A Mad Disease

“It’s just... you know... happened to get them,” Lynch muttered evasively, feeling somewhat guilty.

“Have you read them?”

“Of course.”

“And you’re still alive?”

“Well, terribly sorry about that,” Lynch sighed. “Probably because I couldn't understand a single word.”

“Then that doesn't count as having read them.” The old man glared at Lynch. “Not understanding them was your good fortune. You are our client, so I am willing to warn you: I strongly advise against reading it. This thing is extremely dangerous.”

“What exactly is it?” Officer Natalie disliked the atmosphere here, but hearing how dangerous it was, she couldn't help asking, “What is the nature of the danger?”

“The ladies of the Watchers are always so sensitive,” the old man said, shaking his head. “However, my lady, imparting knowledge is not free. Every piece of knowledge has a clear price tag.”

Lynch’s temples twitched as he realized he was going to bleed money today. If he had known, he wouldn't have come. But now that he was here, he couldn't just pretend not to hear.

Yet the old man’s reaction took him by surprise. After pondering for a few seconds, the elder smiled and said, “Never mind. Seeing as you have connections with the Milt siblings, I shall give you this piece of knowledge free of charge.”

Lynch's expression turned subtle. In theory, there shouldn't be telephones in this era, and the siblings being chased by hounds couldn't leave their sanctuary. How did the old man receive word so quickly?

“Besides them, who else would mention the River of Time to you? Although we do not worship the same Lord, it is essentially the same Lord in truth. It is only natural to repay you on their behalf.” The old man picked up the manuscript pages and spread them out. “This is called the Revelations of Glaaki, the sacred scripture compiled by Glaaki, Inhabitant of the Lake, for its cult. This is a transcribed copy, far inferior to the original, yet it still possesses formidable power.”

Lynch nodded; this aligned with the clues he had gathered.

“There should be a full volume of the Revelations. You only obtained a few pages. I suspect several factions worshiping Glaaki engaged in a struggle for it... What are you doing?”

“Hold on, let me take notes. Uh, these notes don't count as mystery documents, right? Great, got it down. Please continue.”

This was historical occult information from the Arke Dynasty! Several nations worshiping Glaaki might have coexisted and waged war against one another. He definitely had to write this down and sell it to the Archaeological Association; he would surely be able to wring some money out of them.

“Thus, only a few fragmentary pages remained. Yet to factions worshiping Glaaki, they are still considered paramount holy relics and were treasured accordingly. Just how did you get your hands on them?”

“A kind-hearted evil god did everything she could to give them to me. When I refused, she got upset, so I had no choice but to reluctantly accept.” Lynch silently offered his blessings to the great Swelling Daughter. She really is a good god.

“I get the feeling you’re mocking someone, but never mind.” The old man sighed and continued, “These pages contain a vast amount of forbidden knowledge. Anyone who reads them will feel fine at first, but will soon descend into madness. Yet that isn't the most dangerous part. The real danger is that if you read even a single page, a long-limbed, headless heteromorph will approach you when you are living alone and attempt an ambush to kill you. It is around the level of rank six authority, though defeating it once ensures your safety.”

Lynch recalled the humanoid mural on the stone doors of the ancient tomb, realizing the old man was referring to that very entity. The problem was, an entity of rank six ambushing someone when they were alone? Am I supposed to stake my life to defeat it?

“That is not my problem. In short, this is an extremely precious tome. For an owner, its symbolic significance outweighs its practical value; for scholars, its research value outweighs its practical utility. I didn't examine it closely, but these pages should contain forbidden knowledge regarding Glaaki’s attempt to become an evil god, which was foiled by another evil god. From it, one can learn the Glaaki Contact technique, the Glaaki Summoning technique, and the Repatriation technique.”

“In any case, this thing is dangerous in every sense. If you wish to sell it, you can leave it on consignment in the library, and we will help you fetch a good price.”

Officer Natalie’s lips parted slightly, but after glancing at Lynch, she closed her mouth and looked away, her expression turning quite peculiar.

After a brief contemplation, Lynch retrieved the fragmentary pages of the Revelations. “I think I'll pass. With something this dangerous, I'd better figure out how to deal with it myself.”

Otherwise, a certain anonymous police officer’s faith might be shaken. Who knew what this girl was thinking? Despite this clearly violating the creed of the Watchers, she hadn't jumped in to stop him, which was truly surprising.

