Deciphering

The modified basement had walls made of ten-centimeter-thick steel plates, making it even sturdier than the safe in Lynch's home.

Strange patterns were carved into the floor, occasionally flashing with a faint, eerie green light.

Upon entering, Lynch felt as if he had stepped into a chemistry lab. Four workbenches were neatly arranged, and several reagent cabinets filled with various bottles and jars were secured with heavy padlocks. On the stove in the center of the room, beakers and flasks of all sizes sat atop four gas burners of varying dimensions.

Were apothecaries of this era all like this?

Shouldn't they be wearing black robes and wizard hats, stirring a large cauldron over a fire, occasionally tossing in a few delicious children, while a stupid-looking black cat next to them tried to steal a sip of the potion?

Sorry, that was a slip of his past life's age showing.

“What you're describing is from the Fourth Age. Times have changed, Mr. Detective.” Miss Valente tapped Lynch's back with her folding fan. “We're in the Age of Steam now. Boiling children in a cauldron is far too inefficient. Nowadays, we use steam machinery to extract essential oils from infants directly. There was actually some in the potion you drank earlier.”

This girl had some seriously dark humor, fitting for someone with a background as a doctor and apothecary. Lynch's lip twitched, and his smile faded. “That's a bit of a dark joke.”

“Mr. Levive, I never joke about such things, nor am I allowed to.”

“Hiss... Seriously?”

“Pfft, of course it's fake. That's what you get for teasing me about boiling children.” The noble girl stuck out her tongue playfully. Just as Lynch breathed a sigh of relief, she added, “Corpse oil can only be used in specific death potions. It's completely undrinkable, unless you want to turn into a zombie. Well, if you're interested in tasting it, I can prepare some for you.”

No, really, is the taste of you occultists always this unfathomably bizarre?

Not daring to test the limits of a medical professional's stomach any further, Lynch quickly stepped into the laboratory. He watched as Miss Valente carefully closed the thick security door.

“This is my workshop. It has been specially reinforced, so it's highly secure.”

“Indeed. Steel plates this thick are enough to keep any enemy out.”

“Oh, that's not it. It's so that if a potion fails, the mystery won't drive everyone outside to commit mass suicide. Or, if I lose control inside, the twisted one I become won't be able to break out and slaughter everyone in the mansion. For a researcher, a room like this is absolutely necessary.”

Miss Valente spoke casually, and surprisingly, Lynch listened just as calmly. He suddenly realized that his heart didn't even skip a beat upon hearing this. He was even contemplating whether he should rent Mrs. Maggie's fourth floor as well and convert it into a laboratory. After all, he would eventually have to deal with occult knowledge like rituals sooner or later, so it was best to prepare early.

He would think about it later.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Lynch selected a blank wall and began pinning the documents up one by one with magnets. As he worked, he spoke:

“First of all, this is a very normal action. If simply doing this could activate the effects of mystery documents, then Rhine and Norin would already be littered with corpses. So, in theory, this is safe.”

Miss Valente leaned against the wall. She didn't look at the documents Lynch was hanging up, but simply watched him focus on arranging the papers. The light in her eyes flickered in sync with the dancing gas lamps, matching Lynch's intensity.

“The common thread among all the victims is that they died after August 15, Year 37. This means that starting from August 15, something had already been born.”

“Born, rather than discovered?” Miss Valente asked.

“I believe so. If it were an already existing document, it's impossible that there wouldn't have been a single anomaly before, only for it to suddenly erupt on the fifteenth.”

“Reasonable. But creating mystery documents out of thin air—especially ones with such a high level of danger—is likely something ordinary people would find extremely difficult to achieve.”

“It's just like that day at the Archaeological Association, when I wanted to record the information of that mirror. But Professor Green also mentioned that day that there are other ways to bypass the restrictions of creating mystery documents. It's just that there is no such thing as 'innocent until proven ignorant' in the world of the occult. Once a mystery document is born, it drains the creator's soul. The creator will often fall into an endless madness until they are completely dead.”

“I see. That explains the cause of death for those master artisans. They all went mad.”

Without realizing it, Miss Valente had stopped staring at Lynch's face. Instead, she focused on his movements as he organized the documents, earnestly helping him analyze the situation:

“They were guided by something, unconsciously producing the mystery documents according to certain requirements.”

Lynch sighed, his hands pausing for a moment. “They carried the task entrusted to them by the nation, as well as the commission of the Rose family. I don't know if these two factors conceptually helped bypass the restrictions of mystery documents. According to some stories I've read in the past, acting in the name of a nation or using national fortune as a medium can have very special effects. Perhaps it was through this that they broke the restriction and completed the mystery documents. As a result, the three most critical master artisans died from inexplicable madness.”

