Chapter 219: Merging the Pieces

When the professor extended his finger for the third time to trace the paper's surface, attempting to transcend its medium and touch the engraved grooves, Greene finally couldn't help but speak up to stop him.

"Don't be fooled by its decent preservation—it's at least a hundred years old; handle it carefully."

"Oh, sorry—I never expected to see this here." Kraft withdrew his hand, wiped the thin sweat from his palm onto his hem, and gently lifted the paper to turn it over.

Recognizing the true nature of these imitations did not reassure him; instead, it stirred an inexplicable revulsion, like encountering a narrative where primary and secondary elements were hopelessly confused, or a face with misaligned features crudely stitched together.

That molten appearance added further unease to the pattern. He had never before associated melting with solid stone carvings, and could not guess what intent lay behind this imagery—or whether it was an imitation of some unknown form.

"Have you seen anything like this before?"

"Not exactly—it's different from what I know. Same style, but clearly a copy."

The copyist left little record; the content on both sides combined was minimal, even omitting the time and location of discovery. A few hastily drawn, distorted letters were sketched, compared with earlier mentioned forms, yet no logical lineage could be established—only the self-consolation that it was a personal, impromptu work by the author.

"Two symbolic patterns have been merged together." Those who had seen the full image could distinguish them far more easily—or rather, their distinctive traits remained irreducible even after being scattered and reassembled.

If they hadn't coincidentally encountered them both in the northern frontier of the kingdom and in Dunling, then their influence must be far broader than imagined.

"What do they signify?"

"I'm not sure." The arcs and straight lines pointed toward the solitary celestial body suspended deep above, while the winding, meandering lines depicted something that still could not be clearly conceptualized in his mind.

The former couldn't be explained; the latter, one cannot explain to others what one does not understand oneself.

"I've only seen them on ancient relics and ruins—definitely pagan symbols, no doubt." Kraft declared with even greater certainty than Greene, his firmness making one suspect he might harbor a personal grudge against Mo Lisen.

"No connection to that potion? We've encountered cases where cultists were given hallucinogenic drugs; after ingestion, combined with subtle suggestion, they were easily convinced of absolute truths. From a medical standpoint, is such a possibility viable?"

Kraft shook his head. "The likelihood is minimal. I've said it before—such effects could be openly obtained for far greater gains."

A silence settled over the desk as both parties digested the information they had gathered.

"Where did you see this thing?"

"Far north of the kingdom—at least two or three months' voyage by ship, then several more days' ride into the mountains. You wouldn't know where it is."

"Then there's nothing more we can do. Declaring it pagan symbols is meaningless without further leads." Greene exhaled heavily, tilted his head back to stretch his neck, and glanced sideways at Kraft. "If that's all you know."

The latter had no interest in such casual provocation; he hesitated to reveal information he himself couldn't confirm—partly fearing misdirection, partly uncertain what dangers might await if he pursued it further, and wishing to retain control over the investigation's direction and pace.

He believed Greene thought the same—this priest, who managed affairs within the Church hierarchy, didn't seem the type to be easily led.

Moreover, Greene could mobilize considerable local manpower and resources—he could easily operate independently.

Flipping forward several pages, Kraft found the other recovered fragments seized alongside it: a severely damaged burial site outside the city, some ditch, then a drainage channel.

"Have you tried locating this thing?" Judging by the imprint's area, it must be significantly larger than the paper, and with its supporting medium, its full scale rivals some steles—possibly even including other associated sections.

And since it was accidentally discovered by an amateur architect, it likely wasn't hidden in a place inaccessible by normal means.

"I've asked several enthusiasts of ancient architecture—some even involved in cathedral restoration—who said that if such a thing truly existed, it wouldn't have remained obscure."

"Could it be underground? Look at these—like sewers, for instance... Hmm, sewers wide enough for a person to walk through—can you narrow the scope?"

Greene gathered the papers, slipping each back between the protective parchment. "Would you try searching the Tem River for one specific drop of water?"

"Huh?"

"Dunling has no shortage of such places—no one can say where they exist or how long they stretch. Or rather, the question should be: where aren't they?"

"I don't understand." This clashed sharply with his preconceived notion of sewers in this era, making him feel as if he were being told about some vast subterranean ant colony, its tunnels hollowing out the foundations of buildings.

"Forgive me, but are you digging sewers or underground rivers? Who funded such an engineering project?"

"No one. We rarely bother with drainage systems."

