Leaving the meeting room, Matthew placed the silver badge into his breast pocket.
It did not represent power. It was more like a pass, meaning that the Class Holders Guild would trust his judgment when encountering certain anomalous events in the future. That was all.
...
Walking down the stairs, he found the hall was as bustling as ever. No one knew what had happened on the second floor.
Ryan was sitting in his usual spot, drinking. Seeing Matthew come down, he raised his cup. “All done?”
“Yeah.” Matthew sat down across from him.
Ryan did not pry further. He simply smiled and said, “They didn't keep you locked up, which means it wasn't a bad thing.”
Matthew smiled as well. “Indeed.”
...
As the two of them chatted, an argument suddenly broke out in a corner of the hall.
“Impossible! I saw it with my own eyes!” a young Class holder shouted, his face flushed red as he argued loudly with the deacon behind the counter. “There really is someone down there!”
The deacon merely frowned. “You've been saying this for three consecutive days. Without evidence, the guild will not organize an investigation based on rumors.”
The young man clenched his fists in frustration. “It's not a rumor! I was on patrol last night, and someone was singing from the bottom of that dry well!”
A burst of laughter immediately erupted in the hall.
“Hahaha!”
“Did you drink too much again?”
“Singing at the bottom of a well? Was it a water ghost?”
The young Class holder's face grew increasingly unsightly. Ultimately, he gritted his teeth, turned around, and rushed out of the guild.
...
Matthew did not laugh. He noticed that the badge on the man's chest belonged to the City Guard, not the Class Holders Guild. In other words, he had not come to accept a commission, but to report a situation.
Ryan had clearly noticed this as well. The smile on his face gradually faded as he whispered, “Lately, these kinds of things have been happening more and more often.”
Matthew asked, “Were there none before?”
Ryan shook his head. “There were strange occurrences in the past, but they wouldn't all crop up at the same time. Now...” He looked out the window and said slowly, “It's as if something is starting to wake up.”
...
Those words reminded Matthew of the map in the archives.
The First Royal Capital had been asleep for six hundred years. Now, there was the ground collapse in the North District, the bell tolls in the West District, and the frequent anomalies in the underground ruins. If one looked at all of this as a whole, it indeed seemed as though some long-standing stable state was being shattered.
...
That evening, Matthew did not continue his research. Instead, he began to organize his gear.
New leather bracers, spare rope, two torches, rations, hemostatic potions, and a newly sharpened short dagger.
Aidan stood nearby, looking somewhat puzzled. “Are we going on a long journey?”
Matthew shook his head. “No. Just preparing in advance.”
Herbert had once said that a true investigator does not wait for things to happen before preparing. Instead, they make sure they are ready to depart at any moment before danger arrives.
...
Just as Matthew was packing away his last potion, the innkeeper suddenly hurried upstairs and gently knocked on the door. “Mr. Matthew, someone is looking for you outside.”
Matthew opened the door. “Who is it?”
The innkeeper lowered his voice. “An old man. He says his last name is Morin.”
Matthew's eyes narrowed. Edgar? They had just parted ways this morning. Why would he suddenly come here in the middle of the night?
Matthew quickly headed downstairs. Just as he reached the lobby, he saw Edgar standing by the entrance. The old man's clothes were mostly soaked by the rain, and his breathing was somewhat hurried. This was completely different from his usual calm and steady demeanor.
Upon seeing Matthew, Edgar skipped all pleasantries. He grabbed Matthew's arm and whispered in an extremely low voice, “Come with me. Something has happened.”
Matthew's expression turned solemn. “What is it?”
Edgar took a deep breath and slowly uttered a single sentence. “The last notebook left behind by my mentor... is gone.”
The night rain grew heavier. Matthew put on his cloak and left the inn with Edgar.
The two walked in silence all the way to the Morin Institute. Only after locking the door behind them and checking the windows to ensure no one was watching did the old man lead Matthew into the study.
The room was just as it had been a few days ago, not in the least disheveled. The bookshelves were tidy, and the quill on the desk remained in its original place. There was no visible abnormality.
