A Missing Part

Kraft held his sword and looked around; including himself, only three people remained at the scene.

The middle-aged man who had gone to fetch water sat on the ground, his bucket rolling several meters away with water spilling everywhere. He had just returned with the water, not expecting Kraft to suddenly lash out with his sword at the wooden wall behind him, scaring him so badly he threw the bucket aside.

Lucius stood nearby, trembling; he had been the closest one just moments ago, and that blade had grazed his waist—any closer and he would have met the same fate as the wooden wall.

He clutched his chest, his hand holding the suitcase shaking incessantly, "So that thing was actually sharpened?"

He had known for a long time that Kraft possessed a fine sword, but because Kraft had always presented himself as a scholar and a doctor, people assumed it was merely a symbol of his family's martial history.

No one had ever imagined that Kraft would actually draw it one day.

"I might have... had a nightmare?" Kraft looked around with his sword drawn, feeling lost. Finding no threats, he sullenly sheathed his blade, "Did anyone approach me just now?"

That strange, malicious intent had come and gone in a flash, dissipating rapidly under the sunlight like a soap bubble popping, attempting to escape from his memory.

But his consciousness had faithfully recorded the sensation: a comfortable sinking, sinking further, as something quietly approached, wrapping itself in a gentle shell to become part of a soft dream.

The malice hidden deep within, exposed by a single flaw, created such a massive contrast that Kraft still felt a lingering fear when he recalled it. It was like his favorite cream soup suddenly rippling, with irregular black shadows swimming within the broth—a nauseating thing lurking beneath the surface.

Kraft felt he had truly encountered something, regardless of whether it was a dream. This encounter felt familiar, giving him a very bad premonition.

Looking into the wooden wall through the rift he had cleaved, the owner of the house had long since left; the narrow, dim space was empty. It was impossible for a person to have hidden there, let alone pass through the wooden wall to cause that sensation.

Kraft walked over to the middle-aged man and bent down to help him up, "I am very sorry, I assure you this was just an accident. Your work is done, take your money and go back."

He reached out to help brush the dust off the man, but realized it was hard to tell which was dirtier—the clothes or the ground—so he abandoned the gesture and went to retrieve the rolling bucket.

There was a little water left in the bucket, so Kraft simply poured it all out, watching the water line slowly vanish. There was no turbidity, no floating debris; the clear water splashed a few mud spots on the ground and seeped into the soil.

It had to be said that it was much better than expected; he had thought the water quality would be so murky he wouldn't be able to see the bottom of the bucket.

Just looking wasn't enough; he needed to carry a bucket back to the academy to test it on some animals. Since everyone had run off, he could take the opportunity to observe this well.

Leaning against the well rim to look down, the depths were pitch black, with no bottom in sight. Facing such a deep well, one felt a fear of slipping and falling, uncontrollably imagining oneself rapidly approaching the dark, cold water in the narrow space.

It was as if the depths led to another world, the exact opposite of the world illuminated by sunlight, with the long, lightless tunnel serving as the gateway.

The bucket, tied to a rope, went all the way down, bumping against the well walls until it touched the surface of the water.

Kraft wrapped the rope around his hand twice and pulled the bucket up. The wooden bucket, filled with water, felt heavy, pulling at him as if it had a will of its own, wanting to draw him toward its destination.

He felt that strange scent appear again, becoming distinct as it neared the wellhead.

His consciousness confirmed that it was not a signal from his sense of smell, but a form of synesthesia; some more specific information was attempting to express itself through the olfactory path.

Without needing a reminder, Kraft thought of something he had felt this way about before.

But... how could this be?

He pulled the rope with all his might, dragging the bucket out of the well; nothing unusual could be seen in the clear water. But his intuition, or perhaps a higher sense that had grown after coming into contact with anomalous things, insisted that there was something inside that shouldn't be there.

Kraft subconsciously rejected this warning, yet his consciousness operated involuntarily, matching the new information with known memories.

"Lucius, could you come over here for a moment?" He beckoned to Lucius.

The middle-aged man had already left, and there were no outsiders around; some things needed to be reconfirmed.

Lucius approached the bucket, keeping a subtle distance from Kraft, and glanced at the well water inside, "What's wrong? Is it really a problem with the water?"

He was still shaken by the sudden incident from earlier.

"I'm not sure, it's just that I suddenly thought of other questions." Kraft didn't mind his cautious behavior and shook the rope loose from his hand, "I need you to recall a few things. It might be a bit offensive, but I have to ask."

"As long as I can remember it, there's nothing I can't say. As a reward, can I borrow your sword to look at when we get back?" Feeling that the familiar Kraft had returned, Lucius felt much more at ease and became interested in Kraft's sword instead. What man could refuse the temptation of a beautiful and functional weapon?

