The manuscript ended abruptly there. The final few lines were so twisted they were almost impossible to read. By the last line, Yu Xing could almost picture Edgar murmuring that short sentence in a daze.
"He was trying to understand how this city worked and find a way out," Qu Xuanqing summarized coolly. "But judging by the fact that no one had heard from him in thirty years, he clearly failed—"
Then she reconsidered. "No, not necessarily. He entered the City of Terror from Yorikof Town, but he might not have returned to the same place. Perhaps he was transported somewhere far away, lost his memory, assumed a new identity, or died before he could make it home because his body had been affected by the corruption."
The chances of that were slim, of course.
Compared to an ancient god, the struggles of an ordinary mortal might have been little more than a diversion for when it was bored.
Lingren's fingers lightly brushed the cold surface of the worktable. Looking at the spinal worktables, bone pens, skull inkpots, and skin paper, a strange glint flashed in his eyes. "Edgar couldn't have made these things himself."
"Did the city provide them specifically for him? If this was the ancient god's will... it seems to want the 'Recorder' to 'create' in some particular, blasphemous way, so he could praise its existence."
"Perhaps, in the end, the ancient god simply wanted its name to be passed down. That's why it took an interest in a travel writer who already had some renown."
Listening to Lingren's speculation, Yu Xing set down the manuscript and looked into the deeper darkness of the library.
Whatever the case, Edgar's manuscript had provided them with a wealth of valuable information: the city's rules, the hierarchy of the whispers,