Miss Valente added thoughtfully, “And the people after them—whether they were workers, students, professors, or the project directors—were only eroded by the mystery because they looked at the things produced during the seminar.”

“That should be the case. So, the first step is to pick out all the results of the seminar.” Lynch pressed the last magnet into place and took two steps back to admire his work. “This is the result of that seminar—the overall planning map of the Norin-Rhine Railway.”

It wasn't actually a single blueprint, but a planning map spliced together from many different sheets. It had indeed been consolidated onto a single sheet later on, but that copy hadn't been salvaged.

However, this did not hinder Lynch's work. He instinctively followed the numbering, folding the edges of the scattered blueprints and overlapping them to piece them together. On the wall, they formed a complete pattern that included the Bester Tunnel cutting through the Carlos Mountain Range.

But, as expected, nothing happened.

“Leave the rest to me. To be honest, my willpower is very high. With the aid of the soul-returning grass, I can even look directly at the true forms of some evil gods. While I can't be absolutely certain, I should be able to withstand the filthy erosion of the mystery documents for a short time. I have confidence in this, so...”

“Alright, then I won't look, won't think, and won't guess.” Miss Valente didn't press the matter at all, immediately nodding. “From now on, you look at the documents, and I will only look at you. I'll act as your safety officer. If you show any abnormalities, I will beat you awake.”

With that, she racked the bolt of her folding fan.

???

Wait, what exactly are you going to use to beat me awake?

Seeing Miss Valente cover her mouth and giggle, though her eyes were filled with deep worry, Lynch didn't say much. He simply lifted his hat and bowed slightly to her.

Once we decipher this mystery document, we'll head back to the apartment for dinner. The dinner back at the apartment is already cooked and waiting for me.

Amused by his own thoughts, Lynch clenched his pipe in his teeth and turned his attention to the documents on the wall. Miss Valente indeed kept her word, looking straight ahead, her delicate gaze lingering on Lynch's face.

No, this isn't right. Although folding them like this forms a complete pattern, it doesn't match Donnie's situation. Those photos didn't have creases, and there's no way he could have arranged the photos like this.

So, a normal arrangement should suffice. Let's separate them.

But it's still not right. The photos are smaller than normal drawings. Let me try taking a few steps back. The visual effect from this distance is similar, but there's still no reaction. The orientation must be wrong.

Right, the people who were subsequently eroded and killed by the contamination must have seen the complete planning map, not separate pieces. Yet Donnie's photos were separate, which means this isn't actually the key point.

Then what is the key point? Is there something I'm not seeing? Invisible ink? Unlikely.

Although he doubted it, Lynch still filled a basin with water and carried it over to the wall. He really wanted to take a few sheets down and try wetting them, but after hesitating several times, he decided against the risk. After all, there was only one copy of this; if it was ruined, it would be gone forever.

Lynch sighed, shaking his head as he stepped back a few paces. He stared blankly at the water in the basin. The flickering flames of the gas lamps reflected as points of light in the water, their swaying motion catching Lynch's eye.

Lynch instinctively stared at the light and shadow on the water's surface for a few moments, and in doing so, he also saw the mirrored reflections of the documents in the water.

Huh?

Interesting. Looking at them directly didn't give off any such impression, but in the reflection, some of the maps in these individual planning sheets look remarkably like strange symbols.

They look a bit like patterns on certain archaeological totems, but more twisted and abstract. Linking them might seem a bit far-fetched, but once the resemblance is noted, the more I look, the more they resemble bizarre symbols. Could it be that this is... Wait, no.

Lynch was merely letting his mind wander and speculate wildly, unable to be certain. He hadn't even intended to decipher it just now; the thought had simply crossed his mind, so quickly that he hadn't even fully processed it himself.

Yet at that very moment, an unprecedented, sharp pain shot through his glabella, as if a red-hot steel needle had been violently driven into his brain.

Thump-thump, thump-thump. A sound like a beating heart echoed in his ears, pounding against his eardrums beat by beat, like a hammer striking his chest.

His vision blurred, and a crimson mist spread out of nowhere. In an instant, everything around him dissolved into a haze.

Fear, anxiety, dizziness, and nausea—all sorts of sensations assaulted Lynch's brain.

At this moment, he finally recalled the advice Mr. Klin had given him during his lifetime.

Deciphering a mystery document is an extremely dangerous act. You don't even need to read it. The moment you realize you have found the method to decipher it, you are already facing death.

Holy shit.