Seemingly True Yet False

"No, I don't think that's possible." Lucius stepped back, averting his gaze. "The professor is one of the best doctors I know, both in terms of skill and character. This is absolutely not something he would do."

This was not a matter of logic. For Lucius, admitting this was far more complicated than any mere possibility; without direct evidence, he would firmly stand on the side of opposition.

"Even if he looks obviously abnormal?"

"It could also be that the vial of Black Fluid was stolen after he took it out. We only suspect that the Black Fluid is causing the problem, don't we?" It was only because Kraft held a significant place in his mind, and was currently the leader of the Medical School, that Lucius was even willing to discuss it.

If anyone else had dared to openly accuse the professor of poisoning in front of Lucius, even if that person were carrying a sword, Lucius would have gone up and punched him twice.

"Someone specifically steals a tiny amount of liquid with unknown effects, brings it to the most neglected part of this city, and pours it into the water to create a mass poisoning event?" Kraft crossed his arms, trying to make himself appear less aggressive. "Which of these two explanations do you think is more likely?"

Emotionally, he didn't want it to be this way either, but for the moment, the professor was undoubtedly the prime suspect.

As one of only three people in Wenden Port who knew of the Black Fluid's existence, combined with his highly abnormal behavior, it made one want to rush straight to Dunling to confront him face-to-face.

However, this deduction was missing an important piece. If the professor really did it, why would he do such a thing? Without solving this problem, it would be impossible to convince Lucius, nor could it fully convince Kraft himself.

Whether it was the professor or someone else, there had to be a motive.

Even a madman needs a motive to act. Bringing the Black Fluid to the Salt Tide District and finding a water source to contaminate was clearly a decision made after careful consideration, not something done on a whim.

Kraft had reason to suspect that the person had foreseen this result, knowing the special effect produced by the gathering of those affected, which was why they had done it.

In the Salt Tide District, the population was relatively dense, water sources were scarce, and most importantly, no one was in charge. This allowed the positive feedback effect—where the scope and the number of people amplified each other—to be maximized.

Through a tiny amount of Black Fluid, they had created an effect that caused the situation in a large area to continuously deteriorate. It was calculated and malicious beyond imagination.

"Now is not the time to discuss this. Who did it can wait until we have time later. We must curb this trend."

Thinking about the suspect now wouldn't help; Kraft preferred to control this damned mass Anomalous Phenomenon.

This anomalous "domain" was causing the condition of those within it to deteriorate, progressing from waking up slightly late to now being unable to rise until after noon. One didn't even need to think about what came next: the afternoon, the evening, until nightfall.

Eventually, everyone here would be dragged into an eternal sleep to keep company with the wandering, malicious entities. Kraft didn't know what it wanted, but it certainly wasn't anything good.

"If it's a water source problem, then how about changing the water source?" Since the source had been found, Lucius felt it shouldn't be hard to solve. "We tell them directly that the water is poisonous, they walk a bit further to get water every day, and after a period of time, it should be fine."

"Hmm... that's a way, though it would be really troublesome. But I don't think it will be that simple." Kraft closed his eyes, sensing the strange aura permeating the surroundings. He had to find another way to explain what he felt to Lucius.

"Lucius, do you think it's too much of a stretch to believe that just the Black Fluid the professor took away, poured into well water, could cause such long-term deterioration in so many people?"

"That's why I'm not sure it's caused by the Black Fluid. Why did you suddenly start supporting the Black Fluid theory?" Lucius didn't understand Kraft's worry. If one viewed the Black Fluid as a simple poison, stopping the intake of water mixed with it should certainly be effective.

Kraft voiced his own thoughts. "I think we should have them leave this area for a while, the more dispersed the better, preferably leaving Wenden Port entirely."

This suggestion was immediately criticized by Lucius. During this time following Liston, he had deeply realized one thing: in the Salt Tide District, due to economic constraints, no major changes were feasible.

"They have nowhere to go, and they can't abandon their work. That would kill them faster than changing nothing."

"Sigh..." Kraft picked up the water bucket, his weekly sigh count increasing by one. Socioeconomic factors were truly annoying. "Fine, let's take the bucket back to the school, find some animals to test it on, and come back here tomorrow morning to watch over them and tell them it's a water issue."

"Oh, almost forgot about this." Before leaving, he picked two silver coins from his wallet and dropped them into the split in the wood; it should be enough for this family to repair their house. "Remind me on the way back to stop by Blade's house. We'll have him move somewhere else for a while; we'll test both plans at once."

Kraft returned to the inn, exhausted, not even ordering his favorite grilled fish, and made do with a few slices of bread for dinner. He returned to his room and lit a candle.

A full day of investigation was physically and mentally draining, especially thinking about all the work left to do, which might not even be useful, making the future look bleak.

A massive, man-made anomalous "domain" had been created within Wenden Port, and he still hadn't found the person's motive.