Edgar walked to the desk and slowly opened a locked wooden box. Inside were over a dozen notebooks. He placed one with a dark brown cover on the desk, his voice somewhat low. “See for yourself.”
Matthew flipped open the first page. No issues. He continued further. The eighth page, the ninth, the tenth... Suddenly, the pages were interrupted. A section of the originally bound pages had been neatly sliced away.
It wasn't just a single missing page, but twelve entire pages. The cut was smooth with no tearing marks, clearly made with an extremely sharp tool. Furthermore, the perpetrator was highly familiar with ancient text restoration; otherwise, they couldn't have done it without virtually any damage to the binding.
Matthew gently ran his fingers over the cut and fell silent for a moment. “When did you discover this?”
“This afternoon,” Edgar replied. “After I saw you off, I suddenly wanted to look at my mentor's records again. When I opened it, it was like this. It was absolutely intact before.”
...
Matthew did not rush to conclusions. Instead, he scanned the entire study.
The windows were intact, the door lock was undamaged, and there were no muddy footprints on the floor. If someone had been here, they either had a key, or their method of entry simply did not require breaking the doors or windows.
He slowly closed his eyes, and his Spirit quietly spread out.
There were the residual scents of quite a few people in the study—Edgar, several assistants who often came to organize materials, and some faint traces left behind by visitors. But other than that, there was nothing unusual. The perpetrator had cleaned up their traces very thoroughly.
...
“Who else knew about this notebook?” Matthew opened his eyes and asked.
Edgar thought about it carefully. “Aside from me, only you.”
After saying this, the old man froze for a moment. The room suddenly fell silent.
If the information had not leaked, then was the target the notebook itself, or the person investigating it?
Matthew slowly shook his head. “We can't assume that. Perhaps someone has been watching these materials for a long time, and our recent reading of them simply prompted them to act early.”
Edgar's expression softened slightly. He knew that this was the most logical explanation at present.
...
Matthew flipped through the remaining content again. He quickly discovered that the missing twelve pages were located right after the mentor's records of the West District investigation. In other words, the most critical section had been precisely taken.
...
Right then, Matthew suddenly stopped. He noticed that the last sentence before the missing pages was incomplete. There was only half a sentence:
“Tonight, I heard the bell toll again. It does not come from...”
The rest of the sentence had vanished along with the missing pages.
Matthew's gaze narrowed. What the perpetrator had taken was not some ordinary notes, but the record regarding the source of the bell tolls.
He gently closed the booklet and looked at Edgar. “From today onward, do not stay in the institute alone.”
The old man was taken aback. “Are you worried they will return?”
Matthew nodded slowly. “If they dared to take only the twelve most critical pages, it means they know exactly what they are looking for, and what else is kept here. Until they are certain nothing was missed, they might not give up.”
Inside the study, the candlelight flickered gently, and the rain outside grew heavier. For the first time, Matthew realized that his investigation was no longer just a search through history. There was another pair of eyes chasing after the exact same truth.
The two of them remained silent in the study for a long time. Eventually, Edgar spoke first. “Should we notify the guild?”
Matthew did not answer immediately. Instead, he gently flipped through the mutilated notebook before slowly shaking his head. “Not for now.”
“Why?”
“Because we have no evidence.”
He placed the notebook back into the wooden box and said calmly, “Someone took twelve pages. Other than that, nothing happened. There are no signs of forced entry, no witnesses, and no clues left behind. Even if we report it to the guild, it will at most be registered as a minor incident.”
Edgar sighed softly. He knew Matthew was right.
...
Near midnight, Matthew left the institute. The streets were washed clean by the rain and exceptionally quiet. The gas lamps cast a faint glow on the wet flagstone roads.
He did not return straight to the inn, but deliberately took a detour, passing through the East District commercial street and walking through a narrow alleyway. His pace remained perfectly consistent, and his expression did not change in the slightest. However, his Spirit had already quietly blanketed the surrounding dozens of meters.
This was a wizard's most basic counter-tracking method. There was no need to look back or make deliberate observations; all it required was perception.
...
After walking past the third street, Matthew finally noticed a slight anomaly.
Someone was there. They were far away, maintaining a fixed distance. They neither drew closer nor fell behind.
