Siles carefully examined the specific contents of the manuscript, deciphering the relevant information from the scrawled, frenzied, and fear-laden handwriting.
He realized it was a sort of reading note.
Of course, this reading note wasn’t formal, lacking excerpts or reflections. It seemed more like thoughts jotted down by Professor Kabel while reading.
The paper was about the size of four palms, with its contents roughly divided into four sections.
In the upper left corner, Professor Kabel wrote several doubts: “Is the content of this book true or false?” “Unknown source…” “If it’s true, then it’s simply…” “Damn it! Damn it! How could it be!”
These remarks held little substance but perfectly reflected Professor Kabel’s tension, fear, and unease while reading.
He had obtained a book of unknown origin, and its contents shocked him profoundly, even shaking some long-held belief.
In the lower left corner, Professor Kabel repeatedly wrote several words: “shadow,” “madness,” “silence.” “Shadow,” “shadow,” “madness,” “madness,” “silence,” “silence.”
There was also a word tucked away in the corner: “killing.”
Siles stared at “killing” for a while.
In the upper right corner, Professor Kabel seemed to have copied a passage… resembling a monologue. Some words were blacked out, and some were written so messily that Siles couldn’t make them out.
“I don’t believe (blacked-out text) will die.
“Gods should forever reign above (illegible text).
“Believers should forever prostrate before Him.
“There must be something we don’t know.
“…Something (blacked-out text), always silent in the darkness…”
Siles quietly gazed at those lines, his mind flashing with countless possibilities.
This passage—whether a quote or Kabel’s own words—gave Siles a subtle sense of dissonance. He couldn’t pinpoint the source of that unease.
Suddenly, a prompt sounded.
【Spirituality +1.】
…Spirituality?
Siles took a soft breath.
Just by looking at this vague text, this chaotic manuscript, his spirituality had increased by one point?
Before this, when he left the Historical Society’s room, a prompt had also sounded, informing him that both his spirituality and knowledge had increased by one point. That made sense, as he had just learned about the Revelators.
That was his first exposure to such matters, and future increases might not come so quickly.
But now, just by looking at this manuscript, his spirituality had increased again?
In the tabletop games Siles played, spirituality often related to the divine. In simpler terms, higher spirituality meant a greater likelihood of encountering transcendent events—more likely to “see ghosts.”
He didn’t know if this world had ghosts, but higher spirituality meant a greater chance of noticing anomalies and encountering danger.
He had gained two points of spirituality in one day.
Siles felt his future was uncertain.
He couldn’t help but glance at the motionless die on the desk, his mood growing more complex.
He looked back at the manuscript’s final section, the lower right corner. There was an eye symbol, but it was marked with a cross, the two vertical lines drawn heavily. Read the latest chapters at novelping.com.
…Was this symbol representing Antinam? What did the cross mean? Disdain for Antinam, or…?
As Siles’s thoughts wandered, his spirituality increased by another point.
He immediately closed his eyes. Though his expression remained calm, this manuscript, with its limited information, had raised his spirituality by two points—a costly gain.
If only a game master could tell him why his spirituality was increasing, that would be better. But his irresponsible game master ignored him entirely.
What was conducting his checks? What was prompting his attribute increases? Siles knew nothing.
After a moment, he took a deep breath, keeping his eyes closed. He fumbled to cover the manuscript with other papers, set it aside, and only then opened his eyes.
Gaining two points of spirituality without obtaining any concrete information left him with a clue outside the manuscript: What book had Professor Kabel read? Why had he suddenly resigned? And why had his assistant mysteriously disappeared?
…Could that book be a time track? Had something happened to them?
Siles felt the situation was thorny and dangerous. That cluttered office seemed to hide many secrets.
He realized that on Earth, studying history might be safe, but in this world, with the power to recreate past events, the past itself was dangerous.
He stood, walked to the window, and looked at the rain and night through the blurred glass, gradually calming down. He thought, regardless, this matter required a much longer investigation.
For now, he had to focus on his teaching preparations.
Siles stood for a while, feeling fully calmed, then returned to his desk. He placed the manuscript—temporarily without research value and too risky to study—in the bottom drawer and began reviewing Professor Kabel’s teaching plans.
As night deepened, Siles outlined a rough framework and syllabus for Silent Era literary theory and compiled a tentative reading list, referencing Professor Bright’s past recommendations and the book he’d seen at the antique bookstore that morning.
Of course, he cautiously chose contemporary works, avoiding literature from before the Mist Era for his students. He didn’t know if any had the potential to be Revelators.
When he finally set down his pen, Siles exhaled in slight relief. Noticing the ink bottle was nearly empty, he mentally added it to tomorrow’s shopping list.
He stopped working, tidied the papers and materials on his desk, turned off the wall lamp, closed his eyes to rest briefly, and then got up to wash up and sleep.
At that moment, he heard the sound of footsteps tapping in the corridor outside. He wondered if it was the folklorist returning or the early-rising, late-returning couple.
