The night fell quiet once more.
The fire in the warehouse had died down significantly.
The charred wooden beams crackled softly as they burned, and blackened ash drifted slowly on the night breeze, looking like fine snow on a winter night under the glow of the flames.
Ryan stood where he was, not leaving immediately.
He kept his eyes on the direction in which the Professor had departed.
The breath he had been holding in his chest was finally released.
In just a dozen or so minutes.
He had met three people who stood at the true heights of the extraordinary world.
A Knock cultist.
A Soul-Stitched monster.
A Lantern Scholar.
As for himself, he was merely a nobody who had only recently stepped onto the path of Lantern.
If even a fraction of the aftershocks from earlier had hit him, there would likely be one more pile of ash lying here tonight.
At that thought, Ryan couldn't help but give a bitter smile.
“I really got lucky.”
He looked down at the pile of grayish-white ash.
That was where the ghoul had fallen.
The chill had completely dissipated.
That bone-chilling cold had vanished as well.
Only a fine layer of grayish-white powder covered the ground.
The Professor hadn't spared it a second glance when he left.
As if such a thing wasn't worth taking at all.
But Ryan knelt down. He didn't reach out to touch it directly.
Instead, he picked up a charred piece of wood from nearby and gently brushed away the top layer of ash.
Inside, it was still ash.
No bones.
No flesh.
Not even a trace of organic tissue remained.
It was as if the entire body had been completely reduced to powder during the clash just now.
Yet, as the Lantern's glow slowly flowed into his left eye, his vision shifted slightly.
The ash, which would look ordinary to normal people, revealed a different color under the illumination of the Lantern's glow.
Speck by speck.
Faint, grayish-white points of light appeared, like falling snow in winter, or countless tiny ice crystals.
They hadn't completely dissipated; instead, they clung to the ash.
Ryan's heart stirred slightly.
“There's still some power of the Winter aspect remaining...”
Though it was extremely weak, it hadn't vanished entirely.
He immediately thought of something.
This kind of thing might be useful in the future.
Whether for research or trade, it was at least better than leaving it here.
With that in mind,
Ryan took out several discarded files from his briefcase and folded them into a makeshift paper bag.
Then he pulled out his pen case.
He set aside all the pens and ink inside.
The emptied metal tin was perfect for holding things.
He moved slowly, gathering the ash bit by bit.
He wasn't greedy and didn't take all of it.
He only selected the parts that still retained the grayish-white points of light.
Once he finished gathering them, the tin was about a third full.
Ryan put the lid back on and wrapped it twice with a strip of cloth.
After confirming it wouldn't spill, he tucked it back into the deepest part of his briefcase.
Having done all this,
he looked up at the warehouse once more.
The fire was already under control.
In the distance, people were constantly rushing over with buckets.
The fire brigade had also finally entered the port area.
If he stayed any longer, he would easily run into ordinary citizens.
Ryan pulled his hat brim low.
He turned and left.
...
He made his way back to the square.
The streets were still in chaos.
Injured people were everywhere.
The nuns were working up a sweat.
Stretcher after stretcher was carried toward the church.
The air was thick with a mixture of blood, coal smoke, and rubbing alcohol.
Quite a few patrol officers were so exhausted they sat directly on the roadside.
Others were constantly working to maintain order.
Just as Ryan crossed a street, he suddenly heard a familiar voice.
“Ryan.”
There was even a hint of disbelief in the voice.
Ryan turned around.
Simon was standing beside a police carriage.
Half of his face was covered in soot, and he held a cigarette that had burned down almost to his fingers.
The two locked eyes, and a dead silence hung between them for a good two or three seconds.
Simon sized him up from head to toe, took two steps closer, and even reached out to pat his shoulder. Only after confirming he was alive did he wear an expression as if he had seen a ghost.
“You actually managed to come back?”
Ryan smiled.
“Why wouldn't I?”
Simon walked a circle around him.
“Missing an arm?”
“No.”
“Broken leg?”
“No.”
“Cursed?”
“...Probably not.”
Simon fell silent for a few seconds.