“Well, no pressure. There should be scholars interested in it. If you ever wish to consign it, feel free to come to us anytime,” the old man nodded and added. “Furthermore, regarding the River of Time, I advise you to consider it carefully. Very few people have returned from there safely.”

“Against those hounds, is there truly no countermeasure at all?” Lynch remained somewhat reluctant to give up.

“Actually, there is, but it's virtually useless advice.” The old man shrugged. “Among the Hounds of Tindalos, there exists a Lord of Tindalos. It can command all hounds not to mark a person's soul. As long as you find it and obtain its consent, you can enter and leave the River of Time safely.”

“Why is that useless? Where is it?”

“Deep within the River of Time.”

“...” The running gag about needing gear from the raid before entering the raid surfaced in Lynch's mind. It truly was useless advice.

“Actually, there is one more way.”

“Can you say it all in one go?” Lynch felt a headache coming on. “This isn't useless advice too, is it?”

“Well, there is a mysterious race said to have passed down their heritage since the ancient Mythological Era. I am not entirely clear on the details, but supposedly they have a method to manipulate time without drawing the hounds' attention.”

Hmm? Anticipation rose in Lynch's heart. “Where can I find them?”

“No idea.”

“I...” Lynch was already imagining picking up a chair and smashing it over the man's head. If not for knowing how powerful the old man was, he would have struck already.

“However, I know of at least one person in Rhine City who has dealt with them.” This time, the old man did not drag it out and provided the full information. “The regional bishop of the Church of Wealth. In his youth, he received help from that race and maintained close ties with them.”

Lynch instinctively took out his pipe, but put it away after the old man glared at him. He could only narrow his eyes in thought. The bishop's status was too high, and unlike his coincidental encounter with Trinlais, directly paying him a visit was impractical.

It seemed he needed to take a long-term approach and find another way. Even though he had no plans to involve himself with the River of Time, he still needed to prepare just in case the Light of Miracles turned out to be that crucial.

Having thanked the old man, Lynch didn't tarry any longer and left the Knowledge Library with the lady officer. Just outside the doors, a punch landed on Lynch's shoulder, causing him to stare at her in bafflement.

“It's nothing.” Looking away, Officer Natalie said softly, “Thank you, Lynch.”

“Do you always thank people with a straight punch? And what are you thanking me for?”

“Figure it out yourself. Let's go find a place for dinner,” Officer Natalie said with a beaming smile. “Eating Maggie’s cooking every day gets repetitive; it's good to switch things up once in a while.”

Lynch strongly suspected that if he refused, his journey to immortality might come to an early end, so he nodded rapidly like a woodpecker.

However, things rarely went as smoothly as planned. Just as the two strolled side by side along the nearby streets, intending to find a restaurant in the Valley District, a sudden scream threw all their plans into disarray.

The doors of a roadside shop burst open from the inside as a swarm of customers poured out, screaming and scattering in all directions.

Before Lynch could even ask, Officer Natalie was already charging forward with her sword drawn. Lynch sighed for the prematurely doomed candlelit dinner, raised his cane, and pressed his index and middle fingers together against the center of his brow.

He immediately appeared five meters away, neatly matching the lady officer's stride.

Arriving at the shop's entrance, Lynch's heart tightened.

The scene was all too familiar, reminiscent of countless movie scenes.

Chaos reigned inside the shop. Shelves were overturned, a person lay motionless on the floor, and another individual was crouched over her body, frenziedly gnawing on her flesh.

Lynch realized that this probably wasn't Resident Evil, but rather the illness Mrs. Nightingale from the Church of Suffering had mentioned. Back then, that patient's condition had displayed a similar madness.

“Careful, his condition has flared up! Mrs. Nightingale is still developing the medicine.”

“Subdue him?”

“Yes. After subduing him, we'll take him to the Church of Suffering. But under no circumstances get bitten—I have a bit of a psychological trauma when it comes to this stuff.” Such were the lingering side effects of watching too many zombie movies.

“I'm not that foolish. Watch yourself.”

He was merely an ordinary person, and a madman at that. Although his frenzy gave him immense strength, it was utterly crushed before the power of a Soul Severer. The lady officer kicked the violent man to the ground and pinned him under her boot.

Watching the man thrash violently on the floor, Lynch hurriedly grabbed a rope from the shop and tied him up securely. Even bound tight like a dumpling, the man continued to writhe wildly, eyes bloodshot and saliva dripping from his mouth as his teeth snapped frenetically at the empty air, drawing screams from the surrounding onlookers.

