The communication pipes within the wall remained silent for over ten minutes.
Soon, hurried footsteps echoed outside the door.
The assistant investigator sent by Director Breed pushed open the door and entered.
The young man held several directories in his arms, his forehead drenched in sweat, looking as if he had run all the way up from the underground archives.
He did not report immediately.
Instead, he quickly walked to Breed's side, leaned down, and whispered a few words into the Director's ear.
His voice was kept extremely low; the others could only hear his rapid breathing.
Director Breed's expression did not change at all.
After listening, he merely tapped his finger lightly on the table before looking up at Eldrid.
“My apologies, everyone.”
“The old Maritime Authority has gone through several handovers, and its directories are in complete disarray.”
“At present, we can only confirm that the Hastings Port Branch once received this record.”
“We cannot temporarily confirm its current location.”
Eldrid stared at him.
Breed's expression was perfectly calm.
These words could not be considered a lie.
The record had indeed come to the branch.
As for where it went afterward, he had no intention of saying it in front of the Storm Inquisition for now.
After a few seconds, Eldrid withdrew her gaze.
“We can first prepare the sealed copies of the sea beast invasion files.”
She glanced at the projection of Moon Bay, which had not yet been put away.
“Very well.”
“But once the calibration records are found, the Inquisition must be notified immediately.”
“Naturally.”
Deputy Director Taylor chimed in immediately.
His tone was so sincere it was as if the statement had already been stamped with an official seal, just waiting to be sent into the communication pipes.
Mireya began packing up her instruments.
One by one, the spirit-measuring chips were placed back into their velvet slots, and the brass stands folded closed layer by layer.
Before leaving, she took another look at Moon Bay on the map.
Those severed data still hung on the wall.
Like a sea that had never been illuminated.
The three Storm Judges soon left the reading room.
The door closed behind them.
Breed waited for a few seconds.
Only when the sealing runes on the doorframe lit up again, isolating the sounds from the corridor, did he turn to look at his assistant.
“Speak now.”
The assistant investigator's fingers tightened around the directories.
“The record has been found.”
Taylor's brow, which had just relaxed, furrowed once more.
“To be precise,” the young man hastily added, “we found the place where it last appeared.”
He spread open the old directory in his arms.
The pages were already yellowed, with small insect-eaten gaps left along the edges.
“The old Maritime Authority did indeed keep an administrative copy.”
“Later, when the institutions were merged and dissolved, this copy was transferred to the Hastings Port Branch along with other maritime archives.”
“Where is the file?”
Sir Vere asked.
“The day before the sea beast invasion, it was listed among a batch of spiritually mildewed archives.”
The assistant investigator swallowed hard.
“It was sent to the Landon General Bureau archive restoration room.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Again, right around the time of the sea beast invasion.
Now, if any document happened to be moved during those few days, it sounded like an active admission of guilt.
Taylor seemed to recall something.
“I remember that batch of archives.”
He reached out to pull the directory closer, his eyes quickly scanning the numbers on it.
“The old Maritime Authority's underground storehouse had flooded.”
“The spiritual moisture-proof array was damaged, and some papers developed contaminating fungal plaques.”
“A total of thirty-two high-risk documents.”
Cecil looked at him.
“Did you handle it?”
The atmosphere in the reading room stalled slightly.
Taylor did not evade.
“I was responsible for the logistical transfer,” he answered frankly. “But the screening, boxing, and approval of the mildewed archives belonged to three different departments.”
“The screening results were submitted by the archives room.”
“The pollution control unit was responsible for boxing.”
“And the final approval came from a routine authorization from the Director's office.”
Breed nodded.
This kind of high-risk archive could not be handled by a single person from start to finish.
The more dangerous the process, the more hands it went through.
Logically, this should have prevented anyone from acting alone.
But they had just discovered that a complex process did not equate to safety.
As long as someone gave a gentle nudge at each step, three safety measures would turn into three people collectively proving that nothing was wrong.
“Landon also sent back a receipt confirmation.”
The assistant investigator took out another receipt and laid it flat on the table.
The numbers matched.
The wax seal was intact.
The recipient's signature, the anti-counterfeiting patterns of the restoration room, and the spiritual imprint of the General Bureau's archive department were all present.
Cecil picked it up and examined it.
There were no obvious signs of forgery.
The procedures were so complete that no one could find any fault with them.
And right now, what they feared most was precisely this kind of flawless paperwork.
If it were fake, they could at least investigate who forged it.
If it was real, it meant the problem had already bypassed all legal procedures.
Sir Vere snorted coldly.
“How convenient.”
“Sent away just a day early, and then disaster strikes here.”
Taylor frowned and looked at him.
“The flooding of the underground storehouse happened much earlier.”
“The restoration list was merely approved on that day.”
“Timing alone proves nothing.”
“I didn't say it proved anything,” Vere said flatly. “I am merely marveling that the Seventh Agency has had more coincidences lately than investigators.”
Taylor did not continue to argue.
