Matthew didn't continue flipping through other books. He knew that the value of such unsigned annotations often lay not in their content, but in their origin.
He gently closed the ancient book and looked up to ask, “Who was the first person to organize this book?”
Violet thought for a moment. “It probably wasn't the library. Many ancient books are private donations. I'll go check the registry.” She turned and walked toward the records room.
A moment later, she returned holding a thick registration book. She flipped through a dozen pages before finally stopping at a yellowed entry. “Found it,” she whispered. “《Gleanings of Old Royal Capital News》, entered the collection seventy-two years ago. The donor...” She paused. “Professor Eberron.”
Matthew silently committed the name to memory. “Is he still alive?”
Violet shook her head gently. “He passed away many years ago. However...” She continued flipping through the book, her eyes suddenly lighting up. “There’s a note here. The original manuscript is kept by his student, who later inherited most of the teacher’s collection.”
“The name?” Matthew asked.
Violet read it out slowly. “Edgar Morin. A historian. He should still be living in the Royal Capital.”
...
After leaving the library, Matthew didn't go there immediately. Instead, he returned to the inn and wrote two names on a piece of paper: Eberron and Edgar. Then, he drew a simple line connecting them.
Herbert had taught him that when investigating any event, one should not rush to find answers. Instead, one should first look for those who were still alive. Secrets left by the dead ultimately rely on the living to be explained.
...
In the afternoon, Matthew changed into ordinary plain clothes, leaving his Class holder badge behind. He didn't bring Aidan, either, heading alone to the East District of the Royal Capital. This area was a gathering place for scholars, doctors, and teachers; the streets were significantly quieter than the mercenary district.
Following the address, he arrived in front of a two-story stone house. The courtyard wasn't large, but it was filled with various plants. A wooden sign hung by the door, reading: Morin Ancient Documents Research Institute.
Matthew knocked gently. After a while, the door slowly opened to reveal a man in his seventies. His hair was snow-white, but he was hale and hearty, with sharp eyes that were nothing like those of an ordinary old man. He looked Matthew up and down before asking calmly, “Young man, who are you looking for?”
“Excuse me, are you Mr. Edgar Morin?”
The old man nodded. “I am. What is it?”
Matthew didn't mention the bell toll directly. Instead, he took a piece of paper from his coat, upon which he had transcribed the marginal note. The old man only glanced at it casually, but his calm expression suddenly froze. He grabbed the paper and read it twice. Then, he snapped his head up, staring intently at Matthew, his voice losing its composure for the first time. “This sentence... where did you see it?”
Matthew didn't answer, asking instead, “Do you recognize it?”
The old man was silent for a long time before finally nodding slowly. “I do. Because... my teacher wrote this with his own hand.” He gently pushed open the courtyard gate and stepped aside. “Come in. It has been many years since anyone came to ask about these things.”
The door closed slowly. Unbeknownst to Matthew, on the second floor of a cafe across the street, a young man wearing a felt hat slowly lowered his binoculars. “The target has made contact with Morin,” he whispered.
A calm voice came from the shadows behind him. “Continue observing. Do not disturb him.”
“Yes.” The young man bowed respectfully. Then, the entire cafe returned to silence, as if no one had ever been there.
Inside the stone house, bookshelves reached all the way to the ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and ink. Stacks of parchment rolls were piled in the corners, along with many repaired ancient books. Clearly, the owner of this place had spent his life dealing with the written word.
Edgar wasn't in a hurry to speak. He brewed a pot of black tea, poured two cups, and then placed the paper with the transcribed note on the table. “This is my teacher’s handwriting. I wouldn't mistake it.”
Matthew picked up his teacup but didn't drink. “Why would your teacher write this sentence?”
Edgar shook his head slowly. “I don't know. At least, my teacher never told me.” Seeing that Matthew didn't look disappointed, the old man continued, “However, I know when this sentence was written.”
Matthew looked up. “When?”
