This was a kitten with plenty of ideas of its own. Hebe looked forward to the day Presis's technology advanced enough to turn Kal'tsit into a human.
Presis held the steering wheel steady, and the van rode without a bump. Hebe glanced to her side. Mordred was leaning against the window in a daze, lost in thoughts no one could guess.
Little Mo... Heh, I really don't know what I'm thinking. Hebe smiled self-mockingly and opened the book beside her.
It was a "World History."
Hebe opened to the title page and saw Egypt listed in the table of contents.
She quietly turned to that page and read the words upon it.
"Nitocris, the last Pharaoh of ancient Egypt's Sixth Dynasty. During the Nineteenth Dynasty, this female Pharaoh was regarded as a deity and widely worshipped. There were countless murals and carvings concerning her..."
"Khnum, the ram god worshipped since the Second Dynasty. During the Nineteenth Dynasty, his faith was stripped away by Ramesses II. One account claimed that Ramesses II's Grand Vizier, Hesharif, once called himself Krum..."
"Ramesses II, known during the Ptolemaic Dynasty as 'Ozymandias.' The most authoritative Pharaoh in Egyptian history, he spearheaded religious and political reforms. The former chiefly manifested in the eradication of polytheistic faiths, while the latter was reflected in his brief abolition of the Pharaoh system and self-coronation as the 'Red King.'"
"In ancient Egyptian legends, Ramesses II ruled the entire realm for roughly three hundred years. Modern historians' archaeological dating, however, placed his reign at approximately thirty to fifty years. Near the end of his reign, Egypt's climate underwent drastic change, plunging the Nile River into a prolonged dry season and causing city-states and settlements such as Thebes and Abydos to be abandoned... In the end, climate change caused Ramesses II to die in anxiety, and the Nineteenth Dynasty declined from prosperity thereafter..."
Hebe stared at those words for a long time, her slender brows trembling faintly.
Those resolute declarations, those plain faces, those magnificent struggles, those wordless farewells—they had all become line after line in the history books.
Those were events from thirty-two hundred years ago.
Hebe turned to the next page.
"Imhotep, a High Priest from ancient Egyptian legend. One account identified her as a renowned scribe during the Nineteenth Dynasty under Ramesses II. She oversaw the construction of Nile River waterworks and renovated temples around Memphis and Heliopolis..."
"Imhotep's historical reputation was sharply divided. In Heliopolis, Abydos, Thebes, and other places, she was revered as the 'resurrected god Thoth.'"
"Yet around Memphis, Imhotep was regarded as a treacherous minister who launched a rebellion and ultimately caused the Red King's sudden death. In the end, she was subjected to the 'punishment of scarabs.'"
"These two accounts coexisted for a long time. In recent years, new academic research has suggested that Imhotep might not have been a real individual, but a title passed down through generations within an organization. This might explain why Imhotep's image differed so drastically between the two legends."
Hebe froze slightly, then smiled and sighed.
Sunlight fell across her profile, lending her an otherworldly helplessness.
Mordred, who had been secretly watching Hebe, silently turned away. She feared that if she kept looking, she would truly mistake Hebe for the Court Sorcerer from her memories.
The lynx sprawled across the seat yawned, then buried its head again and went back to sleep.
Who Was the Lord of Blankog!
The road to Blankog was quite winding.
It had been repaired in recent years. Rumor had it that before World War II, reaching Blankog required enough luck merely to cross those treacherous, unpredictable waters.
Blankog was a large island formed from gray rock. Located at the southwestern tip of Cornwall, it had suffered foreign invasions many times throughout history.
When Rome invaded Albion, the island was even used to mine tin and station troops—perhaps a tradition Rome learned from its mortal enemies, the Carthaginians.
For a very long time, Blankog had been regarded as a "borderland." Unlike a borderland such as Cape of Birds, which lay closer to the wilderness, Blankog was called a borderland because the laws of the wilderness and those of the waking world both operated here.
With Atlantis gone, Shangri-La nowhere to be found, and Peach Blossom Spring missing without a trace, places such as Blankog became the next best refuge for those seeking to withdraw from the world.
After that, more and more recluses traveled to Blankog. The Orthodox Church also established a presence here, and the monarchs before King Arthur had attempted to extend their authority to the island—but none succeeded for long.
The Orthodox Church preached a trinity of worship here: the Great Mother Goddess, the Holy Spirit, and the Holy Son. Naturally, they also routinely promoted faith in Celestial Flint and the Brilliant Twins. The Orthodox Church had been very tolerant in its conduct back then.
After The Rose War, Blankog Island broke away from Cornwall's aristocratic system.
At that time, a mysterious group of scholars crossed over from the Egyptian lands. They claimed that their predecessor had made an agreement with King Arthur that crossed history itself.