Suddenly, he sighed.
“Damn it.”
“I guess it's true that the good die young, and the wicked live forever.”
Ryan couldn't help but laugh.
Simon laughed too.
But his smile quickly faded.
He lowered his voice.
“You really went?”
Ryan nodded.
“I did.”
“Inside the warehouse?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you see?”
Ryan fell silent for a moment.
He didn't mention the Professor or the Knock cultist.
He simply said,
“There was no one left.”
“Only fire.”
“And a dead monster.”
Simon stared into his eyes.
He watched him for several seconds.
In the end, he asked nothing.
Sometimes, ignorance was safer than knowledge.
He simply took a deep drag of his cigarette.
“It's good that you're back.”
“Do less of this kind of thing in the future.”
“You won't always be this lucky.”
Ryan nodded.
“I know.”
The two didn't pursue the topic further and joined the rescue efforts together.
They stayed busy until the early hours of the morning, when the great fire in East Port was finally extinguished.
The bodies were transported away, and the injured were mostly sent to hospitals.
The patrol officers began taking over the scene.
The people from the Archive were responsible for registering the casualties.
By the time everything was wrapped up,
the eastern sky was already turning pale. Simon was so exhausted that he sat directly on the carriage steps.
He finished his last puff of cigarette.
“Let's go.”
“Today counts as overtime.”
“I hope the director doesn't forget to calculate our subsidies.”
Ryan couldn't help but smile.
“He probably will.”
“He'd better.”
Simon stood up.
“Otherwise, I'll steal the money for moving the bodies today right out of his desk.”
...
Morning.
The two left East Port by carriage.
As they distanced themselves,
the coal smoke in the air gradually dispersed.
The streets returned to what a London morning should look like.
Newspaper boys began shouting their wares.
Milkmen pushed their wooden carts, delivering door-to-door.
The scent of freshly baked bread drifted from the bakeries.
Everything that had happened last night felt like a nightmare from another city entirely.
After returning to the East End Archive, the two briefly handed off their work.
The director didn't even ask many questions, simply telling them to go back and rest.
After several consecutive days of high-intensity work, nearly everyone in the Archive was on the verge of collapse.
Ryan left with his briefcase in hand, slowly walking all the way back to his attic.
By the time Ryan returned to the apartment, the sky had already grown completely dark.
The consecutive days of the East Port incident had made the entire apartment building much quieter.
When he pushed open the courtyard gate, Irene was sitting at a small table near the first-floor entrance, organizing ledgers by the light of a gas lamp.
She had already changed out of her school uniform and was wearing a dark blue dress, her long hair simply tied back, with a ring of keys resting beside her hand.
Hearing the door open, she looked up.
Seeing it was Ryan, she visibly breathed a sigh of relief.
“You're finally back,” she said with a smile as she closed the ledger.
“The newspapers have been writing about East Port every day lately. My mother was worried something might have happened to you.”
Ryan took off his hat and smiled.
“I was just a bit busy with work.”
Irene looked at his dust-covered overcoat.
“Just a bit busy?”
“Is the Archive really short-staffed right now?”
Ryan was taken aback.
“Why do you ask?”
Irene gently shook the East London Daily in her hand.
“Didn't you go back to school to do a presentation a while ago?”
“Afterward, some teachers at school mentioned that the East End Archive has been hiring clerks and scribes lately.”
“So I was thinking...”
She paused.
“Could I give it a try?”
“I can't just help my mother collect rent forever.”
“It's time I found a proper job.”
Ryan took a serious look at her.
He could guess that her family couldn't afford to support her further education.
Irene was literate, had good handwriting, and had gone to school.
Being a scribe indeed gave her an advantage over most young people in the East End.
“You could,” he said.
“But it would be best to bring a letter of recommendation.”
Irene's eyes lit up slightly.
“Would you be willing to write one for me?”
Ryan nodded.
“Just a recommendation.”
“Whether you get hired still depends on the exam.”
But Irene was already smiling.
“Having a recommendation is already wonderful.”
Rate on N.U.
