Tabloid

Just a short while ago, little Martha had mentioned that her reporter sister had a grand vision.

To publish a specialized tabloid dedicated to reporting mysterious events, hiring the unruly kids from King District as special correspondents to sniff out rumors and street talk across the city. This would not only fulfill Maya's sense of duty as a reporter, but also help out those children.

Although Lynch didn't quite understand this so-called reporter's sense of responsibility, nor did he dare ask, he still wished to lend a hand for little Martha's sake.

Besides, reshaping this world in such a manner felt rather intriguing.

“Right now, every time a mysterious event occurs, the newspapers brush it off using official rhetoric. For instance, there have already been seven gas pipeline explosions and three ground subsidences this month alone. The general public isn't stupid; they're bound to find it suspicious.”

Sitting across from Mr. V, Lynch pointed at Maya beside him and said:

“Reporters are naturally inclined to pursue the truth, and the most dangerous aspect of mysterious events is often someone trying to uncover that truth. Last time, they managed to spy on Deep Ones; next time, there's no guaranteeing they won't try chatting with an evil god. It doesn't matter if they end up dead, but if they actually discover the truth and publish it, things will become exceedingly troublesome.”

Maya lowered her head and wrung her fingers, putting on the picture of penitence, though everyone present could tell this was a textbook case of admitting a mistake while fully intending to do it again next time.

“That is indeed the case, but the press is becoming increasingly difficult to control nowadays,” Mr. V sighed. “Especially with more and more reporters like this young lady appearing. I am also quite worried that one day, information edging closer to the truth will leak out. That could have repercussions for the entire world.”

Lynch, however, felt a bit puzzled. “Is it really that severe? At most, wouldn't it just cause some panic? It's not completely hopeless, is it?”

“Mr. Levive, have you forgotten what the Dreamlands actually are? It is the manifestation of the fears and nightmares of all living beings. Panic—especially panic toward mystery—is the single greatest amplifier of the Dreamlands.”

Lynch finally understood. Plague, war, famine, death—the reason they invited great catastrophes was precisely because they triggered people's panic to the greatest extent, causing the Dreamlands to grow exponentially stronger until it ultimately eroded the mortal world in reverse.

“Yet the Watchers have no better solution. The world today is unlike what it was a century ago; many things are no longer easy to control, and we can only do our best. Why, do you have a good idea?”

“Yeah, I have a thought.” Lynch recalled a common method employed by many governments in his past life. “Wouldn't it be solved if we found a way to make them not believe it even when they see it?”

“Hmm?”

“Find a few newspapers specifically to publish this sort of news—the more exaggerated, the better. Ideally, it should sound like utter nonsense right from the start.” Lynch smiled, speaking with certainty. “After reading so much of this news, people will look at the newspaper's title and immediately think it's all just entertainment gossip. Even if they eventually read the same content in a serious newspaper, they'll merely think the serious paper has degraded and started making up stories too.”

“Go on.” Mr. V rested his chin on his clasped hands, furrowing his brows in contemplation.

“It's the principle of channeling rather than blocking. It's far safer for us to do this ourselves than to let those reckless reporters run wild.”

“Heheh.”

“No one is complimenting you.” Everyone in the room glared at the giggling Maya.

“In short, this allows us to control the degree of nonsense as much as possible, achieving our goal without causing adverse backlash. Furthermore, doing this offers another benefit.”

Mr. V leaned forward. “What is it?”

“Don't you think information is too isolated between official mystery institutions and semi-official secret societies? Every morning when I read the paper, I have to guess what happened where. That's far too passive.” Lynch pointed downward. “Wouldn't it be much more convenient if I could open the paper and immediately know that that thing appeared in a certain town yesterday?”

“You mean publishing specific details in the newspaper implicitly?”

“Using that specialized tabloid. As long as we embed special ciphers into the real information so only those in the know can decipher it, insiders will treat it as authentic news, while outsiders will just dismiss it as fabricated stories.”

“I see.” Mr. V smiled as well. “That way, government agencies and secret societies will probably want a copy in hand, and even independent investigators like you will subscribe, ensuring circulation.”

“That's just a bonus.”

Lynch noticed Maya covertly glancing at him, mouthing a silent thank you.

“What you've said actually makes a lot of sense,” Mr. V said. “However, the implications are quite significant; I cannot make this decision on my own. I will report it to headquarters as soon as possible and let them discuss it before making a determination.”

That made things easy. Both sides quickly settled on the specifics, leaving the rest to the veteran bureaucrat Mr. V. Meanwhile, Maya was dragged out amid her loud wails, having failed to secure any scoop regarding the Color Out of Space to the very end.

To that, one could only say: she had it coming.

Lynch, on the other hand, spent some time outside the archive room paying his sincere respects.

The archive room was temporarily sealed, awaiting the arrival of a new archivist from headquarters. He had wanted to go inside to bid a final farewell to this victim of the railway incident, but in the end, he had to give up on the idea.

Officer Natalie, who should have been the more grief-stricken one, appeared remarkably unburdened. She simply took off her hat at the doorway and bowed in a final farewell to Klin, then patted Lynch on the shoulder, and the two left the club together.

Just as she had said, this was a fate no Soul Severer could escape; Klin had merely taken that step ahead of them.

Fair enough. In that case, let's see who can walk further along this road.

Transmigrators were inherently adept at adjusting their mindsets, and Lynch quickly cleared away the gloom in his heart.

Standing before the grand gates of the Knowledge Library once more, Lynch placed his hand upon them.

Immediately afterward, he found himself once again suspended in the void, scrutinized by countless gazes.

This time, without needing any reminder from his neighbor, Lynch conscientiously lowered his gaze. Within his mind, a soft, low chuckle came from his neighbor.

‘A fall into the pit, a gain in your wit. Being weak temporarily isn't shameful, but staying weak forever is.’

【Well, quite spirited.】

‘So stop peeping at everything; looking at everything will only harm you.’

However, the scrutiny this time lasted unusually long. After an indeterminate period, Lynch finally appeared in the hallway behind the doors. Standing before him was still the same white-haired, white-bearded old man from last time, and Natalie was already waiting inside.

“Mr. Lynch Levive.”

The old man still wore that sagacious smile, but after their previous monetary transaction, Lynch no longer believed in any so-called sagacity. This time, however, the old man turned somewhat solemn, staring intently at Lynch as he said:

“Your soul carries the aura of the Hounds of Tindalos. Just what have you encountered? I am quite worried you might have led a hound here.”

Lynch was a little surprised. “You can tell even that?”

The old man's expression grew increasingly grave. “Those are the most dangerous of heteromorphs, and the existences our Lord detests the most.”

“It was actually nothing much—I merely witnessed someone being killed by a hound.”

“You didn't take action back then, did you?”

Lynch shook his head.

“Then that is fortunate; you are merely tainted with time dust. Remember, if you ever happen to encounter one again, never meet its gaze, and under no circumstances attack it. It marks anyone who obstructs or attacks it.”

Hiss, I nearly made a move back then. A wave of lingering fear washed over Lynch as he pressed, “If someone is marked, is there any cure?”

“Its danger lies precisely in being incurable and relentless until death. So you'd best pray you never see one again.”

“What if one wishes to enter the River of Time?”

The old man glanced at him as if looking at a cripple, completely ignoring his question, and directly ushered him into the arcane trading room.

Perhaps because the hour was late, there were no other guests in the trading room. Lynch didn't stand on ceremony either, taking out the manuscript pages and spreading them before the old man.

The moment the old man saw them, his expression changed dramatically, and he blurted out in shock, “Where did you get your hands on something like this?!”