Clearly, he also felt the coincidence was uncomfortably precise.
Director Breed looked at the three people around the table.
“Since the General Bureau has already received it, why did you say the location cannot be confirmed?”
The assistant investigator's expression grew even more tense.
“Because another document arrived this morning.”
He pulled out a new envelope from the very bottom of the directory.
The envelope had very few creases, and the wax seal was fresh.
Clearly, it had not been long since it was delivered to the branch.
The young man pulled out the document inside and handed it to Breed.
“Landon headquarters claims that the spiritual mildew on the calibration records is irreversible.”
“Continued preservation risks contaminating other archives in the restoration room.”
“It has been incinerated in accordance with the 《High-Risk Old Volume Disposal Regulations》.”
Incinerated.
The word seemed to drop the temperature in the room by a few degrees.
Breed handed the notice to Cecil.
Sir Vere's expression darkened completely.
“Sealing records from two thousand years ago.”
“They just burned them like that?”
“If the contamination threshold is reached, the restoration room indeed has the authority to take emergency measures,” Taylor said.
He was clearly familiar with this regulation.
Once high-risk documents developed spiritual mildew, the contamination could spread through text, patterns, or even the reader's cognition.
If it truly reached an uncontrollable level, incineration was the safest method of disposal.
The problem was that this record happened to be burned right when everyone needed it.
“But they should have notified the branch in advance,” Breed interjected. “The original transferring unit has the right to send witnesses or request a spiritual imprint of the uncontaminated parts.”
He swept his gaze over the people present.
“But obviously,” Breed added, “none of us here seem to have received this notice in advance.”
Taylor shook his head.
Vere did not speak either.
Breed himself was even less likely to miss an official document of this level.
The notice wasn't just a few hours late.
It came only after the item had already been burned.
In terms of procedure, this was called an emergency measure.
To put it bluntly, they burned it first, then told you it was done according to the rules.
Cecil took a deep breath.
She picked up the envelope containing the destruction notice and first checked the wax seal.
The General Bureau crest on the wax seal was undamaged.
There were no signs of secondary heating at the seal.
She then channeled her spirituality into the paper.
Several fine anti-counterfeiting patterns emerged from the paper fibers, intertwining to form the complete imprint of the General Bureau's archive restoration room.
It was also real.
At least from what they could see, every document along the way was real.
A real screening, a real transfer, and a real receipt.
And finally, a real incineration with completely valid paperwork.
This was far more troublesome than forging an official document.
It also proved that the person responsible could influence far more than just a single archive room in the Hastings Port Branch.
Cecil looked at Taylor.
“When was the transfer receipt issued?”
Taylor did not flip through the files.
He was responsible for the logistical transfer of this batch of files, so he remembered the date clearly.
“The day after the sea beast invasion.”
“The Landon General Bureau sent back the receipt confirmation that same afternoon after receiving it.”
He paused.
“This proves the document indeed arrived in Landon.”
This ruled out the simple possibility of the record being swapped or intercepted in transit.
At least on the day after the sea beast invasion, it was still on the receiving list of the General Bureau's archive restoration room.
Cecil did not reply immediately.
She turned the destruction notice over and re-examined the spiritual code.
Then, she placed the document back on the table.
“Do not notify the Storm Inquisition for now.”
The assistant investigator froze for a moment.
Taylor immediately understood her meaning.
The Inquisition had just requested the calibration records, and the notice of their destruction was immediately delivered to the branch.
Whether this was a coincidence or an attempt to silence them, spreading the news now would only let those in the dark know how far their investigation had progressed.
“I will bypass the Seventh Agency's official document channels,” Cecil said, “and verify directly with Landon.”
She still had people she could trust in Landon.
At least that channel would not pass through the branch's communication room, nor would it leave a trace in the General Bureau's routine dispatch logs beforehand.
“The branch is also forbidden from publicly investigating this archive.”
Breed nodded.
“Merge it into the mole case.”
The assistant investigator immediately agreed.
“Yes, sir.”
He began gathering the directories on the table.
Sir Vere, however, did not move.
From the moment the notice entered the room, every time the paper reached his hands, he would look at it again.
The number.
The signature.
The basis for disposal.
There was absolutely no anomaly.
And because of that, anomalies were everywhere.
“So...” Vere spoke slowly, “when did the Landon headquarters approve the incineration?”
The assistant investigator paused.
He picked up the notice again and looked at the small line of text at the very bottom.
That was the official approval time.
The young man's face gradually turned pale.
Cecil noticed his change.
“When was it?”
“Six o'clock this morning,” the assistant replied in a low voice.
Silence fell over the reading room once more.
Just as Hastings Port outside the window was beginning to wake, this calibration record spanning two thousand years had already turned to ash.
And that time was several hours before the Storm Inquisition had even stepped into the Seventh Agency branch.
“The Storm Inquisition only arrived at the port last night,” Sir Vere slowly raised his head, his eyes filled with contemplation. “Which means... someone knew we would need this record even before they stepped into the branch?”
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