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“If every matter, big or small, had to be handled by a doctor, Norrington would not have survived the fall of Philanes and would not be where it is today. While I don’t mind tidying up my own place a little, too much interference is ultimately harmful.”
She raised her hand to cover her mouth and yawned, her eyes showing a hint of nonchalance.
"Boom, boom, boom."
According to Fran's schedule, it was already close to midnight, time to prepare for his bedtime reading and then rest. However, with a knock on the clinic door, an unsurprising visitor stepped into the foyer.
After the Primarchization surgery, Heda's body proportions remained balanced, but her normal height was approaching 1.92 meters. Although her head wouldn't touch the top edge of the door, there was still a possibility that her hair would brush against the door frame if she didn't lower her head.
"I apologize for disturbing you at night, Dr. Fran."
Heda's speech remained strictly polite, but her movements showed a noticeable relaxation. She skillfully and naturally removed the overcoat of her nun's coat, then took off the dark cashmere scarf from her neck and hung it on the coat rack.
"As my head nurse, you don't need to use such formal language as 'bothering' all the time, do you?"
Fran seemed somewhat surprised by Haida's arrival, and then, resting her chin on her hand, smiled and welcomed her.
Besides borrowing books from the clinic and donating the collected souvenirs, the nun would also visit at the end of most quarterly months to accompany her on her quarterly outreach visits.
The Hunters of Mysteries also adhere to the principles of enlightenment, making it difficult for them to resist the temptation to explore another history and other worldviews. Furthermore, based on Haida's experience, Dr. Fran will be in a particularly vulnerable state during his later cross-world medical missions, and may indeed need her protection.
Before Ji Jiudu began his consultations, Haida needed the doctor to identify the dangerous artifact she had just obtained at the Wudu Theater.
“Dr. Fran, I’ve acquired a trophy in the warehouse on the ground floor of the theater. You might be interested in it.”
As she spoke, she sat down on the velvet sofa in the main hall and casually took out the human skin paper scroll from her personal box.
"Hmm~ Let me see."
Fran reached out and took the roll of paper, examining it under the soft glow of the incandescent light.
"Tanned human skin. Although it is not well-preserved, there is no obvious weathering or wear, and it is no more than a hundred years old since it was made. However, its shape is quite classical... after all, only our ancestors would be so enthusiastic about using the skin of their own kind to make drumheads and canvases."
"Haidar, please briefly explain how you obtained it."
"Ah."
Haida nodded slightly, and then gave a detailed account of her experience with the "Painting Spore in a Bag" and the humanoid illusion she encountered in the underground warehouse, including the sudden change that Vivian experienced.
During her Primarchization surgery, the nun received a portion of Fran's genome and drank a large amount of his blood, which strengthened her connection with the Fog Within. Now, she can open the Fog Path even without a membership card from the Fog Street Clinic.
At the same time, Fran will also be able to know Haida's location and movements more clearly.
However, this is different from the visual sharing of the inchworm's left eye. The doctor could only rely on the connection to locate her and sense her physical condition, and could not know the specific details of her actions.
"An unexpectedly out-of-control relic, fragments separated and reassembled from a painting, illusions possessing self-awareness..."
Through Haida's account, Fran and Shitia quickly determined the true nature of the human skin scroll.
“Derivative relics that have been stained by the long-term immersion of the criterion fragments.”
The concept of relics is broad and complex, lacking clearly defined characteristics. They might be remnants of an ancient apostle's demise, fragments of a shattered principle, or purely man-made objects created by our ancestors.
Derivative relics, on the other hand, specifically refer to ordinary objects that have become tainted by spiritual energy due to prolonged exposure to special environments. Their special nature generally dissipates with the loss of spiritual energy, eventually returning them to their ordinary state. However, certain special principles can prevent this dissipation process… thus allowing them to remain relics for a longer period. Spirit
The initial scroll of the "covered skin depiction" type fits this description.
As long as life continues to be transformed and spirits continue to be consumed, the influence of the derived relics can continue indefinitely.
Xitia extended the tassels from behind her skirt and meticulously stroked the human-skin scroll, trying to sense the spiritual essence within. Lu
She quickly placed it back on the table and shook her head. Guilt
"Its spirit and influence are moth-like, but apart from a few remaining traces of its essence, most of its qualities have dissipated. Only the prayers inscribed upon it remain; if the fragment of the principle that serves as its source of power is nearby, it might be able to be re-energized."
Fran narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he had already grasped the specific details of the incident.
The smugglers at the Drowned Theater shouldn't have violated any prohibitions regarding this dangerous relic, yet it still spiraled out of control. The reason, ultimately, lies with the inchworm… who could have imagined that this kid's performance would be so exceptionally good, and that he would choose that moment to ascend the steps of the high priest? (See also...)
