Only when the forest finally fell silent did the officers venture in, tasked with clearing the aftermath. They attended to Helm’s wounds and spent nearly an an hour incinerating the colossal petrified rat, at last bringing the harrowing incident to a close.
The clock had just struck noon.
On the second floor of a high-end roasted venison restaurant, which was not particularly crowded with families.
Ghervil and Helm sat facing each other in a private dining room.
“I doubt you’ve ever tasted this kind of meat before. Today, eat your fill until you can’t manage another bite; my salary can certainly cover it.”
The agent speared a piece of the freshly roasted venison, brought by the waiter, and devoured it with gusto.
“I must confess, you truly live up to your title as a nun of Solis Abbey. When I was your age and faced such horrors, all I knew was to flee. Saving others would have been the furthest thing from my mind. This time, I owe you my life.”
Ghervil had been rather reluctant to join him. One of them had bloodstains marring the shoulder of their clothes, an arm suspended in a sling, while the other still bore uncleaned traces of blood in their hair and on their face. Their appearance had drawn considerable attention and even some amusement as they walked through the streets.
Yet, she couldn’t resist the agent’s earnest invitation, backed by a flurry of excuses—claiming future work commitments, a lack of time, and a fear of forgetting his promise to ‘treat her to good food’ due to his poor memory. He had been insistent.
Then there were her socks, which had snagged and torn during their frantic dash through the forest. Her long dress, however, remained remarkably intact, seemingly crafted from a high-grade material that still looked pristine after all the commotion, much like it had when she first arrived in this world.
She had initially intended to ask, ‘You always believed I was unworthy of my position?’
However, the tantalizing aroma of the fresh, unadulterated roasted venison wafting from the plate before her, coupled with a quick wipe of her face with the damp towel the waiter provided, lifted her spirits. She chose not to disrupt the tranquil enjoyment of their meal.
“You ultimately saved my life as well. We are now even.”
She sliced a small piece of venison, placed it in her mouth, and after two chews, her expression froze.
“How is it? I frequent this place; I’ve been utterly captivated by this damned flavor for years now.” Helm’s gaze across the table was filled with anticipation.
The taste… Ghervil found it difficult to describe. She swallowed it with barely a chew, offering a noncommittal assessment.
“It tastes… quite wild. No wonder you enjoy it so much.”
“Heh heh, you’ll grow accustomed to it after a few more tries. Venison isn’t cheap, you know; it’s a true delicacy.”
Finding it cumbersome to eat with his left arm suspended, he simply untied the bandage, allowing his hand to dangle lifelessly.
“Can you finally tell me everything now? After all, I’m hardly an outsider anymore. I wish to discuss other matters with you.”
The agent appeared to be in good spirits. Their shared brushes with death seemed to have dispelled any lingering prejudice he held against her, and Ghervil recognized this as an opportune moment to glean information.
“Tell everything…” Helm shook his head gently, his pace of eating slowing almost imperceptibly.
“Before we proceed, you must understand one crucial point: the information we currently possess is far less than you might imagine. We are nowhere near knowing ‘everything.’ It’s no exaggeration to say that this incident could merely be the prelude, especially since we haven’t even pinpointed the source of the rat plague.”
“The Ratmire White Rat, towering over two meters and commanding legions of rodents, isn’t the source?”
Ghervil’s astonishment was palpable. Had the agent not already possessed critical information and knowledge of the white rat’s weaknesses, they might well have been annihilated.
“Eleven years ago, things like that appeared in this quantity.” Helm raised his right hand, splaying his palm open.
“Five?”
“Five hundred.”
“Behind these creatures, there often lurk entities far more cunning and formidable.”
“So, do you grasp the gravity of what I’m saying, Sister?”
Helm fixed his gaze upon the young woman, eager to discern her reaction.
Yet, she merely furrowed her brow, lost in thought.
A pang of disappointment struck him. He had hoped to impress upon her the gravity of the situation, thereby dissuading her from any further involvement.
“Five hundred… Don’t tell me you located and pierced the core of each one with those daggers. I can’t bear to imagine the sheer number of lives that would have been sacrificed for such a feat.”
In this particular incident, no one perished save for Luke at the outset. While luck played a role, it was primarily their swift initiative in weakening the giant rat’s mobility that prevented the situation from spiraling into a complete rout.
