceptional composure.
Jonathan continued to look at him. “What did the people who mugged you look like?”
Ryan briefly described their appearances.
Jonathan nodded slightly after listening, then asked as if in passing, “How has your sleep been lately?”
Ryan's heart tightened slightly, but his face only showed a weary, bitter smile.
“Not very good. My lung condition keeps me coughing, so I can only sleep with the help of laudanum.”
Beside him, Vera suddenly looked up, her cold gaze quickly sweeping across the entire room.
A faint, lingering smell of burning still hung in the air. Ryan's fingers slowly tightened.
Vera frowned slightly. “Did you burn something?”
The most dangerous question had arrived right on schedule.
Ryan was well-prepared. He cleared his throat and replied calmly, “Old bills and some moldy paper. The room is too damp.”
After saying this, he actively pointed toward the side of the table, where the ashes of some ordinary scrap paper remained. It was a cover-up he had prepared in advance.
Jonathan glanced at it but said nothing.
Then, Vera suddenly closed her eyes, and the surrounding air instantly fell into a dead silence.
Ryan held his breath, his heart nearly stopping.
A few seconds later, Vera opened her eyes and shook her head gently.
“Very weak. Only traces of ordinary contact.”
Jonathan's eyes flickered slightly, and then he wore a gentle smile.
“It seems it was just some lingering residue picked up in passing.”
“Sorry to disturb your rest, Mr. Ryan.”
He nodded politely, then turned and left with his two colleagues.
The sound of their footsteps slowly faded down the stairs.
Only when the surroundings fell completely silent did Ryan suddenly realize that his back was already thoroughly drenched in cold sweat.
Rate on N.U.
