Thoughts

After leaving the police station, Ryan did not go home immediately.

Instead, he looped around the streets twice, and only after confirming that no one was following him and that there were no unusual gazes did he turn into the familiar slum alleyway.

The night was already deep.

Gas streetlamps hung dimly along the roadside, the damp, cold mist slowly drifting beneath their glow. Occasionally, the sound of arguing drunkards drifted from afar, along with the rustling of stray dogs rummaging through trash cans.

Ryan walked slowly with his hands in his pockets and his head down, only truly breathing a sigh of relief when he saw his familiar apartment building.

Too many things had happened today.

The school, the East Port, the ghoul, the police station.

Every single one of them reminded him that he was no longer living in a peaceful world.

Especially the battle at the East Port warehouse; looking back now, it still left him with a lingering sense of dread.

The ghoul's strength, speed, and recovery capabilities far surpassed those of ordinary humans.

If the Lantern's glow hadn't possessed a certain counteracting effect against it, if he hadn't noticed the anomaly beforehand, or if his reactions had been even slightly slower, he would most likely be the one lying dead in the warehouse right now.

At this thought, Ryan couldn't help but give a bitter laugh.

“As expected.”

“Those stories in novels about killing enemies above one's rank are all lies.”

“When a real fight starts, might makes right.”

Upon returning to the attic, he immediately locked the door, checked the windows, and after confirming everything was secure, pulled all the thick blackout curtains shut.

The room quickly plunged into darkness.

Only then did Ryan take off his glasses.

The tiny speck of glow deep within his left eye slowly lit up, noticeably dimmer than it had been a few days ago.

Today's exhaustion was immense. Not only had he drained his Lantern's glow, but his mental state was also near its limit.

Ryan sat at the edge of the bed and pulled the laudanum from his drawer. After a moment of hesitation, he only took a small sip before closing his eyes, letting his consciousness gradually sink into a dream.

The familiar grey-white Wood appeared before him once more.

Mist drifted slowly, with quiet clusters of Glory floating in the distance.

The Wood was still mysterious and quiet, but it was no longer as filled with temptation as it had been at the beginning. Ryan now knew that this place was not safe—at least not for his current self.

He sat down on a piece of deadwood, quietly sorting through everything that had happened today.

The presentations at school, the anomaly at the East Port, the ghoul in the warehouse, Jonathan, and the police station—each event flashed repeatedly through his mind.

Then, Ryan suddenly realized that there was something wrong with his thinking.

He was clearly out of danger and back in a safe area, yet his brain was still analyzing.

Where did the ghoul come from?

What exactly was hidden in the East Port warehouse?

Why did the Winter aspect appear there?

What on earth was happening at the docks?

Countless questions kept popping up, like a fishhook caught in his brain, making him unable to resist digging for the answers behind them.

Ryan fell silent for a long time. Suddenly, he raised his hand and slapped himself hard across the face.

Slap.

The sound was exceptionally clear in the Wood.

“Dammit.”

“I almost forgot.”

He cursed under his breath, finally realizing where the problem lay.

Lantern.

He was of the Lantern aspect.

Seeking knowledge, exploring, and discovering the truth—these were inherently the instincts of the Lantern.

Just as Winter would gravitate toward death, Grail would indulge in desire, and Moth would pursue change, the Lantern would relentlessly chase knowledge.

This was not a mere hobby, but a predisposition, an instinct that ran deep within his bones.

When ordinary people encountered a ghoul, their first reaction would be to stay far away.

But what about him?

He had almost been killed just moments ago, yet the second he turned around, he was contemplating the origin of the ghoul and even thinking about returning to the East Port to investigate.

At this thought, Ryan suddenly understood why those Lantern cultists died so quickly.

It wasn't because they were stupid; they simply couldn't help themselves.

When you discovered a secret, you would always feel there was an even greater secret behind it. When you learned an answer, you would want to know the answer behind that answer, sinking deeper and deeper until you buried yourself.

