[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies":3,"chapter-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-77":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Notes on Kraft Anomalous Studies",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2283555,4467,"Chapter 77: You","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-77",77,"\u003Cp>Darkness, darkness after the light. Like being struck by a heavy hammer made of light and sound, an overwhelming flood of sensory experiences swallowed the last vestiges of sanity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the final moment before losing consciousness, it was hard to tell whether it was fear of an unpredictable fate or relief at escaping an unbearable vision.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, this was beyond subjective will—my own desires changed nothing; my vision was swallowed by darkness, the ringing in my ears replaced the layered, wave-like noise, and I temporarily escaped, at the cost of surrendering control over life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sinking into this darkness that seemed destined to last until Judgment Day, he truly thought of death for the first time—of the endless, numb toil of his half-life, and of what he could never bring himself to ponder when returning to his shack at night: meaning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>An existence never before encountered shattered the worldview of a soul that had trudged between the Salt Tides and the harbor—his devout parents’ teachings, the afterlife the priest had promised at death, the rare times he had stepped into a church and knelt beneath its towering dome.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>High above, beams of light streamed through stained-glass windows composed of gem-colored panes; it was impossible not to believe only stories heard from heaven could be conveyed with such magnificent materials.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Behind those figures, halos of bright yellow glass highlighted their superior status; beneath their feet stood gray-black stone statues of demons with bat-like wings and curling horns. The devils’ mouths bristled with extra fangs, their tongues lolled out comically, and smaller, goblin-like creatures crouched on the eaves, serving as gutters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A choir with beautiful faces and pure, childlike voices stood within the stained-glass projections, their brilliance rivaling the stars; hundreds of candles illuminated their unified song, praising the supreme lord’s glory in protecting humanity and driving away evil.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he returned to his shack in the Salt Tides, resuming his repetitive, thoughtless life, believing in some being higher than the church’s spire, equally protecting and judging all—never feeling anything amiss.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet none of those candles, none of those colorful lights, could compare to its appearance. It surpassed every experience in his brief, impoverished life—even the stained-glass depictions of sacred tales—paling before the white light.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It rose before the window like a living moon drawn close; within its bright, moving light lay its incomprehensible body, unlike any earthly creature he had ever seen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Countless voices erupted with its arrival, filling the entire church; even the combined choir could not match one-tenth of the awe inspired by that sound, which was neither a sequence of syllables nor rhythm, yet carried meaning beyond language.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No one could imagine its existence without experiencing it firsthand—not even the priests holding sacred texts, who described “ordinary” things with repeatedly convoluted holy words.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Something far more alien than the haloed figures or winged demons now appeared here, free from doctrinal chains, revealing an inhuman, transcendent malice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Its presence burst the bubble of a life built on religion and repetition, rendering it dull and false; he realized it was all merely human fabrication. From the heavens above to the hell below, even the humanoid statues collapsed in a thunderous ruin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The foundation that had protected the world and sustained spiritual life vanished overnight, replaced by an incomprehensible presence of malice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The shock of a shattered worldview, the sensory assault, the shattered consciousness drifted aimlessly in darkness. He floated until he once again felt the presence of his body, returning to the mortal world.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It felt as if an eternity had passed; Kraft slowly pried his eyelids open a sliver. Light streamed from one side, stabbing his eyes with pain, drawing tears.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It reminded him of the beams falling through the church’s high windows; then, through blurred tears, he imagined the light twisting and flowing, linking it to that thing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes, tried to move his body backward—but his entire body was bound; only his fingers could twitch. Instinctive fear drove him to scream, struggling violently, making the wooden boards rattle and clang.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh oh oh, relax, this is just a safety precaution,” came a young voice, more lively and brisk than Kraft’s steady demeanor. “You’re awake?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Kraft said you might thrash about when you wake, so he had these restraints made to prevent injury. Don’t worry—he told me to say everything’s over, you’re safe.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Noticing Kraft turn his head away, the man understood the issue, stepped quickly away, and after a sound of wooden axles turning, the blinding light directly facing him dimmed. Kraft only then realized it was merely sunlight from the window—bright, but not harsh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s… okay…?” His lips were dry; the whisper, barely audible, mumbled against his rough, parched skin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner of the lively voice stepped to the bedside, rolled up his black sleeve like Kraft, and pressed the back of his hand to Kraft’s forehead. “No fever. Condition’s good. Wait a moment—I’ll go notify him.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Quick footsteps retreated, then suddenly halted at the door.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No need. I heard.” A steady, weary voice came from outside, accompanied by the muffled thud of leather boots on the stairs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kraft blinked, squeezing the tears from his eyes, and saw the golden-haired, black-robed figure bending to avoid the chains, approaching with a cup, his face bearing a tired but unmistakably genuine smile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He untangled the ropes coiled around the bed, lifted Kraft’s upper body, and held the cup to his lips. “Drink some water. You drank several beers last night—you’re surely parched from the hangover.