Chapter 134

If you’re looking for the most suitable place for tourism within Norst, you cannot avoid the region around Westmin Castle.

Perhaps describing this land chosen by fate as “perfectly suited” is itself perfectly suited—pleasant climate with distinct seasonal changes, avoiding monotonous scenery year-round while maintaining comfortable temperatures for most days.

The middle reaches of the Tem River, abundant and gently flowing, like the softest, smoothest silk ribbon, stretch between forests and meadows, adorned with jewels polished by Norstians over centuries.

Westmin Castle is among the most brilliant of these jewels, even showing signs of overshadowing Dunling, the seat of the throne.

Mentioning this name, most people would associate it with the twin towers and slanted walls depicted on coins, viewing it as an architectural masterpiece representing the kingdom’s military peak.

While this notion isn’t wrong, the term “Westmin” has generously been extended to encompass the city that rose around the century-long project and the surrounding area reachable by carriage within a few days, becoming a regional designation.

In short, any area with Westmin Castle as its administrative center can be called the Westmin region.

In fact, after several stops, the vessel had already approached the outer edges of this region; each landing brought back some primitive-looking yet delicious fruits, forming outsiders’ first impression of the land’s abundant natural gifts—blueberries and a summer specialty berry, likely related to raspberries, were especially popular.

As temperatures gradually rise, the warm, slightly scorching sunlight combined with river breezes on deck, flanked by lush greenery on both shores, makes the perfect summer combination—add a reclining chair and a berry platter, and a dull journey becomes a pleasure.

Surely, once arriving at Westmin Castle, outdoor activities beneath the shade of trees on green lawns will offer an excellent experience.

The bumpy ride on river routes is indeed far less severe than sea voyages; the wide river imposes little restriction on ship width, making the deck an ideal place to set up tables, chairs, and accommodate casual personnel. Kraft spread out his books and fruit platter, resting both mind and eyes.

In these joyful moments, he chatted with Martin, who was equally idle, about Westmin’s natural scenery, the location and architecture of Rivers University, and just how unsuitable the north was for survival. He also listened as Martin seriously explained the blood ties between the Duke of Westmin and the royal family, and the necessity and legitimacy of controlling this military and shipping hub so close to Dunling.

Though Kraft’s country bumpkin-level comprehension only grasped that the one on the throne was no closer than a distant cousin to the one in Westmin, the greater value lay in realizing Martin was no ordinary man.

Calloused palms could grasp freshly washed slippery fruit; that sword was almost certainly not for show.

He might well have some connection to Westmin Castle, yet he delivers letters to academic gatherings at the university—his background is complicated.

How did such a person end up being sent to deliver letters? Kraft had no desire to dig deeper; it had nothing to do with him for now—he simply wanted to maintain a good mood and temporarily forget the dull ache in his left arm or any other sensation.

Amid the chaotic interweaving of dimensions, something occurred that might or might not be called an accident. As the epicenter of the storm, the stone prismatic pillar was similarly affected, crumbling into fragments.

Then, like a product feature from some vortex-marketing company’s holiday goods, the fragments phased into his left arm. Since this wasn’t a violent penetration from ordinary trauma, Kraft found these fused entities impossible to forcibly extract, and they displayed extraordinary compatibility.

His body accepted them naturally, as if they had always been there—like sesamoid bones—with no rejection response whatsoever, just as they had rested intact at the core of the Crawling Deep creature.

Though miraculously no major inflammation or vascular blockage occurred, they still caused some mobility impairment and abnormal pain-temperature sensation, rendering him unable to wear short sleeves in summer ever again.

He often felt electric-like pains triggered from some point, then wandering through muscles and bones like ice needles or red-hot candle tips. He could overcome their interference with gross and fine motor movements through willpower—but chronic illness was undeniably tormenting.

He needed to consciously control the irritability caused by frequent symptoms, preventing it from spilling over into his attitude toward others or other matters.

Unless he temporarily set aside a pile of troubles and took an impromptu trip to gain rare peace—like now—he could only steal fleeting moments of joy.

Kraft was indeed happy, but according to the law of conservation, happiness and energy were constant; when one person gained joy in leisure, their surplus energy might make others less happy.

Kup and Yin Feng believed the lie that “someone is treating us to a free trip,” packed their bags, tucked away their savings, and prepared for a relaxed, pleasant journey. But within days of boarding, they realized things differed slightly from their expectations.

With his surgical work put on hold, Kraft suddenly felt as empty as a retired old man; the discomfort drove him to channel some time and energy into any meaningful task.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—it was the matter of education and upbringing.

You can’t expect someone who has lived with “lifelong learning” to suddenly change their mindset just because they’ve changed environments; the habit of regular teaching had become ingrained in his soul. Thus, two people experienced contemporary high-quality education—and their academic pressure surged.

