Adrian

The warehouse fell silent once more.

Burning wooden beams collapsed one after another, crashing down with showers of sparks and sending charred splinters flying in all directions.

Flames slowly crept along the remaining rafters, their orange-red glow casting flickering light and shadow across the ruins.

Thick smoke billowed up into the night sky through the massive gap in the roof.

The air remained scorching hot.

Yet, Ryan felt a chill run through his entire body.

He curled behind a pile of collapsed wooden crates, pressing his body flat against the cold wall, not daring to move an inch.

Sweat slowly dripped from his temple down his cheek, landing on his cuff, but he didn't even dare to wipe it away.

His eyes remained fixed on the center of the warehouse.

There was nothing left there now.

The ashes Victor had left behind were swept up by the heat, scattering in all directions like a layer of greyish-white snow, slowly blanketing the scorched floor.

The Professor stood there.

He looked down at the ashes on the ground, then raised his head to gaze in the direction where the man in the suit had departed, the flickering flames reflecting off his lenses. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

After a moment.

He gently adjusted his glasses, picked up his cane, and walked toward the exit of the warehouse.

His footsteps gradually faded into the distance.

Until, finally, they vanished completely.

Ryan still did not move.

He simply waited in silence.

Working at the archive for the past six months had instilled a habit in him.

Double-checking.

He had to verify everything.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Aside from the occasional crackle of burning wood, not another sound could be heard in the entire warehouse.

The fire continued to burn.

The night wind swept thick smoke in through the gap in the roof and carried it slowly out the other side.

The entire warehouse returned to a state of dead silence.

Ryan finally exhaled slowly.

He had held that breath in his chest for far too long, only now allowing himself to release it.

His tense shoulders also relaxed slightly.

Supporting himself against the wooden crates, he stood up cautiously, his knees somewhat numb from holding the same posture for so long.

First, he glanced toward the warehouse entrance.

There was no one there.

Then, he carefully scanned his surroundings.

Aside from the burning ruins, there was not a single living thing.

After confirming there was no danger, he finally took a light step forward.

His foot snapped a charred piece of wood.

The sound wasn't loud.

Yet, it rang out with exceptional clarity in the empty warehouse.

Ryan's heart tightened inexplicably.

An indescribable sense of unease suddenly welled up inside him.

Just then.

A footstep suddenly sounded behind him.

Ryan's body froze instantly.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

His heart began to hammer wildly.

He had absolutely no idea when the other person had come up behind him.

He had been staring at the warehouse exit the entire time.

If someone had returned.

It would have been impossible for him not to notice.

Unless...

...the other party hadn't entered through the door at all.

Ryan slowly turned around.

The firelight flickered gently.

Illuminating a familiar figure.

A long grey trench coat.

A black cane.

Round-framed glasses.

The Professor, who had supposedly just left, was now standing a mere three or four paces away from him.

He stood there quietly.

Neither speaking nor drawing closer.

He simply gazed at Ryan with a calm expression.

Up close, Ryan suddenly realized that the man looked incredibly ordinary.

He looked just like any history professor from a West End university who had just finished an evening lecture.

His hair was meticulously combed, his clothes neat and tidy without the slightest disarray, and not even a speck of dust clung to his cuffs.

Yet, the more ordinary he appeared.

...the greater the pressure Ryan felt in his heart.

Just moments ago, this man had used this exact calm demeanor to effortlessly slaughter an intelligent ghoul.

And now.

He was standing right in front of him.

With only a few paces separating them.

At this distance, the man looked even more like a common university lecturer than before.

He bore no imposing aura of a powerful figure.

He didn't even look like he had just been in a fight.

But this was precisely what sent a shiver down Ryan's spine.

Someone who could remain this calm was the truly dangerous one.

A Lantern Scholar.

Someone who had truly walked deep down this path.

The man stopped before Ryan, his calm gaze evaluating him.

There was no hostility.

Nor was there the oppressive weight of a predator sizing up its prey.

He looked more like a teacher observing a student who had accidentally stumbled into his laboratory.

