The Northbound Train

When Lin Jie and Sergeant William stood together beneath the massive glass dome of King's Cross Station, a heatwave mixed with the scent of steam and the clamor of the crowd rushed to meet them.

This was the heart of the vast railway network of the Empire on Which the Sun Never Sets, where steel-forged behemoths let out satisfied roars, pumping countless travelers like blood to every corner of the empire.

Their destination for this trip was the distant Inverness-shire, Scotland, a long journey that would have consumed a great deal of time in the late 19th century.

The Association had booked two first-class seats for them, allowing them to avoid the crowded and foul-smelling environment of the third-class carriages.

Guided by a conductor in a crisp uniform, they found their compartment, decorated with heavy velvet curtains and comfortable leather seats.

Accompanied by a long, mournful whistle, the steam train known as the Flying Scotsman slowly pulled out of London amidst violent tremors and clanking sounds.

The silhouette of this massive city, shrouded in fog and conspiracy, retreated rapidly outside the window, eventually fading into a blurry gray outline on the horizon.

Lin Jie leaned back against the soft seat, watching the ever-changing scenery outside the window, a surge of indescribable emotion welling up in his heart.

Just half a month ago, he was still a vagrant struggling to survive in the gutters of the Whitechapel District, but now, he was sitting on this luxury train, a symbol of the highest achievements of industrial civilization, as a "professional."

The strangeness and unpredictability of fate were displayed to the fullest at this moment.

The train soon left the city limits and entered the vast English countryside.

The scenery outside the window changed from crowded row houses and forests of chimneys to emerald green pastures divided into countless squares by low stone walls.

Flocks of sheep grazed leisurely on the grass, and occasionally, one could see a few Gothic churches with pointed spires and ancient manor houses standing quietly on the distant hillsides.

This was a world completely different from modern society.

The speed of the steam train was not fast, which gave Lin Jie enough time to appreciate this moving oil painting.

Unlike Lin Jie's slightly relaxed and curious mood, Sergeant William, sitting opposite him, maintained his signature composure.

He did not look at the scenery outside the window, nor did he close his eyes to rest; instead, he was wiping every part of his Winchester M1873 lever-action rifle with a linen cloth.

His movements were full of rhythm, as if he were not maintaining a cold killing tool, but communicating with an old friend who had been by his side for many years.

"The Zulu War..." Lin Jie looked at the rifle in his hand, filled with the style of the West and the colonies, and finally could not help but take the initiative to break the silence in the compartment. "I've read about it in books. That must have been... a very difficult experience."

William's hand, wiping the bolt, paused slightly.

He looked up at Lin Jie, then let his gaze fall back onto the parts in his hand, his voice devoid of any emotion. "It was war. War is never 'easy'."

This answer was equivalent to saying nothing at all.

But the fact that he was willing to speak was in itself a tacit gesture of communication.

Lin Jie did not give up.

He knew that to build a deeper level of trust with someone like William, who had an introverted personality and a heart full of stories, he had to find the key that could touch the hardest barrier in his heart.

"I've read the records of the Battle of Isandlwana." Lin Jie switched to a more specific entry point. "Thousands of British soldiers equipped with the most advanced Martini-Henry Rifle at the time were defeated by a Zulu army equipped only with spears and cowhide shields... That must have shocked the entire empire at the time."

This time, William's wiping motion stopped completely.

He slowly looked up, his eyes revealing extremely complex emotions—a mixture of pain, unwillingness, and a deep-seated sense of awe.

"You're right, kid." William's voice became a bit hoarse. "Those historians and newspaper reporters, they only attribute the failure to the stupidity of the commanders or the mistakes in ammunition supply."

"But they were wrong. Everyone on the battlefield that day knew that we didn't lose to those savages with spears; we lost to... a power we couldn't understand."

He paused, as if recalling the nightmare he still couldn't forget.

"The Zulu war cry... it wasn't just sound. It was something that could directly strike your soul. It could awaken the deepest fear in your heart, make your hands tremble uncontrollably, and make you unable to complete even the simplest loading action."

"Their witch doctors, those Sangoma, would hold bloody rituals before the battle. On the battlefield, their bodies were covered in runes we couldn't understand, and in their eyes... there were no human emotions."

"They, like us, were members of the Underworld." Lin Jie spoke the crucial conclusion for him.

William let out a long sigh.

He reassembled the parts in his hand, producing a crisp "click," and then solemnly placed the well-maintained rifle back into its gun case.

"After that war, I understood one truth." He looked at Lin Jie, his eyes becoming sharp. "In this world, the deadliest enemy is never the visible blades and guns in front of you, but the things you cannot see, cannot hear, and cannot explain with common sense."

"So, when I saw you in that warehouse, using only a few words of analysis to make a monster that left Marcus and me—so-called 'elites'—helpless fall into chaos, I knew..."

"You and I are the same kind of people, only I use a gun, and you use your brain."

This sentence was the highest praise this silent veteran could give.

It completely dismantled the last bit of estrangement between the two caused by their different identities and backgrounds.

They had both faced the pure terror brought by supernatural powers, and they had both survived such desperate situations in their own ways.

This shared experience was a bonding agent that no language could compare to.

The atmosphere in the compartment became subtle after this short but profound conversation.

Silence was still the main theme, but that silence no longer stemmed from unfamiliarity, but from a tacit understanding.

Lin Jie took the complete translation of the Cartographer's diary from his luggage and began to read quietly.

He viewed this journey as the last opportunity to strengthen his knowledge base before entering a new battlefield.

William closed his eyes and began to truly rest and conserve his energy.

Although his body was relaxed, as long as there was any sign of trouble, this experienced gray wolf could instantly transform back into the deadliest hunter.

The train continued its journey northward, and the scenery outside the window gradually began to change.

The gently rolling pastoral landscape of England was slowly replaced by more rugged, desolate mountains.

The sky grew higher and gloomier, while vast stretches of heather stained the moorlands a melancholic shade of purple.

They were entering the ancient Scottish Highlands, a land drifting with Celtic legends and clan feuds.

In the early evening, a well-dressed conductor brought a sumptuous dinner to their compartment—roast lamb chops, buttered potatoes, and a bottle of red wine from Bordeaux, France.

This kind of service, which would cost a small fortune in the surface world, was already covered by the Association's meticulous logistics system for I.A.R.C. agents like them on "official business."

As Lin Jie enjoyed his dinner, he reviewed the records in Karl's diary regarding various "aquatic UMA" in his mind.

They were about to face an ancient secret hidden beneath the most mysterious lake in Scotland.