Elsa lay down on the bed, feeling inexplicably confused.
Judging by Ms. Flamel's parting words, she seemed very familiar with the details of the Star Chart Research Society.
But if she already knew everything about this secret gathering, why did she ask me those very basic questions?
Odd.
The next moment, a rather bold conjecture flashed through Elsa's mind.
Could it be... that simply by asking those questions, she could know the answers even if I didn't respond? But how is that possible? According to Professor Terence, the Lamp cult's divination usually only shows very vague trends.
But Ms. Flamel even stated the specific time the gathering was held. Rather than deducing based on known information, this seemed more like obtaining revelations from fate itself out of thin air—a higher domain belonging to prophets and sages.
Was she a Lamp cult High Priest? But she looked so young...
Perplexing.
Until she gave up pondering further, Elsa never focused the core of the question on "mind-reading."
Although some Lamp cult Priestesses also venerated the Enlightenment Phase, thereby gaining some divine abilities in the realm of thought... ultimately, they couldn't compare to the White Cup's comprehensive secret art system in terms of thought.
No choice but to wait and see at this month's mid-month gathering.
Knock, knock, knock.
Just as Elsa was gathering her thoughts, preparing to rest for a while, a knock sounded on her bedroom door.
After the courteous knocking, Eugene pushed the door open and carefully entered.
This weary, middle-aged man was afraid loud noises would disturb his daughter, so every action was done with extreme care, even appearing somewhat comical.
"Elsa, I'm coming in. Have some breakfast... you didn't eat much yesterday."
His face showed obvious signs of exhaustion, as if he hadn't rested well, and his hair was noticeably thinning.
If Fran were here, she would surely remark how even noble families couldn't escape a mid-life crisis...
Eugene sat down by Elsa's bed and took out a white porcelain plate. On it were freshly toasted buttered bread, some cheese, and sliced fried eggs and bacon.
He picked up a butter knife to cut the bread into smaller pieces, then scooped it up with a silver spoon and placed it before Elsa.
Eugene had considered having a maid feed Elsa, but her previous condition was abnormally sensitive; seeing food would make her vomit, and she would even show aggression... one maid was even bitten.
It wasn't until the White Cup's Error-Purgers used "oblivion therapy" that her situation began to improve somewhat. But she still could only be fed by him; otherwise, she might still have a stress reaction.
Thinking of this, he felt gloomy.
If her mother hadn't forever closed her eyes on that winter night during the Great Plague, or if he had listened to the family's advice and remarried later... would everything have been different?
This daughter was clearly the only thing he cherished now. Why... did she specifically encounter such a thing?
"Dad?"
A call snapped the somewhat dazed Eugene out of his thoughts.
"Ah, Elsa?"
His hand holding the silver spoon hung in mid-air for a moment before he reacted.
"You, how are you feeling now? Any discomfort? I'll go to the White Cup Cult to get an Error-Purger right now..."
Eugene's tone held a trace of excitement as he immediately inquired about his daughter's condition.
This man who had dealt with misfortune most of his life now found the sudden improvement in his daughter's condition somewhat hard to believe.
He was more afraid it was some kind of final rally before death, like when his bedridden beloved suddenly said she wanted to see the twilight sunset from the balcony... As the last rays of sunlight sank, her life also reached its end.
Elsa didn't speak further but reached out to embrace her long-weary father.
Compared to a few months ago, he had truly become much thinner.
Setting aside speculation about Ms. Flamel's stance and designs, at least at this moment, Elsa sincerely thanked her.
"Dad, I feel much better..."
---
Secrets-Hunter Headquarters, Burial Court.
After showing the brass supervisor's signet ring on her index finger, Haida entered the Secret Arts Department's library.
Compared to the spacious and magnificent Norlington Museum, this place was dim and deep, even somewhat cramped.
All that met the eye were books and scrolls categorized and stacked. There were tomes containing true mystical knowledge, as well as ordinary fables and myths.