Ryan did not dare to move.

Scenes from moments ago flashed rapidly through his mind.

While Ryan's thoughts were in a wild flurry.

The man suddenly reached out.

Ryan's pupils contracted sharply, and he instinctively wanted to retreat.

But the hand did not strike.

Instead, it gently straightened his folded collar.

Then, it brushed away a piece of charred wood debris from his shoulder.

The gesture was as natural as an elder tidying up a junior's attire.

Afterward, his gaze fell upon Ryan's chest.

To be precise, it landed on the slightly crooked bronze badge pinned to his chest.

The man adjusted his glasses and spoke in a warm tone.

“East End Archive?”

Ryan's heart sank instantly.

With just a single glance, the man had completely seen through his identity.

Ryan even began to wonder if the man already knew he was a transmigrator.

Countless thoughts exploded in his head almost simultaneously.

Yet in the next second.

The man gently pointed at his chest.

“Your badge is crooked.”

Ryan blinked, dazed.

He instinctively looked down.

Only then did he realize that his archive badge had somehow slipped out of his clothes.

After his frantic run and the shockwaves of the battle, the pin had come halfway undone.

The badge hung askew on his chest.

The emblem of the East End Archive on it was clear as day in the firelight.

Ryan fell silent.

The air fell silent as well.

The countless terrifying assumptions he had just conjured up vanished into thin air in an instant.

So...

...it was just because of the badge.

The man seemed entirely oblivious to Ryan's mental gymnastics. He simply straightened the badge for him and nodded with satisfaction.

“Young man, it is always better to keep one's uniform neat and tidy.”

Ryan's ears grew slightly warm.

He had actually scared himself half to death over nothing.

The man took half a step back, looking Ryan up and down once more.

“How old are you?”

“Almost twenty-one.”

“Have you attended university?”

Ryan shook his head.

“No. I went straight to the archive after graduating school.”

He asked casually, “How long have you been working at the archive?”

“About half a year.”

“Have you attended university?”

Ryan shook his head. “No.”

The Professor showed a trace of regret.

“A pity.”

He glanced at the warehouse, which had already been reduced to ruins.

Then he looked back at Ryan.

“To restrain yourself from running around blindly in a place like this, and to keep observing the situation instead of letting fear dominate you...”

“...there are not many young people like that nowadays.”

Ryan remained silent.

The Professor continued.

“Working at an archive is excellent for cultivating patience.”

“However, that is all.”

“If you only organize the records left behind by others day in and day out, you will spend your entire life seeing only a world that has been packaged by someone else.”

“True knowledge does not tuck itself neatly into archiving cabinets.”

With that.

He pulled an exquisitely crafted business card from the inner pocket of his trench coat.

It was made of milk-white cardstock.

The edges were embossed with dull gold patterns.

The paper gave off a faint scent of ink.

He handed it to Ryan.

“If you change your mind in the future.”

“You may come find me.”

Ryan took the card.

There were two lines of text written on it.

St. Blaise Royal Academy

Department of History and Natural Philosophy

Below that was an address.

West End, Bloomsbury.

At the very bottom.

...was the Professor's name.

Adrian White.

There were no titles.

No positions.

Only a name.

The Professor adjusted his glasses.

His voice remained gentle.

“Auditing classes is free of charge.”

“The library is also open to those outside the academy.”

“If you ever grow tired of staying in the archive, you are welcome to attend a few lectures.”

“It is far more interesting than organizing papers left behind by others.”

Having said his piece.

He did not wait for a reply.

He merely gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.

Then, picking up his cane, he slowly departed along the burning street.

The firelight cast his shadow long behind him.

His retreating figure looked no different from any other university lecturer heading home after a long day of work.

Only when that figure had completely vanished into the night.

...did Ryan look down at the business card in his palm.

Under the glow of the flames.

The card lay quietly in his hand.

There were no extraordinary fluctuations.

No hidden rituals.

And certainly no mysterious marks.

It truly was just an ordinary university business card.