Chapter 63

When Kraft emerged from the room carrying several books, the box had already been transferred to Lu Xiusi’s hands. Li Si stood with one hand propped against the wall, looking exhausted but still watching them closely.

“Indeed.” Kraft placed the books inside the box, agreeing with him. “I read what you mentioned—the professor is doing strange things, conducting unusual research.”

Addressing Li Si, and by extension Lu Xiusi, Kraft paused, then continued with a more neutral tone:

“You know, people sometimes lose their minds—like someone with a terminal illness suddenly seeing a glimmer of hope, willing to try anything, no matter how absurd.”

“And for many intelligent people, there are things more important than life or pleasure—they value these goals so highly they’ll use any means, pay any price, whether it’s themselves or others.”

A long silence followed. Perhaps everyone had suspected it, but when the moment arrived, it still took time to accept that this person was the source of it all.

Li Si changed the subject, turning to the matter itself. “So what exactly are these things? Some kind of evil spirit?”

“The good news is, it’s not an evil spirit.”

In the Church’s view, all supernatural forces—except those explicitly granted by God in the holy scriptures—were tools of demons and evil spirits, tempting people into sin. The professor’s actions oddly fit this description.

The bad news is, it might be far worse than an evil spirit; I don’t even understand its logic—I only know Professor Kalmann wants to obtain something revolutionary through this method.

“Even at the cost of so many lives?” Lu Xiusi shuddered, slamming the lid shut and sealing the books inside.

He had spent the most time with the professor among the three, and believed he understood him deeply—from the broad direction of his research down to how many spoons of honey he liked in his tea.

The stark contrast shattered his mental image. The professor, after coming into contact with this thing, underwent a transformation—someone entirely unfamiliar had been born inside the same shell, and Lu Xiusi had noticed nothing during their days together.

Even now, standing right before him, he had no desire to open those books and discover what had corrupted the professor. At least for now, Lu Xiusi still believed some principles must rise above all else.

He turned away, handing the box to Kraft. “See you tomorrow. I think I need to go be alone.”

The figure in the black robe walked away into the blood-red twilight, steps light and strong, just as Kraft had first seen him on Saint Simon Square.

Only Kraft and Li Si remained. The latter had just recovered from the mental shock and sighed: “Lu Xiusi probably doesn’t realize what he’s missed. Do you think he’ll regret it later—when he’s older and finds there’s nowhere left to go?”

He spoke of Lu Xiusi, but he wasn’t looking at the retreating back. He was fixed on Kraft, watching his reaction—more like questioning himself through Kraft.

“I don’t know. I’m still young. I’ve got plenty of time to think about this.” Kraft had never been good at reading people, let alone predicting them from adolescence to old age. He couldn’t answer, so he turned the question back. “Why did you come to the Medical Academy?”

“Uh… hard to say. Maybe because of my father?”

“Don’t laugh, but he was one of those ‘outside’ doctors—you know what I mean? Spent his whole life dealing with sailors and laborers, until one day he realized his barber shop had no future and he was too old to change. So he spent most of his savings to send me here.”

“Barber shop?” This was the first time Kraft had heard Li Si talk about his past. That background was truly unusual.

Li Si didn’t feel embarrassed—he laughed himself. He rarely spoke of his family at the Academy; having someone to talk to lifted his spirits a little.

“Yes. Before ‘Human Anatomy’ appeared, surgery was like this—or rather, there was no such thing as ‘surgery.’ It was just legally sanctioned killing with knives and branding irons to amputate limbs. Hard to say whether leaving wounds untreated killed faster, or amputation did.”

“He thought it had no future. He wanted me to study at the Academy, to at least do better than him. Honestly, after more than ten years of study and trial, I don’t think I’ve surpassed him much.”

Talking about this, Li Si didn’t hide his dissatisfaction, shaking his head. “Infection, pus, amputations too short, secondary amputations from worsening conditions—the mortality rates aren’t even worth calculating. And the issue of surgical time, solvable only by clarity, severely limits everyone’s ability—and now it’s unsolved.”

He described these insurmountable barriers in a calm tone. The bloody wounds, the necrotic lesions—he’d seen too many since childhood. Unless something changed, he’d have to keep seeing them for many more years.