Mysticism itself was chaotic and heterogeneous; even a discerning collector like Fran inevitably had a few filler books on her shelves. Like the Hannibal Lecter's Secret Kitchen she tossed to Sigrid for cooking lessons.
Haida's visit, of course, wasn't to look up information. After all, Dr. Fran's Aphoristic Silence had very detailed annotations, and she basically didn't need to worry about errors in understanding.
She was here to return that Raven Research Notes.
Following the ebony spiral staircase, Haida walked up to the library's third floor. This level required supervisor permission to enter, and all materials were not allowed to be borrowed, only to be read within the library itself.
Dr. Fran hadn't said it had to be personally handed back to Zoparos... this was somewhat asking the impossible.
What if he asked Haida how this notebook ended up in her hands? She couldn't just sell Fran out, right? So, placing it on the vacant spot on the shelf was enough; unlabeled books would be organized and sorted by the librarians.
As Haida placed the Raven Research Notes into the vacant slot on the bookshelf, a feeling of guilt akin to that of a thief arose in her heart.
"Sister Haida, good day."
Just then, a somewhat elderly voice sounded behind her.
"Heh... Or perhaps I should call you Supervisor Haida?"
Zoparos, in a black scholar's robe, leaning on a walking stick, slowly walked over.
His face was full of deep wrinkles, looking even older than Professor Terence, seemingly from the same generation as Headmaster Grantham.
But compared to those two White Cup scholars who were very mindful of their demeanor, his posture was more hunched, like a grumpy old man.
"Good day, Master Zoparos."
At this almost caught-in-the-act moment, Haida displayed extraordinary composure. Her grey-hazel eyes were calm and undisturbed, completely devoid of any trace of guilt.
"Please, as before, address me directly by my name without any suffix."
Hearing Haida's response, Zoparos nodded quite approvingly.
"Not bad. I thought after putting on that cheap ring made of base metal, you'd get a swelled head like that kid Black Banyan."
"I told him back then not to mess with the Death Banyan. None of the things Grantham records with serial numbers in the General Compendium of Relics are safe. Sure enough, he messed around until he became my contemporary..."
"If it weren't for that medical accident that turned Black Banyan back into a little brat, he'd probably have passed on before me."
After chattering away and disparaging Black Banyan, he sighed with frustration.
"Haida, don't laugh at him—you're the same!"
"Don't think empty titles like 'youngest Burial Court supervisor' are so amazing. If you ask me, you shouldn't have constantly tangled with those heretical cult lunatics. With your talent, if you'd chosen to enter the Secret Arts Department earlier, how could you only have learned one second-category, lower-tier [Tear the Secret Rite] by now?"
"Thank you for your instruction, Master Zoparos."
Haida maintained respect towards the elder, responding neither arrogantly nor humbly.
Looking at her nearly flawless attitude, Zoparos pursed his lips, nearly huffing with indignation.
But considering Haida was no longer a child, he held back.
"Fine, you hunters are each more stubborn than the last. This bad habit started with your father... I won't try to persuade you, but if you haven't learned another secret art within two years, don't say you know me when we meet."
After saying this, Zoparos seemed to feel his mood lighten somewhat, and began discussing the previous mission.
"Sister Haida, was that 'Hound' I gave you last time useful?"
"This skill of inscribing prayers on skin is something those unimaginative mediocrities can't learn. They can at best inscribe characters on bones or stones their whole lives."
Without that arm, locating Byers would have been more cumbersome with a longer timeline. Any delay in such a situation could lead to unnecessary casualties...
"That arm with [Hound Mimicry] indeed gave us great help."
Haida answered quite honestly.
Hearing this, Zoparos waved his hand, showing no surprise. He was always full of confidence about the secret art products he handled.
"Just a little thing done in passing, not worth mentioning."
Burial Court colleague exchanges were usually known for being brief and to the point, with Zoparos being the exception.
This knowledgeable old man not only lacked pretension but was also a chatterbox who liked to ramble...
After the pleasantries, Haida then descended the spiral staircase back down from the library's third floor. Although her gait remained steady, there was a distinct sense of hurriedness.