"Are you telling me these sewers grew on their own?" Planning a drainage and sewage system for a city the size of Dunling—especially one wide enough for walking—was an enormous undertaking.

Yet he hadn't expected Greene to nod in agreement. "You could say that."

"They've always been there. Dunling merely repurposed them—and possibly even harmed them. In truth, only a small portion was built by 'Dunling people.' You must understand: 'Dunling people' is a concept that only emerged after the kingdom's founding."

"Then who built the rest?"

"No one knows. They've always been there—just another kind of ruin. You can find them throughout the city and its surroundings, like any other ancient structure." Greene spoke as if stating the obvious.

On this unchanging land, the most abundant things were ancient ones—even the foundation stone of the Mother Cathedral was younger than this manuscript by a multiple of its age.

"Then who built them?"

"Perhaps everyone? Each generation repaired and expanded upon the last, until it became this. Maybe." Even his vast knowledge of Church texts couldn't lend conviction to his tone.

Unlike above-ground structures, the city's underground sections had always received little attention; their function as sewers further discouraged visitors.

"They're ideal for housing everything unfit to appear aboveground: sewage, trash, even those who defy the law—sometimes you find hiding places down there, forcing us to descend and drag them out."

"So I know how vast it is—an endless web of branching tunnels, levels, and elevations, all brick and stone—so complex that even gangsters using them to evade capture dare not venture far."

There was reason to infer how one might learn to draw a blade in darkness—practical necessity breeds technique.

"Even the Inquisition couldn't try?"

"The Inquisition isn't my personal domain. Even the bishop couldn't order everyone to crawl through sewers based on an unverified lead. And there are plenty who resent a colleague of low birth—they'd welcome another reason to impeach him."

"Alright, I admit it's genuinely troublesome." Kraft now understood the magnitude of the challenge before him.

There were clues—but few, and likely buried in the sewers, requiring him to dig them out himself. And this sewer system was slightly larger than he'd imagined.

Moreover, they didn't even know if the clue was useful—they were blind travelers in darkness, rushing toward the only light in sight.

But Kraft had another idea—a possible way to connect the clues both sides held.

"If that's true, then beneath our feet, the sewers must be densely packed—so dense that you could dig down anywhere and hit them."

"A bit exaggerated, but essentially true. Hollow collapses during foundation digging aren't uncommon."

"What if it were a quarry?"

"What do you mean?" Greene asked, and almost simultaneously recalled today's tracking of Kraft's movements. "You mean..."

"Not long ago, I reviewed the library's borrowing records—don't ask how I accessed them." Seeing Greene's sudden, urgent realization, Kraft pressed his palm downward, signaling calm.

"Coincidentally, I recognized the handwriting of one professor—he repeatedly declared surgical instruments unfit for return, citing exposure to highly contagious patients. This same procedure was repeated many times over several months."

"Assume—just assume—that this has meaning. Whether it's an oversight or a hidden hint from a conscience still alive, I can only think of one place: the most likely final resting place for plague victims rejected by ordinary cemeteries."

"The problem then was: I didn't know what to look for." A search without direction could shatter any confidence in one's own deductions.

【But now I probably understand.】

"This proves nothing." After a few breaths of silence, Green suppressed the urge to immediately gather his men and re-examined this purely subjective speculation from an objective standpoint.

"Setting aside the possibility that this is merely an excuse for blind agreement, it could just as easily mean their targeted victims are patients seeking cure—under threat of death, even the slightest hope makes any cost acceptable."

"So far, there are no recorded cases of infected patients being cured by surgery. The academic consensus holds that remedies are needed, though their effectiveness is minimal at best."

"Isn't sticking a needle into the chest cavity considered traumatic surgery?" From a complete layperson's perspective, it's easy to raise objections, "Besides, Mo Lisen has a potent remedy that can easily create the illusion of a miracle."

"But right now, we only have this one lead—do you keep chasing tomb robbers on the streets, or do you try this?"

"......"

"Wading, tell our people to be here tomorrow dressed in civilian clothes."

Kraft removed his gloves and extended his hand to Green. "My grandfather told me that back on the battlefield, when temporary trust was needed, they would remove their gauntlets to show they were unarmed, then shake hands—that was the simplest form of alliance."

The two hands clasped firmly together, then parted after a brief contact. Nearby observers faintly heard the muffled, brittle crack of compressed joints.

"By the way, don't let the Academy know—I don't want my reputation ruined in the industry."

"Indeed, the simplest form of alliance."