Edgar looked toward the top shelf, as if remembering something from long ago. “Forty-three years ago. My teacher went to the West District. After he returned, he didn't leave the house for an entire month. Later, he locked himself in his study for three days. When he came out, he wrote this sentence in that book.”
Matthew immediately caught the key point. “The West District.” It was the West District again. All the clues were converging on the same place.
...
Edgar stood up, climbed a wooden ladder, and retrieved a wooden box from the highest point. The box was slightly cracked, and the latch was rusted. He opened it gently to reveal dozens of notebooks from different years. The old man searched for a long time before pulling out a booklet with a dark brown cover.
“This is one my teacher used in his final years. There might be something you want to know inside.” He carefully turned the pages. Suddenly, his movements stopped.
Matthew followed his gaze. That page had no text, only a simple hand-drawn map. The map was crudely drawn but still recognizable. It was a map of the Royal Capital's West District. In one corner of the map, there was a small bell-shaped symbol. Beside the symbol, a line of tiny text was written: “Old Clock Tower Site (Demolished).”
Matthew’s gaze narrowed. “The Royal Capital used to have a clock tower?”
Edgar nodded. “Yes, it did. A long time ago. But the young people today no longer know about it. About fifty years ago, the officials said the clock tower had fallen into disrepair, so it was demolished.”
Matthew looked at the map and suddenly asked, “What was built there after it was demolished?”
The old man didn't answer immediately. He studied the map carefully before pointing to the original location of the clock tower. His voice slowed down. “If I remember correctly... it later became the Kingdom Reserve Warehouse.”
The room suddenly fell silent. In Matthew’s mind, all the fragments instantly connected. The clock tower on the old map had become a warehouse. Below the warehouse, there was an underground area. From that underground area, the sound of a bell toll kept appearing. The Azure Wolf Squad mentioned a bell, and the library note also mentioned a bell. This was absolutely no coincidence.
...
Matthew didn't continue to press for more information. He knew that what needed to be confirmed next was no longer a legend, but a fact. He looked at the hand-drawn map and asked softly, “Mr. Morin, is it still possible to find older maps of the Royal Capital?”
Edgar pondered for a moment before nodding slowly. “There is one place that might still have them. However,” he gave a bitter smile, “that’s not a place just anyone can enter.”
“Where?” Matthew asked.
The old man looked at him and said word for word, “The Royal Capital Land Administration Archives.”
By the time Matthew left the Morin Institute, the sky had already begun to grow dark. He didn't return to the inn immediately, instead walking slowly along the street, organizing the information he had gained today in his mind.
First, forty-three years ago, Professor Eberron had gone to the West District and left that annotation upon his return. Second, an old clock tower once existed in the West District before being demolished. Third, the site of the old clock tower was now the location of the Kingdom Reserve Warehouse. All the clues were no longer scattered fragments but had formed a clear path.
...
Early the next morning, at the Class Holders Guild, Matthew didn't go to the mission wall. Instead, he went straight to Ryan. Ryan was sitting in a corner drinking hot ale. Seeing Matthew, he smiled and waved him over. “Not taking any commissions today?”
Matthew sat down and asked directly, “How much do you know about the Royal Capital Land Administration Archives?”
Ryan had just raised his cup when his movements stopped. “Why are you asking about that place?”
Matthew didn't give a reason, saying only, “I want to look up some old records.”
Ryan stared at him for a few seconds before finally shaking his head. “I went there once, a dozen years ago, to help a merchant group check a land deed. There’s no danger inside, but there are a lot of rules. Ordinary people can only check public archives. Documents involving the city's reconstruction, military facilities, or underground pipes all require approval.”
Matthew nodded. It was just as he had guessed. The real threshold wasn't the location, but the clearance.
...
“Who has the authority to grant approval?” Matthew continued.