Her hunting boots lightly tapped; the footsteps gradually faded away.
Zoparos remained where he was, leaning on his walking stick as he approached the vacant slot on the bookshelf.
With a raise of his hand, he accurately and unerringly retrieved the Raven Research Notes, then glanced at the title, his gaze involuntarily sharpening.
"This is indeed odd."
"This notebook was lost long ago. It couldn't possibly have been Haida who took it, but why was she the one returning it?... Could it be Ahern? Would that crazy kid do such a thing?"
The old man stroked his beard, momentarily perplexed.
Zoparos remembered that after this research notebook was lost, it was found several times, but he always felt it was trying to trick him into finishing writing it, so he simply stopped writing.
Later, the notebook seemed to have vanished in a huff...
---
Time flew by, swift as a white steed glimpsed through a crack in the door.
As Norlington's temperature continued to gradually drop, mid-January soon arrived.
Today was the Star Chart Research Society's regular meeting day, and Fran should go to complete the final treatment for Elsa's "Panphobia."
Generally, this doctor, to avoid complications arising from delay, would mostly cure the patient on the day of consultation.
But Elsa's psychological illness was rather special; targeting the root cause required a bit more care... Compared to directly using the Swaying Heart-Clock to invade her thoughts for memory deletion, Fran preferred letting the patient rely on her own strength to step out of the shadows.
Of course, this would make things more troublesome. But the corresponding house call completion rate would also be higher.
Always handling such strange patients had accustomed Fran to complicated and difficult cases; she had almost forgotten her original profession was neurosurgery.
Now Fran had become an almost flawless general practitioner.
Apart from all clinical medical disciplines, she also handled pharmacology, anesthesiology, forensic medicine, veterinary medicine, and even had to serve as a psychologist most of the time...
She yawned and picked up a cup of Gormouth-produced "Winter Bud" tea, blew away the mist hovering over it, and took a small sip.
Although it was a house call day, Fran still had other things to do before that. Since that secret gathering wasn't until midnight to be formally held, there was still plenty of time; even returning to the bedroom to turn into a Kirby and sleep for half a day was more than enough.
Since it was called the "Star Chart Research Society," it naturally would choose to be held when stars were visible—quite reasonable.
Putting down the floral porcelain teacup, Fran nodded to Sigrid beside her.
"Sigrid, you can begin now."
She was currently sitting on a square chair in the operating room, having rolled up the right sleeve of her white coat to reveal a pale arm, placing it on the surgical table's sterile drape.
"Alright."
Sigrid let out a light breath, easing her nervous tension.
As a Sun-Forging artisan, she was young, but had already immersed herself in weapon forging and alchemy for years; whether designing blueprints or inscribing prayers, she could already do them with ease.
This feeling of urgency reminiscent of her early learning days... she really hadn't felt it in a long time.
Noticing her current state, Fran smiled faintly and reached out with her other hand to pinch Sigrid's cheek.
"Why do you seem so tense? Relax. It's just a hand. If you mess up the engraving, we'll just switch to another one."
"Or should I detach this hand first, and you can reattach it after engraving?"
After a brief adjustment, Sigrid had gradually calmed down, regarding the task before her as pure forging work, no longer feeling constrained because the subject was Fran.
"This is fine, Dr. Fran."
Saying this, she picked up the black suture line on Fran's hand and slowly pulled it backward from the center of the palm until reaching the crook of the elbow.
With Sigrid's movements, a gap split open in Fran's pale, lustrous hand skin, revealing arm bone, muscles, fascia, and arteries and veins.
+++
T/N: Hey readers~! New Translator here! Before I say anything, I'd first like to thank the original author for creating this wonderful story. Without them, I wouldn't have the chance to share this adventure with you. I hope my translation does justice to their work, and that together, we can enjoy this story.
With that said, I'm happy to let you know I'll be uploading daily chapters. And for those who wish to support my work and gain early access, I've set up a Patreon where advanced chapters will be available.
[email protected]/PeakTL