"Sure, as long as you don't cut your own hand." The request was perfectly understandable; a good sword was just too cool.

"What I want to ask is, in the few days before Professor Calman left, how did you feel his mental state was?"

"Huh? Why ask that all of a sudden?" Once again, Lucius felt he couldn't get along with people who made such leaps in logic.

"Just tell me how it was. Was there a big difference from usual? You can say anything." Since he didn't realize why this question was being asked, that was actually better; Kraft needed an answer that was as objective as possible, free from emotional interference.

He used the most casual tone possible to create a relaxed atmosphere for Lucius, which would help him recall more and speak more freely.

Lucius stroked his beak-mask, thought for a moment, and said, "He had never been better, he was even a bit manic."

"Did you feel any changes in his personality? Especially things that didn't fit his past image?" Once suspicion took root, everything felt abnormal; that was Kraft's current mindset.

"If I had to say, I felt he was too impatient, always wanting to do more experiments as quickly as possible."

"So he spent most of his time in the laboratory?"

"I hadn't noticed that, let me think... at least the time the mentor left the academy every day didn't change much; it was always in the evening."

"In a rush to complete more experiments at the academy, yet unwilling to stay a little longer?" Kraft found the contradiction.

If it were just this, it might be normal, but combined with what he currently knew, a hypothesis he had never considered emerged.

The implication was too obvious; even Lucius heard it, "Are you saying the mentor had other things to do outside? The samples weren't in..."

His rebuttal stopped abruptly; he also realized there was a major problem here. There was indeed a portion of the Black Fluid whose usage was unknown to him.

That explained why Kraft was asking this question now.

The scattered information was strung together by a single thread from beginning to end.

"Your suspicion makes no sense at all, why would the mentor do that?" Lucius immediately denied it, even though this guess aligned well with his initial reasoning regarding the Black Fluid.

Professor Calman was the mentor who had taught him for many years, his guide in the field of medicine; it would be no exaggeration to call him a father figure. Whether based on personal affection or his recognition of the man's moral character, Lucius could not bring himself to admit that the two were connected.

"So you also think there might be something to this theory, right?" Kraft stared at Lucius, their gazes meeting through two layers of lenses. "Think about it carefully again—both the evidence that supports it and the evidence that doesn't. Think it over."

Kraft himself was startled by this outrageous conjecture.

Although their time together had been short, the image of Professor Calman in his mind remained overwhelmingly positive. He was a good man, dedicated to academia and eager to advance medicine to heal the sick and save lives.

Even knowing that Professor Calman had taken a portion of the samples away on his own, Kraft had never once associated it with this direction, assuming at most that there were technical details the professor wished to keep confidential.

Coupled with the strict control over the Black Fluid, where every use was recorded, it had created an illusion that everything was under control, leading him to prefer believing it was some unheard-of, special epidemic. He never imagined that the meticulously perfected protocols had lost all meaning the moment they overlooked the portion the professor had taken.

The line of thought that "the professor used the Black Fluid to poison people" was simply too inconceivable.

Until now, as he stood before the water source that was almost certainly the culprit, having just encountered an attack that felt both real and illusory only minutes ago.

That strange aura, which defied all understanding, was permeating his surroundings; it grew increasingly dense and clear now that he was aware of its existence.

He could feel it, but this time, it was no longer confined within a glass bottle.

It drifted freely through the vast space, residing in the deep well, dissolving into every bucket of water drawn, and filling the boundless expanse.

The scope was so vast, like an invisible lake suspended in the air; everyone who drank the well water was affected by it, sinking into its depths.

Kraft recalled his own notes: the Black Fluid was indeed a medium, and the sleep that followed the ingestion of the diluted liquid was likely merely an external manifestation.

The true significance lay in allowing people to make contact with another plane during that process.

Since normal people could not accept or retain information that differed from this world, they would show no memory of anything from their dreams upon waking.

However, for such a small amount of liquid to produce a continuous, obvious effect on so many people simultaneously, there had to be another mechanism—a positive feedback loop that allowed its influence to constantly amplify.

Scope, number of people.

A "Domain," similar to the Black Stone Pillar, capable of influencing everyone nearby who met the conditions, had emerged.

Within a certain range, when enough people had consumed it, the degree of influence would deepen and the range would expand, and that expanded range would then influence even more people, enveloping more contacts to further deepen the effect.

After affecting everyone nearby who had come into contact with it, this "Domain" was now able to stretch beyond the Salt Tide District, reaching into the home of Blade on the neighboring Elm Street.

It was like an invisible, intangible lake, yet those submerged within it remained completely unaware, knowing only that their sleep time was constantly lengthening.

And that Evil Ghostly Thing, which disguised itself with softness, swam through it like a fish, its intentions unknown to anyone.