The other party was clearly trained. If it were an ordinary Silver Rank knight, they would have found it almost impossible to notice. Yet, Matthew continued forward as if he had detected nothing.
...
A few minutes later, a closed bakery appeared ahead, next to a dead-end alley. Without stopping, Matthew walked straight into it.
At the end of the alley stood a high wall, with rain water trickling down its surface. The footsteps behind him finally drew near. One person, no one else.
Matthew kept his back turned to the entrance of the alley and said calmly, “You've followed me all this way. Aren't you going to show yourself?”
The air remained silent for two seconds. Then, a figure slowly walked into the alley. The newcomer wore an ordinary grey robe and did not wear any badges.
He was about thirty years old, with an average face that was easily forgotten. He did not draw his sword, nor did he display any hostility. He simply stood at the entrance of the alley, quietly watching Matthew.
“Your alertness is quite good,” his voice was equally ordinary, devoid of any distinct features.
Matthew turned around slowly, his gaze falling upon the man. “Can I help you?”
The man fell silent for a moment before suddenly asking, “Lately, have you been investigating the First Royal Capital?”
Matthew did not answer. Instead, he countered, “Does that concern you?”
The man shook his head slightly. “No. I am merely ordered to give you a warning. Knowing too much of certain histories will not help you live any longer.”
Matthew's expression remained calm. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” the man replied quickly. “Just a piece of advice. Many years ago, there were people just like you. In the end, they all gave up.”
Matthew said indifferently, “And if they didn't give up?”
The man fell silent for the first time. Only after several seconds did he speak slowly. “Then... they disappeared.”
Rain kept falling, and neither of them moved. The air seemed to solidify.
...
Suddenly, the man reached into his breast pocket, took out an object, and gently placed it on the ground. He then took a step back. “This is your final warning.”
With that, he turned and left, never stopping or looking back.
Matthew stood in place until the other party's footsteps completely faded away. Only then did he walk over.
The object on the ground was a rusted bronze badge.
On the front of the badge, an ancient clock tower was engraved. On the back, a sentence was etched, though it was mostly worn away. Under the light, Matthew could only barely make out the last few words:
“...Keeper of the Bell.”
He clenched the badge in his palm, his expression turning grave for the first time.
This meant that concerning the clock tower and the First Royal Capital, there was at least one other organization aside from the official authorities. Furthermore, they already knew that someone was investigating the secrets from six hundred years ago.
Returning to the inn, Matthew did not rest immediately. He lit his oil lamp and placed the bronze badge on the table. The badge was only half the size of a palm, its edges severely worn, clearly having endured a vast stretch of time.
He did not rush to study the clock tower emblem on the front. Instead, he flipped it to the back. Under the lamplight, he began to trace the etchings that had been almost entirely erased by time.
Aside from the barely legible words “...Keeper of the Bell,” there was also a string of extremely tiny numbers closer to the edge. They did not look like an identification number, but more like a casting mark left behind by a blacksmith.
Matthew picked up a magnifying glass and examined it closely. The sequence of numbers did not use the notation common in the kingdom today, but a much older system of counting. He quietly copied them down, planning to have Violet identify them the next day.
...
The next day, at the library.
Violet had just finished organizing the bookshelves when she saw Matthew walk in. She smiled and greeted him, “Found something new again?”
Matthew handed the slip of paper over. He did not mention the person he had encountered the previous night, only saying, “Help me take a look at this string of numbers.”
Violet looked down at it, her expression gradually turning serious. She did not answer right away but walked to the ancient texts section.
Pulling out several thick reference books, she constantly cross-referenced them.
About half an hour later, she gently closed the last book. “These aren't numbers.”
Matthew looked up. “They aren't?”
She shook her head. “To be precise, this is a type of position marker from the ancient kingdom period.”
She picked up a quill and drew a simple diagram on the paper. “It's somewhat like today's archive numbers. The first half represents the area, and the second half represents the sequence.”
As she spoke, she pointed to the first segment of symbols. “This represents the clock tower.”
Then she pointed to the second segment. “And this part... represents underground.”
Rate on N.U.