Hearing no door opening or closing, he thought it might be an upstairs tenant. He didn’t dwell on it, went to the washroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, thinking that flush toilets were indeed a hallmark of civilization’s progress.
Soon, Siles fell asleep to the sound of pattering rain. The next morning, he woke early as usual.
He lay in bed for a moment, taking time to review yesterday’s events and today’s tasks, then slowly got up, washed, changed, and left.
Outside, it was still overcast and rainy, with stronger winds and dark clouds gathering, signaling an imminent downpour.
Siles cautiously brought his umbrella and all necessary items. In the first-floor lobby, he encountered Mrs. Fain again. This time, her worry and distress were almost unmasked on her face.
She responded to Siles’s greeting distractedly.
Siles said, “I’m heading to Logan Market. May I use your kitchen later?”
“What? Oh… yes, of course, Mr. Noel. Just remember to clean up,” Mrs. Fain said. “Men always struggle in the kitchen.”
Her words carried a hint of displaced frustration.
Siles looked at her, wondering if something had happened with her husband or her son.
Mrs. Fain’s husband, Mr. Fain, was a merchant traveling between Lamifa City and the Endless Lands, dealing in expensive furs—a fact Mrs. Fain had mentioned with some pride.
He was rarely home, typically returning to Lamifa City near the end of the rainy season. As it was late July, Mr. Fain was likely due back soon.
…Since Mr. Fain wasn’t home, Mrs. Fain’s current anxiety was likely about her son.
Siles’s mind churned with thoughts, but he didn’t pry, only nodding politely before leaving 13 Milford Street. It was about a ten-minute walk from Milford Street to Logan Market.
Along the way, Siles finally had the mind to observe his surroundings.
Milford Street, located in a livelier part of West Lamifa, was always bustling with people, most wearing hurried, tired expressions. Carriages passed by pedestrians, occasionally accompanied by snippets of conversation or noise.
There were sewers, water pipes, flush toilets, shops, and windows here. Compared to other parts of West Lamifa, this neighborhood was relatively advanced, though it couldn’t match East Lamifa.
Most buildings in this area were three or four stories tall, with reddish-brown brick walls showing some wear. Street-side greenery was rare, and most doorways opened directly onto the street.
Soon, Siles arrived at Logan Market.
He spotted Glenfiel’s Antique Bookstore again but noticed it wasn’t open, likely due to the early hour. He had planned to visit the kindhearted shopkeeper, but now he headed to the market first.
Logan Market was a large commercial hub, not just a vegetable market but also a center for daily goods.
Siles first returned the goat’s milk glass bottle, then bought ink, paper, some packing boxes for moving, several long-lasting loaves of bread, and items like jam and cheese.
Next, he went to the vegetable market to buy produce.
He planned to cook some hot soup—honestly, he wasn’t much of a cook, but a simple broth with bread would make a decent meal.
It was essentially hot pot with white bread, an odd but filling combination.
To make something like hot pot, he needed suitable broth and ingredients. Spotting a spice shop at a street corner, Siles headed over.
He paused at the shop’s entrance, noticing a signboard advertising barbecue spices, monosodium glutamate, sauces, and the like, which seemed to sell well, as the shop was crowded with buyers.
Siles studied the advertisements with interest, comparing them to Earth’s equivalent seasonings. He found some similarities between this world and Earth.
Inside the shop, he noticed most shoppers were plainly dressed women over thirty. They cast curious glances at Siles before focusing on their queues.
He saw most customers were lining up for monosodium glutamate. Curious about this world’s glutamate flavor, he joined the queue, only to find it sold out due to high demand.
Siles overheard the shop assistant shouting, “No more liquid beef! No more! Come back tomorrow! Come back tomorrow!”
The term “liquid beef” startled Siles.
Listening to others, he learned it was trendy to add monosodium glutamate to broth for a beef-like umami flavor, hence its nickname, liquid beef.
…It was said that monosodium glutamate was originally made from beef.
Siles couldn’t help but show a complex expression.
He suddenly wondered if recreating Earth’s seasonings could be a way to make money. Or perhaps selling recipes?
Lost in thought, he absentmindedly bought some sauce and broth ingredients before leaving.
Afterward, he purchased vegetables and meat. The lively, noisy atmosphere lifted his mood. No matter the world, vegetable markets were always bustling and full of life.
As he left, he overheard an argument at a newly opened butcher shop. Apparently, its low prices had upset other butchers.
Siles lingered to listen, glancing at the new shop’s name—Grayson. He thought, if it’s really cheap, he could buy meat here next time.
Then, he left Logan Market.
He had spent nearly three duke coins, with packing boxes and vegetables being the most expensive.
From a distance, he saw Glenfiel’s Antique Bookstore open for business. Looking at the pile of items in his hands, he hesitated, ultimately returning home first, hurriedly eating a small piece of bread for breakfast.
Then, he set out again to visit the mysterious Glenfiel.