Chapter 195: Dunling

In an era when artificial structures were all relatively low, one's first impression of a city usually began with its tallest landmark. This privilege was often monopolized by spiritual rulers.

Entering this city along the old waterway, one inevitably encounters embankments older than the kingdom itself, patched over multiple eras and with different craftsmanship, new and old bricks layered like exposed sedimentary rock.

In the distance, a massive building lying beside the river extends towering towers blackened by weathering; a deep, resonant metallic clang descends from high above.

The vibration was so dull, as if rusted iron thunderclouds boomed far away, releasing long-suppressed pressure trapped in the oxide layer. Tiny white specks, no larger than grains of rice, trudged slowly between the narrow window gaps of the gray-black buildings; the thick hum made them pause, looking up at the sky divided by eaves and arches.

"Every time I come here, my heart feels unwell. These buildings, and the sounds—they're ancient, like they were just dug up from a tomb of the former king's era, still muttering nonsense like 'the Lord saves mankind.'" Professor Lin Deng complained, "They suit certain people whose one leg is already in the grave."

Professor Maynard, who followed behind, chuckled a few times, unsure whether to agree or not. He wasn't a senior like Lin Deng, who could ignore everyone's face; with students present, he had to mind his academic relationships.

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"So what is that place?"

"The Cathedral of the Mother, not the largest or oldest cathedral, but certainly the oldest among cathedrals. That's its bell tower." Maynard pointed toward the source of the chime, "It's said—only said—that Westmin coins were originally meant to be called Mother Coins, but someone preferred the reverse side bear a symbol more representative of the current kingdom."

Kraft found this explanation surprisingly reasonable. "I've never heard this before."

"Only said. On our side is the reverse; on the front side stands the Knight's Island Church, the burial place of successive royal families, including the very first one." He clearly wasn't here for the first time—he knew the local details well.

"Smaller than the Cathedral of the Mother, not open to the public, but there's a statue at its entrance, said to be carved after the original's likeness—worth a visit."

Referring to the royal family with "the First One" was a clear designation: the founding, most legendary king of North Kingdom, chosen by the Lord, who drew the sword from the stone. He had recently reviewed the full story in Hudson Town; if needed, he could now recite it verbatim.

"We really should go see it." After a rare official business trip, skipping the famous sights would feel like a waste.

Kraft had recently considered revising his training approach: learning without reflection leads to confusion; locking oneself in books easily breeds ideological problems. Perhaps touring historical sites, experiencing the vastness of the world and the changes of time, would prevent one from brooding over temporary hardships.

He noted this down for now, adding it to the sightseeing list.

The boat drifted with the current, entering narrower waterways within the city, gradually drawing closer to the riverbank as the urban foreground came sharply into view.

As a major port city, Dunling felt utterly different from Weijie Harbor or Westmin—imbued with a deep-rooted, ancient tradition that commercial bustle could never dissolve. It was not a newly built city after the kingdom's founding; humans had settled here long before historical records existed.

Many building foundations had been naturally smoothed; entirely different materials, from multiple eras, had been stacked atop them to form wildly contrasting architectures, patched together with remnants of original decorations. Walls repainted or scraped clean bore inscriptions in scripts Kraft had never seen—simple, unrefined, or indistinct in character; perhaps the most intricate ones vanished first, unable to withstand unconscious damage by citizens.

A strange combination caught Kraft's attention: a man in a white robe, likely a priest, carrying a burning metal censer, yet he did not appear to be preaching; his companion, draped in a cloak bearing a winged circle emblem, had a distinct hard bulge beneath.

People automatically parted when they saw them, clearing a space along the narrow riverside path.

Though he knew the Church was armed, he had rarely seen clerics accompanied by such guards; before he could ask, Lin Deng let out a cold snort.

"I've never understood why Your Majesty allows the Church to wander around with weapons under his nose—there's nowhere they won't go."

"And certain late-blooming spineless cowards—if they possessed even one percent of their ancestors' courage—wouldn't have stood still for decades, timid and inert, forcing even slightly outstanding individuals to flee to nameless places where snow falls half the year."

As the primary victim in this field, the surgery professor fumed, "I still remember a colleague around my age who could have easily stayed to teach—yet ended up at some obscure Church school, something called Wen..."

"... Sorry, Professor Kraft, I only meant to say that the best actors should stand center stage, receiving applause—just like you."

"I understand your meaning." The truest enemy always knows you best; Kraft hadn't expected to glean this information from Lin Deng before even entering Dunling University. "Do you remember his name?"

"Something like Karlman? Back then, Mo Lisen was still willing to teach students—unlike recent years. I haven't heard what he's been up to in a long time."

The boat passed the cathedral they had seen from afar. Statues and pointed arches clung to the old-style buildings squatting by the shore; waves lapped against the solid, broad foundation of the bell tower, the stone beasts atop it now blurred by erosion.

Its luster had faded, but its core showed no decay; its foundations remained firm, stone pilings sunk beneath the old boardwalks, deeply embedded in the riverbed mud.

The riverside face should be the front, carved with relief figures visible only from a boat. Not surprising—out of faith, builders often did laborious, thankless things, adding intricate details beyond normal tourist sightlines to express devotion to beings whose vision wasn't limited like mortals'.

The central relief depicted a man holding a sword; figures on either side leaned back or raised their hands in astonishment. Kraft studied it a moment before realizing he wasn't merely holding the sword—he was drawing it out.

By professional habit, he tried to identify the sword's type. The carving was too low; water level fluctuations had blurred the details. His final conclusion: the artist was an amateur—the blade appeared as long as a two-handed greatsword, yet the hilt was sized for a hand-and-a-half sword, only one and a half palms long. Or perhaps the era was too early, and proportions were poorly understood.

The careless style drained all interest; Kraft shook his head and returned to the cabin to pack his luggage, preparing to dock.

Shortly after passing the Cathedral of the Mother, the boat moored at a small, elegant pier. Fernand blocked those about to disembark and handed the letter to a receptionist who had rushed over upon seeing the ship's flag.

Soon, a bald middle-aged man in a robe edged with red thread arrived with a retinue whose hair density decreased progressively, his face full of resignation. He ceremonially scattered a few petals that looked nearly identical to the main flowers in the nearby flowerbeds, bowing slightly—barely at all.

"Professor Fernand, welcome to Dunling."

"Long time no see, Samuel! No need for such formality." The old professor stepped off the gangway and gave him a half-formal embrace, then scanned the crowd, searching for a specific person.

"Where's Mo Lisen? Why isn't he here? Don't tell me he's off doing an experiment again? I can't even recall the last time he used that excuse."

At these words, several scholars behind him, who had already been displeased but maintained composure, grew agitated—their outrage surpassed even their resentment over the "subtle phrasing" in the letter.

Fortunately, Professor Samuel, standing before them, was likely Fernand's literal "old friend." Seeing the situation turn sour, he immediately stepped between them and defused it: "No, no, I'm certain Professor Fernand meant no harm—absolutely no sarcasm intended."

Having temporarily calmed his colleagues, who were on the verge of launching a full-scale theoretical assault, he turned to the Rivers group, his tone now tinged with sorrow: "This isn't anyone's fault—but now is simply not an appropriate time to joke about Professor Mo Lisen."

"I apologize. If possible, may I know what happened?"

"Professor Mo Lisen died several months ago in a laboratory fire, along with Professor Karlman and several students involved in the experiment. The details are complex; currently, I am temporarily overseeing the medical college."