Chapter 46: Chapter Forty-Four: The Missing Part

Kraft held his sword and looked around; only three people remained, including himself.

The middle-aged man who had gone to fetch water sat on the ground, his bucket rolled several meters away, water spilled everywhere. He had just returned with the bucket, never expecting Kraft to suddenly draw his sword and strike the wooden wall behind him so fiercely that he dropped the bucket in fright.

Lu Xiusi trembled beside him; he had been the closest, and that sword had grazed his side—had it been any closer, he would have met the same fate as the wooden wall.

He pressed his chest, his hand clutching the case shaking uncontrollably, “So that blade was actually sharpened?”

He had long known Kraft owned a fine sword, but because Kraft always presented himself as a scholar and physician, everyone assumed it was merely a symbolic relic of his family’s martial heritage.

No one ever imagined Kraft would actually draw it one day.

“Could I have… had a nightmare?” Kraft surveyed the area with his sword drawn, found no threat, and reluctantly sheathed it. “Did anyone approach me just now?”

That eerie malice came swiftly and vanished just as fast, dissolving under sunlight like a soap bubble, trying to escape from memory.

But consciousness faithfully recorded the sensation: a comfortable sinking, deeper and deeper, something quietly approaching, wrapping itself in a soft shell as part of a gentle dream.

The malice hidden within, exposed by a single flaw, created a jarring contrast that made Kraft shudder in recollection—like his favorite cream soup suddenly rippling, with irregular black shadows gliding within, vile things lurking beneath the surface.

Kraft felt he had indeed encountered something, dream or not. The experience felt familiar, giving him a terrible premonition.

Looking into the crack he had slashed, the interior of the wooden wall revealed an empty, dim, cramped space—the owner had long left. No one could have hidden there, let alone passed through the wall to produce that sensation.

Kraft walked to the middle-aged man, bent down, and helped him up. “I’m deeply sorry. I assure you, this was purely an accident. Your work is done. Take your pay and go.”

He reached out to brush the dust off him, but realized the man’s clothing was no cleaner than the ground—he abandoned the gesture and picked up the fallen bucket.

A little water remained in the bucket. Kraft simply poured it all out, watching the waterline slowly drain away. No murkiness, no floating debris—just clear water splashing a few mud spots into the soil, seeping in.

It was far better than he expected; he had feared water so cloudy you couldn’t see the bottom.

Seeing wasn’t enough. He needed to take a bucket back to the academy to test it on animals. Since everyone had fled, he might as well observe the well.

He leaned over the well’s edge and peered down—darkness stretched endlessly, no bottom visible. Facing such a deep well triggered an instinctive fear of falling, uncontrollably imagining himself hurtling toward cold, dark water in a narrow shaft.

It felt as if below lay another world, utterly opposite to the one sunlight could reach—a long, lightless tunnel ending in a gateway.

The bucket, tied to a rope, descended slowly, bumping against the well walls until it touched the water.

Kraft wrapped the rope twice around his hands and pulled upward. The full wooden bucket was heavy, as if possessing its own will, tugging him toward its end.

He felt that strange odor return, becoming distinct as he neared the well’s mouth.

Consciousness confirmed it wasn’t an olfactory signal—it was synesthesia, some more peculiar information attempting to express itself through the pathway of smell.

Without prompting, Kraft remembered where he had felt this before.

But… how could this be?

He strained to pull the rope, hauling the bucket out of the well. The water inside appeared perfectly clear. Yet instinct—or some higher sense that had grown after contact with the abnormal—insisted something unnatural was there.

Kraft instinctively rejected the warning, but his mind involuntarily processed it, correlating the new information with his existing memories.

“Lu Xiusi, could you come here?” He gestured to Lu Xiusi.

The middle-aged man had left; no outsiders remained. Some things needed reconfirmation.

Lu Xiusi approached the bucket, keeping a careful distance, glanced at the well water, “What is it? Is it really the water?”

He was still shaken by the sudden incident.

“I’m not sure. I just thought of another issue.” Kraft ignored his caution, unwinding the rope from his hands. “I need you to recall something. It might be intrusive, but I must ask.”

“If I can remember it, I won’t hide anything. As payment, can I see your sword when we return?” The familiar Kraft had returned; Lu Xiusi felt reassured and now grew curious about the sword—who could resist the allure of a beautiful, functional weapon?