The nocturnal moth's celestial blessing and the moth's spiritual essence are inherently in harmony. (Lu)
The audience's emotions, pushed to their peak, naturally coalesced into a sacrificial ceremony, facilitating his promotion as if it were a natural progression. The influence contained within the relic scroll was also thus stirred, plunging into a near-manic, unstable state, which he ultimately captured.
"Although no harmful incidents have occurred, we still need to intensify our investigation and tracing efforts. I will cut a portion of this painting and give it to Mr. Zoparos. As for the rest, please keep it safe, Dr. Fran."
After saying this, Haida took out a folding knife and cut the scroll in two, handing the slightly larger part to Fran.
The latter maintained a smile and accepted it readily.
Although not everything is qualified to enter Fran's collection, this painting is, after all, a relic, and even though it has lost most of its original characteristics, it can still be used as teaching material.
With the discussion and research on the overlay drawing coming to an end, Fran raised his wrist again, his gaze falling on the brass pocket watch in his sleeve.
At 11:52 PM, it was almost midnight.
"It seems there's no time to go to the cloning lab to execute this month's test subjects. I'll do it after the quarterly outpatient clinic ends."
Her amber eyes blinked frequently, as if lamenting how quickly time had passed.
-
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soup!
Chapter 43 The Empty Train [The Final Sacrifice]
"despair."
The hour and minute hands of the brass pocket watch both fall on the 12 mark.
In an instant, a pale, ethereal mist spread out from Fran, enveloping everyone in the main hall.
Before midnight, Shitia had already returned to the Ridge Palace, and thus was fortunate enough not to be swallowed up by the fog.
[Cross-bound quarterly house call begins. You are about to travel to "The Train to Presville," a three-person trip. Your assistants are "Primordial Sun Fragment" Sigrid Solil and "Conscription Attendant" Heida Moira.]
[Target group for diagnosis and treatment: 1. Those who weep and lament. 2. Those with a stubborn ailment that forces history into a cycle.] ∪◎〇/∵∧∈
[Patient Profile: 1. We experience healable grief and fleeting joy unequally. Sometimes intense sorrow bursts forth from silence, and when even a sob cannot be uttered, silent sorrow may be even more profound. Have you forgotten when you last cried?]
2. The progress of civilization should be an upward spiral, not a self-destructive ouroboros. Under the lamp of desire, the nocturnal insects will inevitably repeat the same mistakes. Extinguish those malicious lights that lure fantasies and fuel for future endeavors.
Symptoms: 1. Dissociative identity disorder (severe, late stage). 2. Religious fanaticism syndrome (mid-stage).
[Note: Patient No. 1 is a concrete individual, while Patient No. 2 is an abstract whole. Please distinguish the outpatient content by serial number.]
[Begin the patient reception process.]
-
The thin, gauze-like mist gradually condensed and dispersed, eventually disappearing completely.
Even before she opened her eyes, Sigrid had already made a judgment about her surroundings through her highly recognizable sounds and smells.
"Click-click-click-"
A slight sway, a short and rhythmic tremor—that was the sound of train wheels rolling over the rails.
In addition, the air was filled with the smells of leather and dust, engine oil and soot... Although it wasn't strong enough to be unpleasant, it was certainly not a pleasant smell.
A coal-fired steam train?
Sigrid opened her eyes, which were as black as molten gold, and quickly looked around.
The barely visible wear and tear on the leather seats, the narrow carriage, and the rapidly receding scenery outside the window confirmed her judgment. Although she had accompanied Dr. Fran on his quarterly medical trips to the borderlands, she was still not quite used to this sudden and drastic change in setting.
"call……"
She slowly exhaled a warm breath, calming herself down.
Breathing is unnecessary for the artisan, after all, she is a pure alchemical being. But doing so can calm the restlessness in her consciousness and mind, and is also a way to help dissipate heat from the core of her internal secret furnace.
Sigrid gradually stood up and looked around the seats in the carriage with some doubt.
"Dr. Fran, Sister Heda?"
Her calls echoed silently in the empty carriage, receiving no response other than the sound of the drum-wheeled rails grinding against the tracks.
There was no one in the train carriage; all the seats were empty, and the luggage racks on the side were also empty.
This is clearly contrary to common sense.
Aside from operational adjustments, station maintenance, and test runs of track inspection trains, trains rarely experience such a large number of empty seats. And through the peephole leading to the next carriage, she could see… the next carriage was also completely empty.
Sigrid felt instinctively uneasy.
If it were just a state of complete isolation, perhaps it wouldn't be this serious.
For a craftsman who is devoted to casting, enduring solitude is an essential quality. This palpitation, whose origin is difficult to trace, stems more from the surrounding "atmosphere".