Deep within the Wood, the grey-white mist rolled slowly, and a larger structure of Glory could be vaguely seen hidden within.

Mysterious, dangerous, and full of temptation, it seemed as if just stepping a little closer would grant him more knowledge, more answers.

Ryan watched quietly.

After a long while, he finally took the initiative to avert his gaze.

“I understand now,”

he murmured softly.

“The issue was never about knowing or not knowing.”

“It is about who does the knowing.”

At this moment, Ryan suddenly figured it out.

He had actually fallen into a misconception before.

What was the biggest flaw of Lantern cultists?

It wasn't their pursuit of knowledge, but their preference for always pursuing that knowledge in person.

When they found a clue, they investigated it themselves. When they found a secret, they went after it themselves. When they found danger, they took the risk themselves.

In the end, they threw their lives away. They barely obtained any knowledge, but lost their lives first.

This was clearly illogical.

At this thought, Ryan suddenly smiled—a smile that was slightly sinister, yet also filled with relief.

Investigations still had to be conducted, and knowledge still had to be acquired; after all, this was his path.

But the method could be completely changed.

Upon discovering an anomaly, he would record it, observe it, and gather intelligence first. If he could report it, he would. If he could borrow someone else's blade, he would. If he could let others pave the way, he would.

Only when there was absolutely no other choice would he personally step onto the field.

Only then would it make sense.

With these thoughts, Ryan felt his mind clear up significantly.

The Glory within his body flowed slowly, much smoother than before.

He had finally set the tone for his future development.

Stay low-key, be cautious, remain hidden, observe, gather intelligence, accumulate resources, and grow steadily.

As for those truly dangerous secrets, he would deal with them later.

The truth wouldn't grow legs and run away. There would always be someone who would die in his place first, and he only needed to stand behind them, observing the traces they left behind.

Having figured all this out, Ryan did not linger any longer. He began to moderately absorb the floating Glory around him, restoring his depleted mental energy and strength.

Only when he was near his limit did he immediately stop and exit the dream.

Over the next two days, Ryan did not go to the East Port again—at least not on the surface.

His experience in the warehouse had made him realize that the extraordinary world was far more dangerous than he had imagined.

The death registries in the archive were merely numbers, but death in the extraordinary world would leap straight at his face.

And so, life returned to tranquility.

Every morning, he woke up on time, boiled water, ate brown bread, put on his glasses, and went to the archive. He sorted files, transcribed documents, compiled death records, and occasionally helped the formal clerks check old archives.

In the evening, he returned to his attic. Sometimes he went to the church to have a bowl of free thick soup, then slowly walked back to the slums.

On the surface, it seemed as if nothing had changed.

But Ryan knew that he was already different.

The most obvious change was his sleep.

Ever since he came into contact with the Lantern's glow, his sleep duration had been gradually shortening, and his brain was becoming increasingly active.

The archives he read during the day, the conversations he heard, the people he saw on the street, and even a single news report in the newspaper would automatically be analyzed, organized, and connected in his mind, as if a machine were constantly running.

This change significantly improved his learning ability, but at the same time, it made him more vigilant.

Because sometimes, even he himself could not distinguish which thoughts belonged to Ryan and which belonged to the Lantern.

Therefore, Ryan began to strictly control the number of times he entered the Wood.

Changing from once a day to once every two or three days, he only absorbed a moderate amount of Glory each time and left immediately after recovering his state, never allowing himself to be greedy.

He even specifically bought a notebook to record his sleep, mental state, changes in his Lantern's glow, and his feelings after each entry into the Wood.

Organizing himself just like he organized archives.

Because he believed one thing more and more.

Knowledge was indeed precious.

But only on the premise that the person who obtained it was still alive.

And in this quiet manner, time trickled by.

Very soon.

Friday arrived.

And with it, the presentation day at Harrington Girls' Academy.