Patients clutched their winged-ring talismans, sprinkled holy water on wounds, and those with means hired clergy to recite prayers. He’d gone from outright rejection to indifference, sometimes feeling the clinic resembled a small chapel.

His father’s words still echoed: Do better. But the more he learned, the more deeply he realized how hard it was to go further. Limitations in treatment, societal rejection—everything made him see no hope.

“Over all these years, has there been any real improvement? I don’t think so. Even if Edward were resurrected, he couldn’t fix it. Look at the last page—this book was written by him too.”

“Huh?”

“To go further… they all walked this path.” Li Si sighed deeply. “To be honest, I understand them. I can’t lie to myself—I couldn’t promise I’d refuse like Lu Xiusi if I ever got the chance.”

Kraft listened quietly, offering no moral judgment. “Go further, then use it to save more people. That sounds logical.”

“Yes.”

“Why save more people?” Kraft pressed.

Li Si froze. The question was unreasonable. Talking about morality felt wrong; appealing to common sense made no sense at all.

“The core of this question is that you see yourself as a higher being, one who can assign value to life by quantity. But to something beyond society, beyond ethics, what special meaning does human life hold?”

He tapped the box. The heavy books inside thudded dully. “And I have hope for the future—I believe we can achieve it without this path. Even if it takes so long that sand grinds away the names and epitaphs on our tombstones.”

Kraft had witnessed medicine advance at an unbelievable pace. New technologies replaced older ones faster than electronics. Every field changed daily. Clear paths lay before him. He felt no confusion, no fear—he knew every bit of his work accelerated that day’s arrival.

The world lacked the foundation. Too early exposure would only produce isolated, poorly understood miracles.

His near-blind confidence made Li Si envious, pulling his thoughts off his own doubts and future.

“So certain?”

“If it doesn’t happen, you can come to heaven—or hell, if it exists—and point at my nose and scream at me for not letting someone trade lives for knowledge.” Kraft joked. “Of course, by then I won’t admit I was wrong.”

He slung the box onto his shoulder, paid Li Si for the supplies, and left. At the street corner, he flagged down a passing cargo cart, negotiated the driver’s final delivery of the day, and rode it back to his new home on Elm Street.

After he left, the workers moved the items upstairs as instructed, including the tiny wooden boat—barely wide enough for one person to sit—placed beside the bed in the attic.

From the first floor, he barred the front door and every window, hanging bells.

Heavy bear traps were pried open and placed one by one at the door and windows. Thick finger-width chains were hammered into walls and floors with long iron nails, set to bear-bait standards.

An animal weighing four or five times a human’s weight would step on them and never return. The interlocking iron teeth could embed into bone, rupture vessels—any creature with a nervous system would die in agony and blood loss. Given its preference for human tissue, it almost certainly had one.

After securing doors and windows, Kraft still didn’t feel safe. He scattered the remaining traps randomly along corridors and stairs.

Backup weapons: several fish spears. These fishing tools resembled short spears but were designed never to be pulled out—fearsome barbs allowed sailors to spear sharks.

Kraft tested one against the wooden wall. He couldn’t pull it out again. The rest were tied to pillars in every room—otherwise, who pulled whom was anyone’s guess. The last man dragged overboard by a fish and drowned was still mocked in the tavern.

Cases of fish oil were brought out and neatly lined up beside the bed. Flint, firesteels, firepans, torches, and oil-soaked cloth for tinder.

Once it was pinned down, the fish oil would take effect. The fragility of the cheap ceramic jars became an advantage: throw, shatter, then ignite.

As before: no human tissue has ever withstood this. Even if bones contain significant organic material, the lucky ones might leave behind relics—if such things even exist.

The most expensive items were iron chains, stretched across doorways and corridors to block anything larger than a human. Bells hung from them too—now nothing could pass silently through any interior passage.

If all else failed, these setups would buy him time—to meet that shattered celestial body, and bring himself back.

Carrying a candlestick, Kraft walked the entire house, memorizing every setup, etching it into his mind. Satisfied, he crawled under the large bed in the attic, hugged his sword, and closed his eyes. On the bed lay a human-shaped bundle wrapped in countless nails and splinters.

It could no longer roam freely, causing chaos. Against such insidious, shadowy things, you strike hard—make it feel the full weight of human malice.