No sunlight shone through the window, and the view was shrouded in a layer of filthy gray. Although she had only just arrived, she could already vaguely sense a silent and invisible malice lingering around her.
It's a feeling that's hard to describe...
Sigrid couldn't explain the true source of this ominous feeling. It was as if a distant gaze was occasionally sweeping over her, ethereal, lofty, and unfathomable.
"We need to find Dr. Fran first." Uncle
Although she had no clue about the current situation, her primary goal was exceptionally clear.
With this simple and pure philosophy in mind, Sigrid moved quickly through the train carriages. Out of caution about the unknown environment, she tried to keep her steps as light as possible and avoid making too much noise.
Because Fran had worn the sword form close to his body for so long, Sigrid was unusually familiar with the doctor's aura. However, she lacked Sister Heda's psychic profiling abilities and therefore couldn't determine his exact location based on this alone.
Exploring in the direction the train was traveling, she ran her fingers along the surrounding shelves, finding no trace of accumulated dust on her fingertips.
No dust. (Part 3)
Although empty, the carriage had been cleaned and occupied at least within the last week. The muddy wheel tracks on the cheap carpet confirmed this. Three
Furthermore, this train is by no means a standard Norrington model.
Sigrid had dabbled in the field of large vehicles during her early years as a craftswoman in the Sunforge Order. While she might not be as proficient as the mechanics of the White Cup, she was certainly knowledgeable enough. Without seeing the boiler, cylinders, and axles, she could make a judgment based solely on the shape of the vehicle and its transmission.
After the White Cup and the Sunforge Order monopolized the secret furnace core for mass production, this ancient and complex pure steam engine has been largely phased out, with only a few old models still in service in a few remote areas.
As things stand, I am not currently in Norrington.
But saying it like that is too conservative. Perhaps, like the last time I went to a border country for medical treatment, it has even deviated from the original worldview framework.
Sigrid never stopped observing, nor did she stop thinking.
To make sure nothing was missed, she even carefully checked the gaps under the car seats. But she found nothing but dust, food scraps, and dried-up fly carcasses.
"..."
Sigrid silently traversed the carriages, finally arriving at the very front of the train.
As they got closer to the boiler combustion chamber, the surrounding temperature visibly rose. Of course, this was a temperature that most people could tolerate, at most causing them to sweat; for her, it was even more comfortable than in a regular carriage.
The metal doors to the driver's cab were tightly shut, but this posed no obstacle to Sigrid.
But then she deftly placed her hand on the lock cylinder, and as a bright, reddish-brown light emanated from her palm, the entire lock structure melted into molten iron within moments, turning into a large, gaping hole like a scar.
Sigrid opened the door, but Fran or Heida were still not in the driver's seat.
Furthermore, there were no drivers or crew members present; the entire train was moving on its own without human intervention. Sigrid seemed to have anticipated this, given that there weren't even workers filling the boiler room with fuel.
There's no one at the front, so we have to go back to the back of the train first.
Most people would feel anxious or fearful in the face of such bizarre situations, but Sigrid wasn't actually worried about her own safety. She was more concerned about Fran's current state.
When carrying out his quarterly cross-disciplinary outpatient visits, this doctor seems to exhibit an unusual vulnerability. (≡-Four? 〕2≡＝)
Although she only accompanied Fran on one cross-disciplinary medical visit, Sigrid vividly remembered the time Fran transformed into the young white witch. At that time, she still retained some of her power, but overall she seemed to be maintaining a fragile balance, with low spiritual reserves and output rates, and she was very prone to drowsiness.
"We need to speed things up."
Having scouted the surroundings before arriving, Sigrid quickened her pace on the return journey, her hurried footsteps echoing through the empty carriage.
Just then, she noticed that the surrounding scenery became illusory for a moment.
Before the door leading to the next carriage, a blue lepidopteran insect fluttering its wings quietly appeared. Its appearance was incredibly realistic, but as you approached, it suddenly vanished like an illusion.
"Butterfly or moth? No, there's no point in thinking about that..."
Sigrid banished her distracting thoughts and reached out to push open the door.
But behind the door was not the familiar carriage, but a dimly lit, spacious room. The wooden structure was dilapidated, and the interior was furnished with several rows of workstations and chairs, making it look like a workshop where some kind of object was being assembled by hand.
Hallucination, or was I transported to some kind of secret realm?
Sigrid frowned.
She clearly disliked the current confusing situation far more than the dangerous and harsh environment. The train kept moving forward, but there were no other passengers besides herself, and she had no idea where it was going.
Even knowing the destination is useless; this is a different world far from Fog Street, and every place name is completely unfamiliar to Sigrid.