King Arthur promised to honor that agreement. Thus, she enfeoffed Blankog Island anew and granted the Lord of the Silent Bookstore the honor of Lord of Blankog.
But it was important to note that only the Lord of the Silent Bookstore possessed such authority, and the only Lord of the Silent Bookstore recognized by Arthur was Imhotep.
The Silent Bookstore's scholars exchanged looks. To them, Imhotep had lived more than twenty centuries ago.
Just as they grew restless, King Arthur gave them a way out: although the true Lord of the Silent Bookstore had long since passed away, they could elect someone to exercise that authority in her stead.
After much discussion, the scholars decided to follow King Arthur's suggestion. Thus, the first administrator of the Silent Bookstore was born. His authority came from the Lord of the Bookstore, allowing him to issue laws enforced across the island when approved by a majority of the Council.
Those laws were notarized by Lord Twilight and protected by the Orthodox Church's three ruling powers. No one could disregard them.
The twelfth administrator vanished after World War II. No one could confirm whether he was still alive.
Of course, Hebe knew that whether he lived or died, he could not stop her from inheriting the Silent Bookstore.
Light-gray clouds churned along the horizon as a road wound toward the center of town. After parking the car, Presis motioned for Hebe to follow her.
"In Blankog, apprentices won't be as restrained as they are in London. They'll put the skills they've mastered to practical use in their lives."
Hebe followed Presis's gaze. Shops with every kind of sign lined both sides of the town's main street. At first glance, they seemed no different from London, but closer inspection revealed extraordinary details.
Blacksmiths whispered words praising Celestial Flint beside their furnaces. They disliked using tools and preferred to reach directly into the blazing fire to seize the raw billets with their bare hands.
Street performers plucked their strings in special ways. The music produced by those methods was unique and profound, making people want to linger for a long time—or even listen for an entire lifetime.
Presis stopped before a large blue-violet house and smiled smugly. "This will be my residence in Blankog from now on."
The house stood three stories tall. Its bronze doors were tightly shut, while dark velvet curtains covered the windows completely, creating a reassuring feeling.
Mordred's destination was nearby as well—a small tavern in town.
The tavern was not especially large. Both its curtains and windows were stained brown. Clearly, Morgan had not maintained it properly after buying it.
Fortunately, the tavern lacked neither ingredients nor seasonings, enough to prepare a hearty dinner.
"Please wait a moment."
At the mention of cooking, faint pride and spirit appeared on Mordred's face.
How could she not be proud? After all, the Round Table's cooking skills were all hard to put into words, while Arthur would eat almost anything...
Mordred had initially been much like Arthur, but the nightmare sage was someone who would never settle when good food was available.
Under the sage's influence, Mordred quickly surpassed her former self...
Before long, an enticing aroma drifted from the kitchen stove.
Sitting at the dining table, Hebe wondered whether Little Mo might be an apprentice on a subordinate path of the Cup Principle.
Since this was not a formal banquet, Mordred did not serve the dishes in any particular order.
Amber pumpkin soup steamed in bowls, French fries gleamed with tempting gold, onion rings were arranged on plates, fried egg balls were paired with cream, and the main dish was baked potatoes with zucchini and mushrooms.
Honestly, Albion cuisine only had a few dishes like these. Yet the food Little Mo made happened to use every ingredient to its fullest, making it extraordinarily rare in a land like Albion, where food was so often wasted.
Mordred stood behind the counter, slowly enjoying a bowl of stewed vegetables. Rather than filling her stomach, she seemed to be taking the opportunity to openly watch Hebe.
"Does it suit your taste?" Only after the plates and cups had been cleared did Mordred softly ask for Hebe's opinion.
"It was very delicious." That was the truth.
Hebe had originally worried that coming to Blankog would amount to torturing her taste buds.
Now, it seemed such worries were unnecessary.
"That's wonderful, then."
Mordred gave a reserved little bow. That proud, pleased expression felt vaguely familiar to Hebe.
When I get the chance, I should see just how many faces Little Mo is hiding beneath her illusions... Hebe walked calmly through the cold wind, and no one could tell what she was thinking.
She soon crossed the entire town. Thick fog blocked her way, and within the gray mist, the outline of a large metal bridge faintly emerged.
No one guarded the bridge. Beyond it lay the Silent Bookstore, and to the island's residents, it was best not to approach the Silent Bookstore rashly.
Hebe walked forward.
The thick fog parted to both sides like a living thing, then closed again after she passed. The pitch-black metal bridge seemed to have no end, and the sound of waves rose from beneath her feet.
At last, a massive outline emerged from the mist. Hebe raised her head and gazed at the Silent Bookstore's full form as it slowly unfolded before her.
Beside the bridge stood a low guardhouse. Behind it rose two tall towers of equal height, standing side by side.
One had bleak white outer walls, while the other was inlaid with colored glass.
These two towers look like they'd be vulnerable to aircraft... Hebe thought.
