Chapter 156

"Actually, I left out one thing." During dinner, Kraft lifted a lettuce leaf with his fork but didn't eat it yet, bringing up another matter: "What happened to Professor Petrie's belongings?"

Martin sipped a small amount of the slightly sour red wine, frowning as he recalled: "It was probably sealed along with his temporary room, to be received by someone appropriate once word reached Dunling—or we could deliver it ourselves. Why ask?"

"By protocol, every invited attendee at a gathering must submit an academic report on their primary research progress. Professor Petrie was no exception." Kraft set down his knife and continued, "Such reports aren't improvised on the spot—they should have been written in advance."

"Hmm, I suppose no one thought to check for it back then. But as you say, it should still be in our possession."

"Yes, I'd like to see that manuscript." Though he held little hope, even indirect insight into Petrie's recent research might offer a lead.

The small vial, seized from the heretic and containing a scant amount of black liquid, still lay in his pack. Once seen, one wouldn't forget that subtle, lurking allure.

His will, hardened by so many trials, was no longer what it had been. Before such a substance, the incessant false whispers in his mind could no longer move him; instead, certain thoughts he'd once dismissed as irrelevant associations now stood clearer. That pure black surface resembled a bottomless well, leading into dark, lightless depths.

【Black Liquid】

Seeing another vial of black liquid wasn't surprising—but knowing that Westminster lay next to Dunling, and that a heretic here had been found with it, made the most likely source obvious.

Add to that Petrie's origin from Dunling University, and the possible connections were countless; it was hard not to suspect something.

"It really won't leave us alone." Kraft placed the lettuce in his mouth—it was already cold, but still tasty. He finished dinner hastily and rose from the table.

Outside, the twilight had fully faded. From this distance across the estate, he could clearly see the Forest Wall across the open meadow.

They were wooden barriers, like palisades, erected across the water-rich plains—or winding fortifications—with trunks as skeletons and foliage as walls, packed with shrubs, vines, parasitic ferns, and other attachments, blocking all surveillance.

Fungal hyphae within the ancient humus beneath them digested the remnants of this vast living system, nourishing a dazzling array of mushrooms.

If needed, Kraft thought, these things could spread on a far greater scale—fed and concealed by dense forests—until they carpeted the entire ground, even underground, feeding on dead bark and rotting wood, eventually forming the all-pervasive "fungal forest" Martin had described.

To someone who had never seen it, it was hard to imagine the mental image conveyed by words alone; one could only compare it to standing inside the dissected corpse of an infected body, feet crushing swollen, collapsed lungs like open umbrellas, above the ribcage dome studded with fungal gills, and in the adjacent organs beneath the diaphragm, hyphae rooted into dense networks.

But now it was another, larger lifeform—the forest, infected by rampant fungi. Its death would be longer, more magnificent.

Yet the clues now pointed here; entering the forest might be inevitable.

In this endless sea of trees, he didn't expect the small amount of oil he carried to make any difference in the damp season. Besides, he hadn't brought it to burn down the forest and sit in prison for life—he carried it merely as precaution against a certain old acquaintance who particularly favored deep-layer activity.

"Ugh, this is a headache."

But this time it was better—they were a group of thirty-odd professional armed men, not scholars or logistics workers pretending to be soldiers. The threat they faced could be confirmed as human, and had even been killed before.

"Professor?" Martin approached from behind, curious, following his gaze. The night rolled in like a tide, swallowing the Forest Wall, the meadow, and them beneath a starry canopy alive with insect song.

"Are you worried our progress won't go smoothly?"

"You could say that." Kraft turned away from the now invisible Forest Wall and walked back into the warm glow by the door. A moment ago his thoughts had wandered across boundless skies; now, only the few steps around him held meaning. "What we can directly see is very limited. Too little."

"Indeed. Finding anything in the forest is a difficult task. In the past, we'd hire local hunters or others familiar with the terrain."

"Oh? You've gone into forests before to search for things?"

"More accurately, it was hunting. When the Duke was still in good health, we did it frequently." Martin leaned against the doorframe, holding his cup, and took another reluctant sip. "After all, a tour couldn't just be about eating and drinking. Outside, there's rarely anything worth tasting."

"But hunting was different. Nobles from surrounding territories all joined in. It was a fun activity, and a chance to show off ability. The Duke's favorite furs came from game he hunted himself. Don't you have such activities where you're from?"

"..." There probably were, but the Wood family always kept distance from such social circles, and due to their remote location, Old Wood never believed that a group of armed men driving and surrounding wild beasts demonstrated any martial virtue—so they never participated in the tradition.

Kraft had only taken part in practical hunting. When dealing with carnivores, he relied mostly on cruel traps and bait—no honor involved.

Still, he understood. It was like an alien soul passing spare time playing virtual war-game roleplay—emphasizing immersion, and the worse you were, the more you loved it.

"Track them down, corner them, then deliver the fatal blow. Similar to hunting. It just depends on whether they have the nerve to fight back like a dying beast—or find a chance to escape." Martin raised his cup to Kraft and drained the sour, grape-juice-like wine. "To our success."

He seemed slightly drunk now, more casual. "The wine here is mediocre. When we return to the port, I suggest we try the honey beer near Rivers University. My treat."

"Thank you, but I don't drink much." Kraft declined. Parties with drinking were his least favorite part. "By the way, where do we start tomorrow?"

"Along the river to the sawmill. They're not just active on the edges—they sometimes go deeper to find specific timber. The steward needs them to supply the estate, so they know the people."

"That's perfect." This entry point was thoughtful; Kraft fully agreed. "But I've had a question for a while—just personal curiosity. If it's inconvenient to answer, no problem."

"Have you or the Church ever encountered anything like this before? I mean, something clearly abnormal, inexplicable by normal logic, involving heretics or some other group or organization?"

"During my service to the Duke, the answer is no." Martin answered openly, without hesitation. "But I've heard many similar stories—most weren't true, and ended up being tricks or scams. The few that remained unexplained usually faded away on their own without needing much effort. Probably like those who trade their souls to demons—they eventually reap what they sow?"

"Indeed. They eventually reap what they sow." Kraft nodded in agreement. "You should get some rest. Tonight, let me and Kup take turns on watch. Don't worry—I'm always full of energy."