Chapter 140

"Disappeared?"

"Yes, he vanished." Martin silently opened his mouth as if to spit the heavy, angular words onto the supervisor's face, shattering that weathered, battle-deadened visage—but noticing the crowd around him, he restrained the impulse. "In a space so narrow two people could seal it shut, better to search the entire banquet hall and find out which bastard hired that servant."

The other accepted Martin's suggestion—or rather, his order. Kraft felt the two must know each other; perhaps Martin held even higher status, yet he seemed unwilling to openly reveal this in front of outsiders, deliberately maintaining the posture of "someone unimportant."

The people in the corridor gradually dispersed; driving away this crowd of assorted dignitaries had been no easy task. It wasn't that they didn't fear death—merely that some sense of "honor" held their feet in place, forcing them to display courage only in controlled forms, before their own kind. Though few dared even approach the crime scene, that didn't stop them from offering "brilliant insights" drawn from nowhere.

The supervisor listened one by one to their "brilliant insights" from their own perspectives: flying thieves capable of scaling walls and rooftops, potions inducing permanent unconsciousness, aid from evil forces, and a brief exorcism prayer from the Theological College.

The Medical College staff stayed until the end. Someone who had just been toasting with them had vanished in the adjacent lounge—it was impossible not to feel dread. If that servant with ill intent had merely shifted his finger a fraction, he could have wiped out half—or all—of Westminster's top medical talent, leaving the field crippled for over a decade.

Of course, given the preliminary understanding of the primary diagnostic measures applied to those present, one ought to reserve judgment on the potential impact of this possible event on the future life expectancy of local nobility.

Maynard kept glancing repeatedly at the room where Pitry had vanished, incredulous. "Professor Kraft, you have deeper insight into this field—could any potion achieve such an effect?"

"I'd need a full set of equipment, an assistant, and a few minutes to achieve an unstable anesthetic effect." If such a method existed, it would've been used long ago—why wait for ether? Most modern and even contemporary anesthetics would be obsolete. Why leap forward centuries step by step when you can just sprint straight to the finish?

"Master, you should return to rest as well." Brimmer urged, casting a skeptical glance at the enigmatic supervisor. "We can't help here, and this place is likely still unsafe."

"You go ahead. I'll stay a while longer to catch some wind—can't have me vanish right here under everyone's eyes. Since both vanished from unseen spots, it's probably just some shady trick." Fernand shook his head, showing no fear.

"But Professor Kraft—I hear he's from the northern warrior nobility. He could stay and chat with me, couldn't he? Can't he be braver than your student?"

"If you wish, of course."

"Then I'll take everyone else away." Brimmer didn't mind his master's teasing and insisted on leading the remaining guests and students out, his manner urgent.

Unnoticed, the once-packed corridor had emptied. The supervisor had found an excuse to supervise his subordinates and escaped Martin's murderous gaze, leaving only two men discussing academia at the crime scene—and Martin, preparing to examine the room himself.

"Lord Fernand, I won't disturb the two of you." Martin smoothly switched into polite mode, tactfully withdrawing from the conversation that no longer involved him.

But Fernand, who had just seemed indifferent, called him back. "No, Sir Martin, please stay a moment."

"Professor Kraft, about that case just mentioned—could you elaborate further on your views?" After stopping Martin, Fernand didn't issue orders—he simply resumed the already-ended discussion.

"Which one?"

"The one Brimmer mentioned."

"Hmm, the professors and lecturers have already covered it thoroughly; I can't offer much beyond their suggestions." Kraft used the standard opening of an academic discussion, buying himself time to organize his reply. "In diagnosis, I recommend tracing the patient's surrounding circle of contacts, and if possible, extending the trace back months before symptom onset. Many patients also exhibit reduced appetite and subcutaneous swellings, often palpable in the neck."

After a rough estimation of the size of Mycobacterium tuberculosis, he added: "I have a new research project that might allow observation of the agent causing this disease—but I'll need some craftsmen's help."

In truth, the odds were slim—without even considering staining issues, it was conservatively ten times smaller than a red blood cell. But these people didn't look poor; a little deception for funding and technical support couldn't hurt, could it?

Fernand listened patiently, nodded in approval, and didn't question the hidden agenda in his words, making Kraft feel slightly guilty. "Indeed, the patient's wife suffered from chronic cough before her death, which gave her a pale complexion and slender frame... Oh, Martin, don't look at me like that—it's a medical assessment, nothing more."

"We're very interested in your research. Also, what are your thoughts on treatment?"

Kraft sensed his unfamiliar aura—the aura of someone who didn't care about expenditure. No wonder River's University—once you said that, you didn't let people walk away. "As previously stated, I hold a pessimistic view regarding treatment of this disease. No cure currently exists, nor any direct diagnostic method. But from my specialty's perspective, I can propose some immature approaches."

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【Shouldn't River's University support my research?】

The progress was unexpectedly smooth—perhaps due to his excellent performance at the gathering, and Professor Fernand's openness to interdisciplinary exchange. He kept nodding. This was a delightful surprise: gaining support from a well-established university would greatly enhance trial-and-error capacity and efficiency.

"Then do you think this patient would respond to these approaches?"

"It depends on the patient's specific condition—it's hard to judge without a direct evaluation." Out of caution, he wouldn't overstate anything. The discussion circled back to the case, triggering his instinctive suspicion of patients who secretly withheld medical history, played guessing games with doctors, and gambled with their lives.

Before Fernand could speak, Kraft noticed Martin, a beat late, finally grasping something—and let out a sudden, enlightened "Ah!"

"Exactly—you're the talent we need." Fernand gave the newly appointed professor an unexpected hug, revealing a smile Kraft couldn't see—worry and hope intertwined. "Sir Martin, this place isn't safe enough. Take our Professor Kraft to a truly secure, confidential location."

"Now?" The situation felt off. Kraft, pulled away by Martin's grip, found their familiarity suspicious, their level of importance exceeding mere funding interest. "I have attendants—I can't even wait one night to assign them tasks?"

"We'll bring your assistants to you in absolute safety. Since someone could infiltrate here... nowhere outside is safe."