Hearing Iver's words, the old inspector named William fell briefly silent.
"Ahh..."
He hummed, letting out meaningless exclamations. It was as if he wanted to recite a poem, yet also like he was groaning from a headache.
The old man stared intently at Iver—but Lily keenly sensed that rather than staring at Iver, the old inspector was looking at the air before him.
He was dazed for several seconds before shaking his head.
"...Oh, what were we talking about...?"
The old man muttered in a low voice.
He recalled for a while, then suddenly clapped his hands and realized, "Jacob, was it?
"Indeed, I still remember him... That was more than a decade ago. Oh... roughly fourteen years ago. Yes, it was winter then too... much like now. It was a little colder than it is now, and there was heavy snow that day."
The more Old Inspector spoke, the more certain his tone became. Sealed memories were gradually unlocked, taking shape under the carving of his words.
"It was a snowy day?" Iver confirmed.
"That's right."
Old William nodded and sighed. "The elderly never could withstand winter snow.
"Snow is silent rain, water of preservation, wind of dusk—formless yet condensed, tangible yet melting. The old, the withered, and the voiceless can never withstand snow's summons. All will be buried within this pure-white lake."
He muttered something in a rambling, mystifying manner.
Iver suddenly thought of something and asked, "Were you the inspector who confirmed his death back then?"
"Yes, that was me."
"I heard that when he died, all his manuscripts were lost and vanished without a trace... What happened? Did he leave behind any sort of suicide note?"
Iver pressed further.
This information had come from Bishop Mathers.
Although this was somewhat impolite, given the persona of a