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t worry. The matter is resolved. After further observation, you’ll be able to return home safely.” The cup tilted at a perfect angle, allowing water to flow into his mouth at a gentle pace, moistening his lips and throat without choking him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The cool liquid revived Kraft slightly, lubricating his vocal cords and restoring his voice. He looked at the hand in the black sleeve, holding the cup steady and strong.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That wasn’t a demon, was it?” Kraft whispered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course it wasn’t a demon. Kraft turned his head, handed the empty cup to Lu Xiusi. “Thank you for watching over the patient, Lu Xiusi. But next time, please remember not to be so loud around someone mentally weakened.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Now give me a moment alone with the patient.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Understood.” Lu Xiusi bowed and left, carrying the cup downstairs. Soon, the hallway echoed with the clatter of a dropped cup, frantic footsteps, and a cry of pain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kraft listened for a moment, then waited until normal footsteps resumed before turning his attention back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What was it?” he asked, his tone calm, utterly unlike the man who had endured a night of terror—so detached, as if politely greeting someone at lunch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That thing…” Kraft tried to describe what he had seen, and his gratitude for being saved—but found he could not utter the scene.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The memory of the white light was veiled, like a cloth draped over it; the general outline remained clear, but every detail dissolved at the edge of speech, impossible to recall.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There had been something writhing in the white light—he could not remember what. The layered, complex sounds—he could not define their nature. No earthly object could serve as a fitting metaphor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“...It was white light. And voices. Many voices.” The more he recalled, the more panic rose—like digging into beach sand, only to find not seawater but a strange, colored fluid seeping out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Snap.” The hand in the black sleeve struck his shoulder, cutting off his incoherent rambling. “Don’t speak of it. Don’t think about it. It’s all over.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Rest now. Tonight, we’ll have a hearty dinner—real roasted meat, thick stew, and you can drink a few beers. But I really don’t recommend overdoing it. Your stomach isn’t built for overfilling. Watch yourself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kraft pressed his hand on Kraft’s shoulder, shaking him gently, scattering his thoughts. This matter was nearly done; best Kraft buried it in the corner of his memory after a second hangover, washed away with beer foam, and kept far from the unpleasant deeper connection for the rest of his life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He walked around the desk, gathered and neatly folded the scattered grid charts, flattened them on the surface, and slipped them into the thick medical file he had been writing. The night’s records were invaluable—worthy of further analysis.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He would carefully preserve the research, organize the patterns and insights from this case, and eventually draft a case report.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whether or not it could ever be replicated, this written record would be preserved and, under safe conditions, submitted with the Salt Tides incident summary to those capable of preserving them—for future reference and evidence in similar cases.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But who? That remained a question mark. Objectively, Kraft himself didn’t think he was reliable enough, nor was he good at judging people—any mistake could create another Karlman.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sigh. Treating your illness really wasn’t easy.” Kraft slid the paper into the box, snapped the metal clasp shut, and chatted casually with Kraft. “Anything you’d like to eat? I know the barkeep well—I can reserve you a portion without trouble.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hmm?” He lifted the box, hummed two light notes to prompt Kraft’s dinner suggestion, then prepared to leave and check whether Lu Xiusi had hurt his head.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The enticing speech failed to produce the expected effect; Kraft showed no interest in the cuisine, still lost in scattered thoughts. Kraft stopped, waiting for a response.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After long contemplation, Kraft did not name a dish. Instead, he blurted another question: “Mr. Kraft, do you believe in religion?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If this were at the church door, I’d answer you: yes.” A qualified negation, subtly revealing Kraft’s personal view. He knew Kraft was a churchgoer—this phrasing was a kindness to the patient.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These words gave Kraft the courage to continue: “I saw that thing. I truly saw it. I can’t pretend nothing happened.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It wasn’t the devil, demon, or spirit the priest described. It was more… less like something of this world.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh?” Kraft uttered a questioning sound. If not a hellish demon, nor a wandering spirit, then only one supernatural entity remained.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No, not that either.” Kraft didn’t even realize he had used such an irreverent term to refer to the supreme creator—he had clutched the saint’s emblem the night before. “It was more…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He couldn’t go on. He looked at Kraft, unsure what he sought—opinion? Support?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“So the priests were wrong? The world is something else entirely?” Kraft rested his chin in thought, summarizing simply. “If you still think that way in half a month, come find me at the academy.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The young golden-haired, black-robed doctor finished speaking, saw Kraft still stunned by his heretical words, and left with the box. At the door, he suddenly remembered something and turned back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“By the way, don’t forget tonight’s feast—to celebrate you waking up.”\u003C\u002Fp>",1805,"2026-06-20T02:15:55.761Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","ced634a2d13829f973f5b359a42c38c77f0fea9f593d2f7f872cf303dcff6713","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-78","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-76",406,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fnotes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-cover.jpg"]