It was almost just a few minutes after Columbina left.
Sandrone’s eyelashes on the bed fluttered violently a few times, and a vague groan came from her throat.
She slowly opened her eyes, her blue pupils first focusing blankly on the low, stain-covered ceiling.
“Ugh…”
Her head felt a bit heavy, but it didn’t hurt.
On the contrary, her body felt…
strange.
It wasn’t weakness; rather, a warm sensation circulated through her limbs, and her brain was exceptionally clear, as if she had just had the best sleep of her life.
She propped herself up with her arms and rubbed her eyes.
The room was empty and silent.
“I remember…”
She frowned, trying to recall.
“I think…
I saw someone?”
This vague impression flashed by and was quickly replaced by more confusion.
Was it a dream?
She got out of bed, and as soon as her feet touched the ground, her gaze froze—
The door!
Her door!
The door that, while shabby, could at least be closed tightly to provide a sliver of security, was now hanging from the frame at an extremely unnatural angle.
The wood at the edge of the door panel clearly showed fresh breaks, and the latch part had completely detached from the frame!
“Who?!
Who tore my door off?!”
Sandrone rushed to the door instantly, her voice rising in shock.
She carefully examined the signs of damage—it hadn’t been picked; it looked more like it had been pushed open from the outside by brute force, destroying the structure directly.
The wood at the edges of the door frame was split.
A chill crawled up her spine.
Someone broke in?
While she was unconscious?
Her money!
She spun around and lunged toward the table, her hands trembling as she opened the old handkerchief bundle—one hundred Silver coins and dozens of copper bits, not a single one missing, lay there quietly.
Sandrone clutched the handkerchief bundle tightly and let out a long sigh of relief, her legs feeling a bit weak.
Fortunately…
fortunately, the money wasn’t lost.
If even this last bit of survival money was gone, she really wouldn’t know what to do.
Calming down slightly, new questions surfaced: Who broke in?
The purpose clearly wasn’t to steal money.
was it for her?
Or was it for that box and the gear?
The intruder moved her to the bed and then…
fixed the door?
No, the door was broken even worse.
Then what did the intruder do?
Why didn’t they hurt her or take anything?
She looked at the pathetic door again in confusion, and her mind subconsciously began to analyze the degree of damage, what specifications of lumber and iron nails were needed, how to repair the hinges and the frame…
wait.
Sandrone froze.
How did she know this?
Her major was precision machinery, not carpentry!
But just now, detailed steps for repairing this broken door, a list of materials, and even several different reinforcement plans surfaced clearly in her mind like pre-stored knowledge.
She could even see where the wood of the door frame was rotten and needed replacement, and where parts were just loose and could be reinforced.
She blinked her deep blue eyes in disbelief and subconsciously tilted her head, a movement that made her look like an exquisite doll that had suddenly received a wrong command.
It wasn’t just knowledge about fixing doors.
She felt her thinking speed had seemingly increased, and her capture of environmental details had become much sharper.
She could hear the faintest sounds from the distant streets and see the refraction of dewdrops on a spiderweb in the corner.
The warm current in her body was circulating slowly, bringing a sense of full and controllable power.
Even stranger, when she focused her mind inward, she seemed to see an illusory, glimmering, and extremely complex 3D projection of a gear floating somewhere in her consciousness.
Beside the gear, two clear symbols also floated:
One was the archaic numeral ‘Nine’, and the other was the word ‘Artisan’.
“Nine…
Artisan?”
Sandrone murmured the words, completely not understanding what they meant.
But the phrase made her heart race for some reason, as if she had touched upon a crucial yet unrevealed secret.
She sat back on the edge of the bed, trying to organize her chaotic thoughts.
Swallowed the gear → lost consciousness → seemingly moved to the bed by someone → woke up with an abnormal body, gained strange knowledge and inner vision, and the marks of ‘Nine’ and ‘Artisan’.
“That gear…
what exactly was it?”
She asked herself in a low voice but received no answer.
At the same time, in an office at the City Police Headquarters filled with the smell of tobacco and old paper.
Ellen stood before her superior, inspector Rex Brent’s desk.
inspector Brent was a man in his fifties, burly, with a thick, grizzly beard.
He was currently puffing on a smoking clay pipe, his brow furrowed as he looked at the field report Ellen had submitted—it detailed phenomena from the alley fight that could not be explained by common logic.
“Bullet trajectory deviation…
objects spontaneously twisting and deforming…
inspector Brent’s voice was low, like sandpaper rubbing.
“And the abnormal speed and reactions of the combatants you mentioned.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ellen stood straight, her red eyes sharp yet confused under her short black hair.
“I swear on my badge that every word I wrote is what I saw with my own eyes.
This exceeds any known criminal methods or technical means.”
inspector Brent puffed on his pipe in silence, his eyes becoming deep amidst the swirling smoke.
“Joe, you are one of the best and most stubborn Detectives under me.
You never ask too many questions, you just investigate, and you often get to the point.”
He paused.
“Do you know why several similar cases recently were eventually marked as special archives or transferred to other departments?”
Ellen shook her head.
“I’m not sure, sir.
But I believe this hinders the pursuit of justice.”
“justice…”
inspector Brent’s lips curled, whether in sarcasm or helplessness.
“There are some things that ordinary laws and badges might not be able to touch.
Or rather, touching them might not be a good thing.”
He extinguished his pipe, leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice.
“Listen, Joe.
This world…
isn’t entirely rational as described by steam engines, gears, and newspapers.
Some ancient, hidden things have always been flowing in the shadows.
We usually call them anomalies, or…
more formally, beyonder.”
Ellen’s pupils contracted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.
“What you saw was likely a conflict between two beyonder groups.
The current report looks like the abilities of a low Sequence of the Chaos Artificer Pathway.
Those silver powders are probably the Purification Dust favored by those meddling fellows from the Church of the Light of Order.”
inspector Brent’s tone was as if he were discussing common knowledge of another world.
“beyonder…
Pathway?”
Ellen felt her worldview being pried open.
“Specific details require clearance to know.
But what you saw today, plus those bizarre murder cases you handled before—it’s enough to prove you’ve come into contact with this level.”
inspector Brent took a file with a special wax seal from his drawer.
“Headquarters has always had a department independent of the various police districts called the Abnormal Incidents Investigation and Archiving Office.
We habitually call it The Fifth Bureau.
They specifically handle these kinds of cases involving the beyonder.”