Chapter 517

Chapter 517: Slumber

The whirling paper scraps spun over the academy’s roofs, followed the outer wall of the “high tower” all the way up, and reached the observation deck at the very top. There, at the edge of the platform, they gathered again into Lucretia’s form.

The wide observation platform was very quiet. There was no sign of anyone.

Lucretia frowned and carefully examined the situation at the top of the tower.

The instruments for recording astronomical data were still running automatically. The massive lens array, held up by a forest of complicated mechanical arms, pointed its focus toward the sky. Three sets of lenses with filtering structures had been removed for the moment. From the looks of it, that part had been adjusted by hand.

The platform was empty—its original staff had probably evacuated in a hurry when the Sun went out. But the operating state of the lens array showed that someone had indeed come up here during the Sun’s extinction and used this equipment to observe the Sun.

“…It was not a wise idea to observe the Sun under those conditions,” Lucretia could not help murmuring.

She began to search near the lens array for any sign of Master Taran Ael. Just then, a pencil lying on the floor entered her field of view.

She ran over at once and finally found the elven scholar buried among a cluster of steaming pneumatic tube lines—Taran Ael lay quietly on the ground, eyes closed, as if he were in a deep coma.

Lucretia immediately knelt to check the elven scholar’s condition. She found that his breathing was still steady and there was no sign his life was in danger. He had simply lost consciousness for some unknown reason. Then she waved a hand in the air—a crowd of toy soldiers rushed out from the Shadows at her feet, formed neat ranks, and charged toward the unconscious Grand Scholar.

The toy soldiers surrounded Taran Ael in an instant. They scrambled up and down his body, inspecting him as if checking a battlefield, their movements accompanied by rapid exchanges and reports. As they moved, Lucretia’s expression gradually changed.

There were no external wounds. It was not a physical attack. There were no traces of poison or any curse.

The Sea Witch bent down and lifted the Grand Scholar’s eyelids, then slapped his face without the slightest politeness, trying to rouse Taran Ael. It had no effect.

“He just seems to have fallen into some unknown sleep… hm?”

Lucretia let out a puzzled hum as she muttered to herself. Two toy soldiers had just pried open one of Taran Ael’s hands, which had been clamped tightly to his chest. A sheet of rough sketch paper, nearly torn by his grip, came into view.

“What is this…”

Curious, Lucretia picked up the paper and smoothed it out. She saw only a roughly drawn circular shape, filled with many complex, chaotic lines. She stared at it for a long time and still could not find any pattern in those strokes. They only felt like crisscrossing branches, or some tightly packed structure.

Clearly, whoever had drawn these patterns had done so in a rush and under intense confusion. Many of the lines on the paper showed hesitant smears. That meant the artist had not been sure what he was seeing—or had been unable to accurately reproduce the “truth” he had witnessed.

Lucretia stared at the sketch with a grave expression, then narrowed her eyes and looked up at the Sun that had already lit the sky again. She lowered her gaze to the fallen pencil, then to the pneumatic tube lines by Taran Ael’s side that led back toward the academy. In short order, she pieced together what had happened to the elven scholar.

When the Sun went out, the Grand Scholar had rushed up to the tower. He had wanted to use these “conditions”—something no number of filters or lenses could normally achieve—to observe the surface details of Vision 001. He had managed to draw a rough sketch and had then tried to send it to the academy at once through the “express dispatch” system. But at that very moment, some mysterious force had “struck” him, plunging him into instant slumber. He must have retained a few final shreds of awareness in the instant he fell—the way he clutched the sketch to his chest proved that…

But what had “struck” him? A saboteur who had infiltrated the tower? Or a mental corruption triggered by observing the Sun in its extinguished state?

Lucretia shook her head. It probably was not a saboteur.

The reason was simple. After Taran Ael had lost the ability to resist, he had suffered no further harm. The sketch he had guarded so tightly had not been stolen. None of the tower’s devices showed any signs of damage. No “intruder” would take such a huge risk to break into the tower only to make an elven scholar take a nap.

Just then, the grinding noise of the shaft lift cut off the Sea Witch’s thoughts.

She turned toward the sound and saw the door of the shaft lift at the side of the platform slide open. Several scholars from the Truth Academy rushed out, their faces full of panic.

They froze when they noticed the Sea Witch standing on the tower top.