Ryan thought for a moment. “There are usually three channels. First, the Royal Capital Administrative Hall. Second, a certificate issued by the Class Holders Guild. Third, a joint application from academic institutions.” Ryan suddenly smiled. “The third way is the easiest. Those old scholars check ancient books every day; the people at the archives are used to it.”
Matthew’s eyes flickered. Academic institutions... in that case, Edgar might be able to help.
...
In the afternoon, Matthew returned to the Morin Institute. After hearing his request, Edgar didn't refuse; instead, he looked slightly surprised. “You certainly think fast. Indeed, if I were to apply as an individual, I would probably have to wait in line for a long time. However, the institute has several consultation slots every year.”
As he spoke, he walked to the desk, spread out an application form, and picked up a quill. While writing, he asked, “Purpose of the consultation?”
Matthew thought for a moment and replied, “Researching the urban evolution of the Royal Capital.”
Edgar looked up at him and suddenly laughed. “Not bad. At least it's smarter than writing ‘investigating the clock tower.’” Matthew also allowed a faint smile. Often, the true purpose is not suitable for formal documents.
...
In less than half an hour, the application was ready. Edgar took out the institute’s seal and pressed it down. The deep red mark slowly appeared at the bottom of the paper. “Take this. Come with me tomorrow. However,” the old man’s expression gradually grew serious, “once we’re inside, only look at the records. Don't ask about people, and don't ask why certain files are missing.”
Matthew keenly caught the last part. “Files... go missing?”
Edgar was silent for a while before nodding slowly. “When I was young, I thought history was what was written on paper. Later, I discovered that truly important history sometimes... doesn't even leave paper behind.”
The room fell silent once more. Matthew looked at the application in his hand, a faint premonition stirring in his heart. Tomorrow, he might see a part of the Royal Capital’s true history.
On the following day, the sky was overcast with a steady drizzle. Matthew and Edgar took a carriage to the eastern part of the Royal Capital. A grayish-white stone building stood quietly at the end of the street. The building wasn't grand, but it exuded an ancient and solemn aura. Above the main entrance, several worn ancient characters were carved: Royal Capital Land Administration Archives.
...
There were only two staff members at the door. They checked the application and verified Edgar’s institute seal. One of them nodded. “Very well. Third floor, Urban Planning Archives. You have two hours. You may not transcribe confidential content or dismantle sealed dossiers. Your notes will be checked before you leave.”
Edgar smiled and nodded. “The usual rules.” The staff member also smiled; clearly, the two had met before.
...
On the third floor, rows of tall wooden shelves were neatly arranged, each filled with dossiers. The air carried the faint scent of insect-repelling herbs. Matthew only needed a glance to judge that there were at least several thousand files stored here. An ordinary person probably couldn't finish reading them in a lifetime.
...
Edgar skillfully approached a row of numbered shelves and quickly pulled out a heavy dossier: 《Records of Past Urban Redevelopments of the Royal Capital》. The two sat down and began to flip through it.
The first page recorded the city's expansion over the last thirty years; there was nothing unusual. The second volume recorded fifty years ago, and familiar content finally appeared: Demolition of the old clock tower in the West District; construction of the national reserve warehouse. A construction diagram was attached, matching the map left by Eberron.
Matthew continued flipping through the pages. Suddenly, his movements stopped. At the very bottom of the page, there was a very inconspicuous note: “During construction, a large number of underground architectural ruins were discovered. By royal decree, the site was sealed in its entirety, and further excavation was discontinued.”
Matthew’s gaze narrowed. Underground ruins. So, they had been discovered fifty years ago.
...
He continued searching and soon found another supplement: 《Ruins Sealing Report》. But when he prepared to open it, he found it was empty. Where the report should have been, there was only a single explanatory sheet with a bright red seal stamped on it: “File Transferred.”
There was no date, no destination, and no signature. Only those two words: File Transferred.
...
Matthew was silent for a few seconds. He didn't speak, instead continuing to look for other information. Herbert had said that important secrets never leave only one entrance.
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