“Of course, just don’t cut your own hand.” The request was entirely understandable. A fine sword was simply dazzling.

“I want to ask: in the days before Professor Karlman left, how would you describe his mental state?”

“Huh? Why ask this now?” Once again, Lu Xiusi felt he had no connection with this kind of erratic thinker.

“Just tell me how he was. Any big difference from usual? Say anything.” Since he hadn’t realized why the question was asked, that was better—Kraft needed as objective, emotion-free an answer as possible.

He spoke as casually as he could, creating a relaxed atmosphere to encourage Lu Xiusi to recall more, to speak freely.

Lu Xiusi, stroking his beak-like chin, said, “He’s never been better—almost euphoric.”

“Did you notice any changes in his personality? Especially anything inconsistent with his usual demeanor?” Once suspicion arose, everything seemed abnormal—Kraft’s mindset now was exactly this.

“If I must say, he was too eager—always wanting to complete more experiments as quickly as possible.”

“Did he spend most of his time in the lab?”

“I didn’t pay attention to that. Let me think… at least, the time he left the academy each day didn’t change—it was always evening.”

“Eager to finish more experiments in the academy, yet unwilling to stay even a little longer?” Kraft found the contradiction.

Alone, this might be normal—but combined with what was known, an unthinkable hypothesis surfaced.

The implication was too obvious; Lu Xiusi caught it. “You mean the professor had other business outside? The samples weren’t all in…”

His rebuttal cut off abruptly—he realized there was a major problem. Indeed, the destination of some black liquid usage was unknown to him.

Now it made sense why Kraft asked this question now.

Dispersed pieces of information were strung together by a thread with clear beginning and end.

“Your suspicion is completely baseless. Why would the professor do such a thing?” Lu Xiusi immediately denied it, even though the guess aligned with his own initial reasoning about the black liquid.

Professor Karlman had been his mentor for years, his guide in medicine—almost like a second father. Whether from personal emotion or moral trust, Lu Xiusi could not accept linking the two.

“So you do think this possibility exists, then?” Kraft stared at Lu Xiusi, their eyes meeting through two layers of lenses. “Think again—consider all evidence, whether supporting or contradicting.”

Kraft himself was startled by this absurd hypothesis.

Though their time together had been brief, Professor Karlman’s image in his mind remained deeply positive—a man devoted to scholarship, seeking to advance medicine and save lives.

Even knowing Karlman had taken a portion of the samples alone, Kraft had never imagined this direction—he’d assumed only some technical details were being kept secret.

Coupled with the strict control of the black liquid, every use logged, he had developed a false sense of complete control, preferring to believe it was some unheard-of peculiar epidemic. He never imagined the meticulously refined procedures lost all meaning the moment the professor took that missing portion.

The idea that “the professor used black liquid to poison” was too absurd.

Yet now, he stood before this well—almost certainly the source of the crime—just minutes after experiencing a dreamlike attack.

That incomprehensible, strange aura now permeated the air, growing denser and clearer the moment he became aware of it.

He could feel it—but this time, it was no longer confined within a glass vial.

It drifted freely through open space, dwelling in the deep well, dissolving into every bucket drawn, filling boundless space.

Its scope was so vast, like an invisible lake suspended in the air—everyone who drank the well water was affected, sinking into it.

Kraft recalled his notes: black liquid was indeed a medium. The sleep induced by diluted doses was merely an outward manifestation.

Its true purpose was to allow the sleeper to contact another layer of reality.

Normal minds could not accept or retain information alien to this world, so upon waking, they remembered nothing of their dreams.

But such a tiny amount of liquid could not produce sustained, noticeable effects on so many people simultaneously without another mechanism—a positive feedback loop amplifying its influence.

Scope. Number of people.

A “domain,” like the black pillar, had emerged—one that affected all nearby individuals meeting certain conditions.

Within a certain range, once enough people had consumed the water, the influence deepened and expanded; the expanded range then affected even more people, enveloping more contacts to further intensify the effect.

Having affected all nearby contacts, this “domain” now extended beyond the Salt Tide Zone, reaching into the Bradleys’ home on Elm Street.

Like an invisible, intangible lake, those immersed in it remained unaware, only noticing their sleep growing longer and longer.

And that malevolent entity, disguised in softness, swam through it like a fish—no one knew its intent.