“Taran Ael observed the Sun while it was extinguished, and now he has fallen into an unexplained sleep,” Lucretia said casually to the scholars, then raised the sketch in her hand. “I suggest you purify all the equipment here, in case some of the lenses that showed Vision 001’s ‘true form’ were also tainted by corruption.”

“This is what he drew before he lost consciousness. I’m taking it with me to confirm that it doesn’t carry any corruption. If it’s clean, I’ll hand it back to you.”

Without waiting for their response, she turned and walked toward the edge of the platform. Her body burst into colorful scraps of paper once more and rode the wind into the distance.

The scholars who had rushed here in a hurry after hearing the students’ report only came back to themselves now. Watching the fading trail of paper, one of them could not help murmuring: “That witch really is…”

“Free to come and go. She’s always been like that,” another waved a hand and strode over to where Taran Ael still lay. “Let’s get Master to a safe place first.”

“She took the notes Master Taran Ael left behind… there won’t be any problem, will there?” a younger human scholar asked worriedly. He clearly did not feel entirely at ease about the Sea Witch.

“Relax. Lady Lucretia may be eccentric and do as she pleases, but she has worked with the Truth Academy and the Explorer Association many times. She’s… a friend,” a middle-aged scholar said as he spoke, bending over to lift Taran Ael’s arm. “She’s the best border scholar and anti-corruption expert in the world. She has helped the academy handle many dangerous things. She will keep her promi—good grief, why is he so heavy?”

“You eat junk food every day, stay up all night, and never exercise. You’re just as heavy.”

“But I heard elves have a different constitution from other races. You have long lifespans and powerful metabolisms. Before you reach old age, it’s hard for you to put on fat, and you rarely get sick…”

“His talent did its best. It just couldn’t hold out…”

…

In the city-state of Pland, in a medical facility run by the council.

Heidi stood in the corridor, looking through the glass at the patient lying quietly in the ward. Then she turned to the council clerk who had brought her here and asked: “What’s the patient’s condition?”

“Deep sleep. We can’t wake her. There are no signs of external injury or poisoning,” the staff member in a dark blue uniform answered at once. “The patient had no prior chronic illnesses and has never been exposed to any potion or heretical faith that could cause this kind of sleep.”

“You’ve investigated pretty thoroughly,” Heidi said without thinking, then shook her head. “But I still have to say this: I’m a psychiatrist, not an internal medicine doctor. What I’m good at is dealing with problems of the mind and spirit, not sleep disorders. Someone who won’t wake up can’t exactly undergo counseling—you really should be calling a proper doctor, shouldn’t you?”

“We did, Heidi. The doctors concluded that the patient’s sleep has nothing to do with any physical illness,” the staffer said with a shake of his head. “After a full round of tests, we began to suspect…”

“…I understand,” Heidi cut him off gently. “You suspect it’s related to mental corruption or a mind-level Anomaly, right? But you just said the patient hasn’t been in contact with any sources of corruption.”

“That’s only the result of our preliminary investigation. There are many ways for mental corruption to spread. It doesn’t always require someone to actively touch something. They might simply ‘learn’ a certain piece of knowledge by chance, or maybe…”

He trailed off. Then he raised a hand and pointed upward, his face turning serious.

“Maybe it’s connected to the Sun’s extinction earlier. Right now we have no evidence that those twelve hours when the Sun went out can affect an ordinary person—but the patient in front of you might be the first ‘proof’.”

“I see. Then this is my field,” Heidi drew a slow breath, picked up her medical case, and walked toward the ward door. Just before she went in, she turned back to remind him: “Don’t let anyone approach during the treatment. If any supernatural phenomena occur near this room, inform the priests and guardians here at once.”

“Understood, Heidi.”

Heidi nodded and pushed the door open.

The smell of disinfectant mixed with holy oil and incense filled her nose. In the bright, spacious ward, a single patient lay on the only bed.

Heidi silently recited the name of the God of Wisdom, Rahm, in her heart, then checked the charm amulet of colored stones on her wrist and carefully approached the bed.

A young maiden lay there with her eyes closed, as if trapped deep in an uneasy dream, so still it looked as though… the link between her body and soul had already been severed.

Before opening her case, Heidi first did what she always did—she studied the patient’s face.

“An elf?”