“To suggest that method would have worked is to gravely underestimate the Mists. Many lives were indeed lost back then, and the authorities had even braced for the worst-case scenario. Yet, thankfully, the situation ultimately proved far better than anticipated, a credit owed entirely to one individual.”
“Even now, this city’s population stands at nearly a million. Such a catastrophic event would typically claim countless lives elsewhere, making such rapid recovery within little over a decade an impossibility.”
“While I say this with considerable reluctance, I must nonetheless extend my gratitude to Solis Abbey—or, more precisely, to its Abbess.”
“To credit her entirely, to say she single-handedly averted that catastrophe, would be no exaggeration.”
Having spoken so much in a single breath, Helm’s throat felt parched. He reached for his glass and drained a large quantity of juice.
Ghervil was too stunned to reply. If the Abbess truly possessed such immense power, how could she have perished in a fire…?
No, that wasn’t right. The Abbess hadn’t perished; Ghervil had only recently seen her.
She deliberated whether to reveal this information, and if so, how she might explain it. The Abbess, it seemed, had no intention of appearing before others. Perhaps she had her reasons, her own untold difficulties?
Helm, it appeared, harbored some degree of antagonism towards the Holy Order, or more specifically, the Abbey itself. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have used such a reluctant tone, hinting at a more intricate conflict between their respective systems.
For a moment, she felt conflicted. Lost in thought, she picked up her knife and fork, resuming her battle with the roasted venison on the plate. No matter how disagreeable the taste, it had been purchased at a hefty price—and not with her own money. She resolved to make this fellow pay dearly for the meal.
Working for the state, and in such a perilous line of work, the Epidemic Prevention Bureau (TL Note: A government agency responsible for managing and preventing outbreaks of disease.) must surely command a high salary… Then, she recalled the Abbess’s assessment of the Bureau: ‘those guys.’ It hardly sounded like a description of allies within the same faction.
Setting down her knife and fork, she inquired, “Dream’s Edge?”
“Did your new neighbor tell you that?”
His demeanor shifted, becoming distinctly odd. He tore a large chunk of venison from his plate and chewed it with renewed vigor.
“Don’t speak of it with such grandiosity. I have no issue with ordinary folk calling us that, but if those who constantly invoke the Goddess’s name, those with power who choose inaction, were to say it, I would absolutely consider them to be looking down on others through a dog’s eyes (TL Note: A Chinese idiom meaning to look down on people or be snobbish).”
Having said his piece, he then added to Ghervil with utter seriousness,
“You, Sister, are an exception. You’re still young; do not involve yourself in these thankless endeavors.”
…Was she just given the “good person” card?
It was now evident that these two systems harbored some degree of animosity. But why had the conversation suddenly veered to her new neighbor? Had Dr. Callan deceived her? Could her move to number 100 truly have been a mere coincidence? Relocating so soon after the Abbey’s incident certainly seemed rather suspicious.
“If your only concern is that I might be swayed by certain prejudices, then your worries are excessive. At present, my sole interests lie in studying texts and refining my culinary skills. As for anything else I might wish to know… since you refuse to speak of your brother, I can only press you about that dagger—the one that so perfectly complements your somewhat unkempt demeanor.”
“Have mercy on me, Sister,” he pleaded, scratching the back of his head. “Our shared ordeal shouldn’t lead to my disciplinary action. This matter is classified; I can only tell you it’s connected to the plague, which I trust you’ve already surmised. If you desire further details, you might try asking Ramsey; he harbors no such reservations.”
“Why him?”
“Because he cares little for disciplinary action, assuming, of course, that you can actually convince him to speak.”
“Very well, I shall endeavor to do so when the opportunity arises.”
She truly intended to get him disciplined, didn’t she?
A sudden wave of regret washed over Helm, realizing he had just done a disservice to his comrade.
“Actually, there’s no harm in telling you about Bate,” he continued, hoping to alleviate any disappointment she might feel.
“It’s not as complex as you imagine, nor does it concern you greatly. At least, all the overt evidence thus far points to a simple suicide: he severed his own veins and bled to death.”
“How could…!” Ghervil exclaimed, her body lurching forward as she nearly overturned her cup.
“Don’t rush, I haven’t finished speaking,” he said, waving a hand to signal her to sit. A flicker of hatred laced his tone.
“We have never before encountered a situation where plague patients, after years of healing within the Holy Temple, would choose to end their own lives through suicide.”