At some point, the fog had completely dispersed. Hebe's gaze crossed the emerald garden and ivory colonnade, landing upon the castle-like main building. Compared to it, the twin towers standing side by side seemed short.
The Silent Bookstore stood silent in the sea fog, solemnly watching the newcomer. Hebe returned its gaze with one even older and more distant, from an era when even the Atlas Institute still operated under the name of the Silent Temple.
Thus, the Silent Bookstore's great doors slowly opened. It was welcoming its master—not an administrator elected by the Council, but its true master.
Hebe walked over and saw a parchment scroll placed upon the stone platform before the entrance.
She took out a pen and signed her name upon it in one smooth stroke.
The parchment swiftly caught fire.
Dong! Dong! Dong!
At the highest tower, the bronze bell began to ring on its own. With every chime, the dense fog that had shrouded the Silent Bookstore for half a century rapidly dispersed.
Every resident of Blankog realized one thing.
—A new Lord of Blankog had been born.
The New Lostbelt and New Employees
The number of bell chimes carried different meanings.
Under ordinary circumstances, three chimes meant an important visitor had arrived. Six meant a change of seats within the Council. Nine announced the appointment of a new library administrator. Twelve chimes... Twelve chimes meant someone on the Council had died.
Oh, heavens. You didn't think more chimes meant a more distinguished person, did you?
The scholars who founded the Silent Bookstore had never established a bell signal for the Lord of the Bookstore. Therefore, the number of rings depended entirely on Hebe's mood.
So this time, the bell only rang nine times as well.
Those connected to the matter began to act.
Agravain, who was traveling to Cornwall, received an emergency decree from the Throne Hall, requiring him to meet and discuss matters with the Silent Bookstore's new administrator.
Meanwhile, the current head of the Atlas Institute far away in the Egyptian lands received an order from the Protector, demanding that he dispatch a special envoy to the Silent Bookstore "to confirm that it still obeyed the precepts of silence."
After careful consideration, a genius alchemist named Aster accepted the assignment and planned to cross the sea to Albion at a later date.
Hebe naturally knew nothing of these developments. She was walking through the ancient building, examining every corner with a cautious eye.
The Silent Bookstore had once been a monastery and church. A branch of the Orthodox Church had operated here for a long time, until it dispersed for various reasons. The monarchs before King Arthur had also mostly sent trusted followers to reside here. After generations of administrators remodeled the place, it now had water, electricity, and internet.
Thus, while the building retained a religious style, it also possessed secular aesthetic appeal and considerable practical value.
Hebe did not dislike the towers, gardens, herb gardens, or recuperation grounds. The same was true of the rooms of every size. At the end of the day, this was her property now. How could Hebe possibly be dissatisfied with it?
But she soon realized a problem: the Silent Bookstore was simply far, far too large for one person.
In the past, beneath the administrator there had been six directors. These seven people—sometimes more than seven—formed the Island Council and made all manner of decisions capable of affecting the entire apprentice community.
"Maybe I should recruit some new employees..." As Hebe wandered through the lush green botanical garden, such a thought arose in her mind.
This botanical garden stood behind the twin towers, to the rear right of the Colonnaded Courtyard. Vegetation sprawled everywhere, blades of grass whispered in the wind, and the long-neglected central fountain had dried up long ago. Yet Hebe could still imagine how scholars and visitors had once held salons here and shared food.
There were three more gardens like this, while the rooms within the bookstore were even more numerous.
Hebe's urge to recruit new employees grew ever stronger.
That thought reached its peak when she entered the atrium—no fewer than forty rooms awaiting repair and renovation stood in orderly rows, all with their doors open to Hebe.
Hebe walked stiff-faced through the spacious foyer. As she arrived, lamps lit one by one, illuminating the colored glass display windows, dim red fireplaces, and hoarse-sounding grand piano.
Carrying her briefcase, Hebe climbed the spiral staircase. Whenever she reached a new floor, the room doors automatically opened.
The girl climbed upward with a grim expression, looking around before returning to the third floor.
There was no other reason: above the spiral staircase lay a church, and above the church rose another five levels of tower—this was the Silent Bookstore's highest point, overlooking all of Blankog, the surging sea, and the distant mainland of Cornwall.
Help... Hebe thought silently.
One piece of good news was that the rooms on the third floor were not too messy, nor were there curses or the unknown creatures she had imagined.
The best room was the bedroom facing the sea. On the left side stood a dark hardboard bed, while to the right were a fireplace and soft single sofa. A plaster statue wore a gentle, tranquil expression. A gradual staircase led to a balcony filled with plants, separated from the room by thick dark-brown curtains.
The second-best room was next door. Comparatively speaking, it had the most luxurious decor. Rose-red silk tassels adorned the walls. At the center sat a soft, large bed, while in the corner on the right side stood a dark chair and a television.
Before you continue