Not to mention ordinary people, even Lynch felt a bit unnerved. Could this be some mutation of rabies? Mordiggian's ghoul vassals do look a bit like dogs.

With no time to worry about a candlelit dinner, the two commandeered a nearby carriage and rushed the madman straight to the Church of Suffering beside Crown Square.

As they hauled the madman out of the carriage, a wave of shrill screams echoed nearby. They quickly realized they were not alone; two other similar cases had just been brought in by the police.

The police were quite dutiful—hands covered in blood from bite wounds, they had still transported the individuals here rather than executing them on the spot. Meanwhile, the donation collectors at the church entrance had a rather telling reaction; without asking a single question, they dragged out several stretchers and bound the madmen onto them, moving with a practiced ease that was almost heartbreaking.

Evidently, they had dealt with no shortage of such incidents over the past few days.

“Indeed, over twenty cases already.”

Unbeknownst to them, the elderly Mrs. Nightingale had appeared at their side, gesturing for them to follow her inside. The church was bustling, with figures in white robes hurrying past every few moments.

“Because Rhine is closest to the site of the evil god’s dissipation, the situation here is the most severe. Aside from over twenty patients, many others have been scratched or bitten, and five were even mauled to death on the spot.”

Pitter-patter. Two young girls in white robes hurried past carrying a stretcher, upon which lay a man wailing loudly, his legs mangled with blood and torn flesh.

“For those with minor bite wounds, we generally administer emergency treatment and send them away. Only the most critically wounded, like that one just now, are admitted. The church has far too few professionals, and everyone is doing their best.”

“How will you handle those who have manifested symptoms?”

“If not for you, standard procedure would be to eliminate them on the spot. They are beyond saving, and living only prolongs their agony.” Truly a medical professional, she spoke of death without the slightest hesitation. “However, with your contribution, medicine is currently being developed and progressing smoothly. We estimate another half month. For now, we will lock all the patients up and treat them collectively at the end. We anticipate around a thousand people eventually. I have already coordinated with the Governor's Mansion to temporarily requisition the municipal prison.”

“And then distribute the medicine to various nations?”

“Yes. We have already coordinated with the other Churches of the Major Gods. This time, all churches will cooperate fully; we will not let your efforts go in vain, Mr. Detective.”

The thought that a single decision of his might spare hundreds of thousands of people from death gave Lynch a surreal feeling. Amid his daze, his gaze shifted. Hmm?

“What brings you two here?”

Miss Valente, busy in the midst of work, wiped her sweat and gave them a weary smile. Lynch then remembered—right, this girl was also a member of the Church of Suffering. It seemed she had been called back as well. Still, as expected of her, there were probably few nobles in this era who would cast aside their status to treat and bandage commoners, going so far as to stain themselves with blood... Wait, something's wrong.

Lynch’s expression changed. He just noticed that Miss Valente’s wrist was wrapped in bandages, with faint traces of blood seeping through.

“This? It's true, I got bitten just a moment ago.” Seeing Lynch's expression turn grim, Miss Valente smiled and shook her head. “I heard from the lady that you were worried this might be a plague, but there's no need to be nervous. We are Soul Severers under Fiona, the Lord of Suffering; if we were truly infected, we would know it ourselves. Everything feels normal right now, I promise I'm not infected.”

Lynch sighed. Over the past few days, he had been feeling a persistent unease.

The Shadow Alliance claimed he had opened the gate of destruction, and the only thing he could think of was this disease. But at most, this illness would claim hundreds of thousands of lives. While a staggering number, it was still far from total annihilation, and since he had already helped facilitate the medicine's development, it was even less associated with destruction.

Unless this disease mutated into a plague, followed by famine, war, and death, thereby triggering a catastrophe akin to the one at the end of the First Age. That would align with destruction, as well as the grand scheme of the Shadow Alliance mentioned by Howard before his demise.

He had no desire to see Miss Valente turn into a raving maniac like the man earlier. But since Mrs. Nightingale had explicitly stated that the disease could not naturally transform into a plague, Lynch could only keep his worries to himself.

Before he could offer any comforting words, however, footsteps echoed behind them. Several unfamiliar figures in black formal wear hurried in from outside the church.

Approaching Mrs. Nightingale with grave expressions, they whispered a few words to her. The elderly woman’s expression turned somber as well.

An important figure was visiting.

The area was being cleared.