The heavy suspicions surrounding the professor made him particularly uneasy. When a knowledgeable person harbors evil intentions, the destruction they cause far exceeds that of an ordinary person.

He couldn't continue discussing this with Lucius, so he had to think alone: if it were the professor, what reason would drive him to such a crazy act?

At Calman's stage, he no longer had any desire for worldly things. The usual reasons for ordinary people to do evil—money, power—had no meaning for such an old professor.

He was in good financial standing and essentially managed the entire Wenden Port Medical School, yet he had never shown any enthusiasm for either, and his material life was no different from an ordinary student.

If there was anything he cared about, it was academic progress. Both Calman and Kraft were people who wanted to push for medical technological advancement in this hellish social environment; they had come to Wenden Port for this very reason and had stayed for half a lifetime.

So what did Calman want to gain from this act? This perfect choice of location looked like it had been designed with full knowledge of the mechanism behind this positive feedback "domain."

Given the professor's level, he likely wasn't just looking to watch a group of people exhibit the known effect of falling into a coma, so...

[There will be new changes.]

Kraft realized this point: the constant lengthening of sleep time was a quantitative change. The professor was likely waiting for a qualitative change, and he had enough time to wait for him to return from Dunling to verify the results.

Of course, this deduction was based on the premise that the perpetrator was indeed the professor.

Taking off his black robe and throwing himself onto the bed, Kraft pressed his temples, feeling his entire head begin to ache.

This headache flared up frequently when he was overly tired or agitated, pulling at his temples, eyes, and even his gums, affecting half his face. Both the body of the soul from another world and the body in this world had suffered from this headache.

He closed his eyes, stopped thinking, and let his mind go blank for a while. According to his own diagnosis, it was likely trigeminal neuralgia. Such minor ailments were quite troublesome, with complex pathogenic mechanisms and recurring attacks, and one had to rely on rest to alleviate them.

Considering the mental pressure and busy schedule lately, the headache was an unavoidable companion.

In the darkness, he didn't know how much time had passed, but the pain gradually subsided. His spirit drifted in the rare relief, and drowsiness set in.

At the moment before falling asleep, Kraft stopped himself. It was still early; he had to do something before sleeping, at least finish the lesson plan for Human Anatomy to give to Liston to teach for him tomorrow, otherwise, he would have to make up the missed lessons himself in the end.

The pressure of doubled work in the future forced his eyes open, returning to the reality that made his head ache.

It felt like he had only been lying down for a moment, but the candle on the table had already gone out, and the room was plunged into darkness. A sliver of moonlight lay on the floor, leaking through the gap in the window, white and soft.

The lingering pain had receded from occupying half his skull down to three distinct points, and every pulse of his blood vessels made him feel as if his eyeballs were being compressed; the pterion on his left side felt as though someone were using a small hammer to tap at the bone joints from the inside, synchronized with the throbbing ache of his rear molars.

His consciousness had grown chaotic during the long ordeal, and the furnishings in the dim room were impossible to make out.

Kraft sat on the edge of the bed and fished a flat black square from his pocket, pressing the raised bump on its side; the light flared up abruptly, stinging his eyes until he could only keep them open a sliver.

He turned the glowing surface toward his surroundings, barely illuminating a distance of two steps, but when he stood up, it only lit a small patch at his feet, offering no real help.

His brain felt heavy and muddled, as if it had yet to wake from its state of rest. Kraft groped his way forward in the darkness for a few steps, his eyes yet to complete the transition from light to dark, leaving the outlines of objects blurred.

He lost his patience, clutching the object in his hand as he walked toward the window, intending to open it directly and let the moonlight stream in.

His hand followed his usual instincts, pressing against the wooden frame to search for the latch, yet he failed to find it three times in a row.

The hard texture in his other hand reminded him that he still had something to provide light. He pressed the bump on the flat, square object once more, and a white light shone before him.

Kraft stared at this square, white light source, feeling that it shouldn't be so simple. He earnestly stretched out his finger to slide it across the surface, waiting for feedback, even forgetting that he had intended to open the window.

The white light source showed no reaction.

His irritation grew; his instincts told him that something must be wrong, that this object in his hand had to provide information—information his life could not do without.

The otherworldly part of his soul fell into an inexplicable frenzy, while the native part began to mobilize his reason to think, and he felt a strange sense of dissonance.

It was like admiring a sunrise from a window, only to have a stubborn black speck in his field of vision, like a fly on a painting, moving across the surface as if clinging to it. Once he noticed it, he realized the scenery before him was truly just a flat surface.

[A realistic painting]

More of his attention was shifted to the flat, white-glowing square in his hand; it was plausible yet lacked any further functional details, creating the sense of dissonance he had perceived.

Kraft was struck with sudden horror.

He sat up in shock like a dying man, short and powerless, yet another update (;д;)