Immediately upon deciphering the symbols’ meaning, Konehl-Ghervil asked Govet-Ghervil what those words represented.
“Seraph-Ur-Old Norse—”
The voice in her mind pondered for a moment.
“If my deduction is correct, this should be the name of a mythical creature.”
A mythical creature.
She recalled Dr. Callan’s question to Bishop Sartre in Cellar 101 regarding Mistfall City.
The answer she had received was that she, as an abbey nun, would know once her memory returned.
Now, by sheer serendipity, she had the answer.
It wasn’t derived from her non-existent memories, but rather provided by a genuine abbey nun.
“Mythical creatures most commonly manifest as offspring of ancient evil gods, though this isn’t absolute; some mythical creatures do not originate from evil gods, but their numbers are few.”
Konehl-Ghervil’s primary concern was whether they stood a chance against such beings.
The perpetrator of the Mistfall City incident had been a mythical creature, and without the aid of the Dean’s elixir, millions of lives would have been lost.
“Face it? Why would you even entertain such a thought?”
‘Do we not even qualify to face it?’ she wondered.
“For now, no.”
How could this be?
She began to suspect that the entity that had drawn her into this dreamscape genuinely sought her demise.
Now, she was in a predicament: no money gained, and her life potentially forfeit.
Slumped on a dilapidated sofa, Konehl-Ghervil felt utterly dejected.
Observing her sister’s rare despondency, Govet-Ghervil secretly rejoiced, then offered words of reassurance in a solemn tone.
“True dreamscapes typically cannot sustain the presence of mythical creatures. If one truly exists here, paradoxically, you can rest assured; the dreamscape will rapidly collapse, allowing you to escape.”
Konehl-Ghervil remained unconvinced.
“Have you considered that the real issue we face lies in reality—that curse, the power that caused the town to vanish and the expedition team’s demise?”
Her unspoken implication was that the mythical creature was the source of it all.
“If that’s the case, many questions would be answered.”
Govet-Ghervil’s voice faltered, losing its initial composure.
“…I will inform your employer immediately and have her send you back to Mistfall City, or even the Royal Capital.”
“Fleeing will solve nothing. Florence City’s population far surpasses Mistfall City’s; we cannot simply abandon them. Besides, the mythical creature is merely a conjecture. Our immediate task is to ascertain the true owner of this name and confirm whether it is alive or dead.”
The voice in her head fell silent again for a few seconds.
“You could ask the unlucky girl. As a knight, her duty involves dealing with such matters; an excellent knight on the front lines might know no less than I do.”
“Understood.”
Konehl-Ghervil agreed, planning to question Esli privately at an opportune moment.
****
Approximately ten minutes later, the old man unearthed the items he sought from the pile of old belongings: several clumps of yellowed waste paper.
Using his cane, he nudged the discarded papers into a clear space.
“Sali, come here.”
He called out.
Sali scurried over, understanding his intention from the direction of his cane.
She retrieved a pair of white medical gloves from her pocket, donned a mask, and carefully knelt to unfold the crumpled papers.
The old man moved a couple of steps away, continuing to rummage through the pile of old items to ensure nothing was missed.
Konehl-Ghervil, having rested sufficiently, joined Esli to examine the papers.
Two pieces of parchment, normal in size but torn and stained with dust and grime, lay unfolded.
The drawings upon them were barely discernible.
They were rendered in normal black ink, not blood.
However, the drawings were so chaotic that it was impossible to make out what they depicted.
“That’s all there is.”
The old man shook his head, walking over with one hand behind his back.
“I’m not certain if this is the one you’ve encountered. Alamany drew these when he still retained some semblance of sanity. He made many drawings, but perhaps they were discarded as trash; only these could be found.”
As he spoke, he specifically looked at Esli.
“Many years ago, a knight visited this town. He claimed to have single-handedly slain a twenty-meter Lizard Dragon, earning him admiration from some foreign merchants. Such an act was considered blasphemous by the people of that time, leading to their expulsion from the town. It turned out the knight was an imposter; they never left the desert alive, becoming dinner for the Lizard Dragon.”
Esli, bending slightly, tightened her coat around her, her gaze fixed on the papers Sali had pieced together.
“My knightage has never dealt with such things.”
“Is it that you haven’t, or that you refuse to admit it?”
“Town Chief, what is the meaning of this timing?” Sali interjected, halting her work.
Neither of them paid any mind.
One was not listening, the other failed to catch the sarcasm.
Konehl-Ghervil, curious whether a knight could truly fell an adult Green Prairie Lizard, refrained from taking sides.
“Let me think…” Esli mused, furrowing her brow.
“I seem to recall a rumor at headquarters: a knight stationed in the desert was promoted to Advanced Knight, and their easiest assessment task involved infiltrating a cave ruin to kill at least ten Death Sand Spiders and retrieve their venom glands intact.”
“What does that have to do with a Lizard Dragon?”
The old man thumped his cane against the floor.
“On their return journey from that mission, they fortuitously encountered a twenty-meter-plus Green Prairie Lizard and dispatched it.”
“Advanced Knight? How are the knight ranks classified?” Konehl-Ghervil inquired mentally.
“Apprentice, Formal, Advanced, Plague. Strictly speaking, an Apprentice isn’t truly a knight. Formal Knights are common, while Advanced Knights are also known as ‘Mutations’—this rank comprises the elite of the Knightage. Plague-level knights are comparable to the top chief physicians in the Hospital Department.”
“The unlucky girl should be an Advanced Knight. Such young Advanced Knights are rare.”
Hearing such words from Govet-Ghervil, Konehl-Ghervil suspected her to be a genius akin to Dr. Callan.
“Assuming your words are true,” the old man said, finding conversation with someone like Esli uninteresting, and shifted his gaze and stretched his neck.
Before he could speak, Konehl-Ghervil preempted him.
“Town Chief, you said that eliminating a Green Prairie Lizard was an act of blasphemy. Does this imply that you consider the Green Prairie Lizard to be a representation or creation of a god?”
The old man’s mouth hung open, speechless, as he retracted his neck, realizing only then that he was speaking to a nun.
Knights wouldn’t harm ordinary people, but a nun would certainly escalate matters with The Order.
“That was a long time ago. Nobody thinks that way now…”
“That’s good. I can tell you explicitly: the Goddess never created such a thing.”
“It’s pieced together.”
Sali lifted a broken wooden board, displaying the reassembled papers.
The three individuals gathered around, inspecting it from different angles.
The old man shuffled through the sand on the floor to close the door, preventing the wind from scattering the papers.
The light in the room dimmed considerably, and he then moved to a small window.
The drawing remained chaotic, as if ink had been splashed.
A triangle composed of many diamond-shaped patches enclosed an irregular circle, with intertwining lines resembling tentacles extending throughout the entire image.
Squinting at it for a moment, Konehl-Ghervil concluded: ‘A meaningless pattern.’
Her eyes gleaned no information from it.
“Are you certain he drew a Lizard Dragon?” she asked, looking at the old man who was bent over, leaning his full weight on his cane, and shaking sand out of his shoes.
The already unpleasant smell of the room was now compounded by a sour stench.
She quickly covered her nose, as did Sali, while Esli remained impassive like a block of wood.
“Imagine a frontal perspective, as if a person were facing it up close.”
“Frontal perspective…”
“Take my spot.” Esli moved aside.
Konehl-Ghervil stepped forward, examining it closely once more, and indeed, she could discern something.
It was the half-open mouth of a lizard’s head.
Two empty sockets marked where the eyes should be.
The most prominent feature was understanding the patches as scales.
Beneath each scale, twisted tentacles extended.