Since Yin Feng and Kup shared the same foundational level, a single curriculum could serve both despite their age difference being half.

After standardizing content and increasing the load, previously vague intuitions gradually became quantified. Kraft had long sensed this, and now confirmed it: Kup’s learning ability was slightly better than Yin Feng’s.

{Strange}

Kraft reviewed the past month’s progress and discovered this disparity. Compared to Kup, Yin Feng showed slight weaknesses in memory and slightly slower acquisition of new knowledge.

This instantly heightened his vigilance; every negative case regarding growth, development, and child psychology flashed brightly in his mind.

Before Kraft’s arrival, Yin Feng’s living conditions were the worst of the worst cases: materially malnourished, coinciding precisely with her second growth spurt during puberty, lasting an unknown duration.

Psychologically, adolescence brought massive changes, and then came the major life event of her only relative falling gravely ill and dying.

Nearly every social risk factor in child neurodevelopmental psychology had been triggered—problems were likely; not having them was the anomaly. The thought terrified him; he immediately scrutinized whether he’d paid enough attention to nutrition, then spent the night rummaging through memory, manually sketching a “Raven.”

Yes, full name: Raven Progressive Matrices, commonly used to test intelligence.

“Yin Feng, could you come here for a moment? There’s a little game—would you like to try?”

“Of course, Mr. Kraft.” Hearing the call, Yin Feng put down her spelling assignment and obediently came to his side.

“Here, you see this large image, but one piece is missing.” Adopting his professional demeanor, Kraft used the gentle patience he’d gathered over recent days, mimicking the pediatric teachers he’d observed, minimizing external distractions: “You need to choose one from these six smaller pieces to fill the gap.”

“I understand. I choose the fourth.” The girl’s eyes flickered between his expression and the paper, hesitated slightly, then selected the obviously correct answer—so simple she suspected a trap.

The recent studies had been stressful for her, especially after realizing her extra effort only brought her close to Kup’s level; if possible, she didn’t want to disappoint Kraft.

Children’s perceptions are remarkably sensitive; limited experience doesn’t prevent them from sensing adults’ unintentional, non-targeted irritability.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that—I promise you, this isn’t a test, alright? Just a game. There’s no right or wrong.”

{This is a lie}

White-coated doctors use this excuse daily to trick children into taking tests, then hand out prizes while speaking privately with parents.

But Yin Feng’s situation was more complex—no parents to consult, and Kraft had virtually zero confidence in his own psychological counseling or developmental correction skills. He could only silently pray it wasn’t a neurodevelopmental disorder.

Yin Feng believed him—she simply believed him… This trust left Kraft feeling slightly guilty as he left, waiting for her to complete the test alone.

Roughly the time it took him to draft another section in the next room, Yin Feng returned the stack of papers to him, offering a compliment that might have been meant to spare his dignity.

“It was kind of fun.”

Thirty minutes or so—by experience, this was on the longer side.

“Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

The tester smiled as he saw Yin Feng off, closed the door, and flipped through the results with nervous anticipation, calculating scores by age—suddenly understanding the anxious parents waiting outside for test results.

Cross-referencing age and raw score, the result fell above the seventy-fifth percentile—good level. Not bad? Kraft rubbed his chin, where a faint stubble had grown over several days.

At least the crude intelligence test result was satisfactory; no signs of behavioral issues or attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder from daily observations—then perhaps the comparison subject was the problem?

Considering Kup’s dramatic transformation—from lazy dog to his current state after the Salt Tide incident—it’s possible more than his personality changed. There’s reason to suspect that even direct exposure to deep-level events, without deeper contact, can produce early beneficial changes in intelligence.

“Interesting.” Kraft tucked away the scale, recorded this discovery in his notebook, hoping he’d never need to collect large samples to verify it.

For now, it was unimportant; what mattered was eliminating a terrible possibility. He stretched, rose, and returned to the deck table, resuming his enjoyment of the remaining blueberries and their raspberry-like relatives.

He reached for the fruit platter, picked up a berry, and raised it to his mouth—then paused. Kraft held the blueberry before his eyes, puzzled by its darker, cleaner skin compared to the others, and a different texture.

Deep purple, almost black in color, similar in shape and size.

Looking closely at the platter, during this brief interval, the berries hadn’t been eaten—but had increased in number.

“Martin, do you have more stock?”

“Huh?” The messenger’s confused voice came from below. He climbed onto the deck and took the berry, which looked slightly overripe.

The face, rarely expressive throughout the journey, darkened instantly—as if a summer sky had rapidly gathered cumulonimbus clouds.

“Who gave you this ‘blueberry’?”