Chapter 202

"Since the Church tightened its grip, Dunling's environment has never improved." Vilen walked beside Kraft, unhurried, between the salt-pillar-like steles. "When most deaths are discovered, the deceased's relatives are notified first, and the Church second. For those without relatives, the Church is moved to first."

"People of status are buried in church graveyards; ordinary cemeteries also have cemetery keepers employed by the Church to patrol and prevent sacrilegious grave-robbing for stolen burial goods."

"I'm curious how you obtain your… 'research subjects.'" Kraft severed his spiritual senses and paused, gripping the nearest gravestone for balance.

Dunling's colleague twisted his fingers with deliberate meaning. "We have no research subjects—at least, no one has ever admitted to having any. All our findings come from interpreting the great works of our ancestors and external observation. There are no research subjects."

"Nor is there any paying off cemetery keepers, or offering eight silver coins as tea money to invite 'people' to the Academy. Sometimes, when Father's faithful come to visit, they happen upon grave robbers fleeing in panic after being caught, leaving corpses nearby—it's entirely reasonable."

"Very reasonable."

"It's good you think so. We've long struggled to reach reconciliation with the Inquisition. Recent circumstances have been especially difficult."

"Mutual understanding between people is always hard. Let's go see the Academy's instruments." The day was still early—perfect for pressing forward while the opportunity lasted, before the other side realized their motives were impure.

This wasn't difficult. Vilen gestured with a "this way" motion and led the Rivers guests into the instrument storage room without a second thought. So natural was his demeanor that the storage student didn't even ask who these unfamiliar new teachers were.

Numerous metal instruments and glass apparatuses were stored on massive wooden cabinets fixed to the walls; upper shelves required a specialized ladder, its design evidently inspired by siege towers, to access them.

This place was nearly a glass pavilion, housing generations of technological evolution—from crude, translucent thick jars to sleek, monochromatic new instruments. Every level of craftsmanship had its place, including several tiny pieces of extraordinary transparency that stood out starkly from their peers.

Seeing Kraft's curiosity, Vilen took down one and handed it to him. Fine ice-crack patterns within revealed it had been hollowed and polished from a single block of natural crystal.

"Very luxurious, isn't it? You won't see anything like this anywhere else—and you never will again."

They arrived before the newest white-glass instrument cabinet—likely the product of the unfortunate alchemist who perished in the mine. Now, the shelf held many empty spaces, like a child's toothless gums: the departed gone, the replacements not yet filled.

"The raw materials ran out for a long time, so we couldn't replenish. This year we finally got word—but then a fire broke out, destroying much. Since these were custom-ordered under Professor Morrison's personal name, there were delivery issues too. What remains here is all available for use; just sign in here."

"Excellent." His eyes swept over the array of containers. From the stained-glass windows of the church, one could gauge the region's glasswork skill—and here, the artisans were no less accomplished than those in Comfort Harbor. He saw many devices that challenged imagination and technique.

Some oddly shaped bottles, lacking rubber fittings with adequate airtightness, had simply been fused together with their fittings. One condenser tube, made by nesting a beaded inner tube inside an outer one and sealing both ends, was directly fused to the flask—no one knew how they cleaned it.

"Could I see the inventory list?" He didn't much care what remained—he cared more about what was missing.

The student pulled out a thick ledger from a drawer. Half its pages were filled with handwritten entries of incoming and outgoing items, each signed in different hands. Kraft almost couldn't believe this volume—likely reflecting most of the Medical Academy's recent experimental activity—was now in his hands.

Things came too fast, too easily. It felt unreal.

Kraft subtly turned his body to shield the pages. The manager's careful date separators greatly aided his search; he easily traced back over half a year.

But a new difficulty arose: his eyes met a sea of unfamiliar names. Some used cursive, others initials. The handwriting reflected the Medical Academy's long-standing scribal tradition—true internal documents were incomprehensible to outsiders, clearly designed to deter audits.

His initial idea had been too simple. Another problem: as a professor, Morrison need not personally come to the storage to sign out items. Searching would be like groping in darkness.

After flipping through several pages, just as Kraft prepared to spend hours memorizing the second half for comparison, a strikingly elegant signature stood out.

【KALMAN】

Perhaps countless people in the world bore the name Kalman—but only one would have such exquisite handwriting and appear here.

The capital K stretched into a slender, branch-like serif, while the remaining letters clustered like perched birds upon it. The fluid, connected strokes suggested a carefully composed signature on a formal letter's end—not a casual jot.

According to the date on this entry, roughly half a year ago, Professor Kalman arrived in Dunling just as Kraft was pondering the mine's ore sources in Comfort Harbor.

Possibly even earlier—he had rushed here at top speed after receiving word. By the time he signed, he was already assisting Morrison with experimental affairs, borrowing several knives, clamps, tweezers, and several graduated measuring cups.

The signature flowed seamlessly, executed in one unbroken motion.

【He seemed to be in excellent condition】

There was no trace of the man who left behind a crate of obscure, incomprehensible lab notes. He appeared as if returned to his vigorous prime, eager to devote himself to every task assigned by his mentor.

Two pages further, he saw Kalman's signature again—this time, he had borrowed several graduated containers and what appeared to be surgical-grade reagents, far more suited for operations than drug preparation.

Half a month later, the same signature appeared, listing the return of original glass containers and surgical instruments—compensated via budget, with instructions to the equipment room to order replacements from the original craftsmen under the Academy's name.

The reason: instruments exposed to highly contagious diseases could not be reused. Kalman's own handwriting even added a detailed report: he had performed a tumor excision on a syphilis patient unresponsive to mercury therapy or honey applications.

Realizing the mass disappearance of instruments might raise suspicion, his actions grew more restrained afterward—only a few items missing from each batch, such as two small scalpels claimed for draining abscesses in feverish patients.

For months, the delicate glass instruments used for distillation, boiling, and extraction were only occasionally borrowed temporarily. The complex ones always remained under Kalman's name—or were never returned due to damage compensation—until a fire sent them all to the permanent loss ledger.

Throughout, each beautiful signature had never been hasty or careless—like evenly spaced lampposts along a midnight, empty road, now standing alone in the center of a wasteland.

"Professor Kraft, have you found what you needed?"