Fleeing in Disarray

The darkness that had enveloped the building finally dissipated, and Professor Rice lit the kerosene lamp.

On the table in front of him and Hope, besides teacups, were two other things: a huge book, the Necronomicon, and a pair of round-framed glasses, which Professor Armitage had temporarily placed there.

On the other side, a fierce wind howled, and Professor Armitage stood by the window, with dozens of books floating in the air behind him, and a bookshelf collapsed in the distance.

Jack lay on the ground, holding a severed arm in his hand.

The arm's outline resembles a human's, but the abundant hair makes it look more like a chimpanzee's, and the scales beneath the hair indicate that this is something that would give biologists a headache.

It does not conform to the theory of evolution, and it is difficult to find a suitable category for it according to current classification methods.

There was still brown fabric on his arm, and dark red blood was flowing from the cut. The stench of the blood seemed to have intensified, filling the entire floor.

The window was open, and there were dark red bloodstains on the windowsill.

Professor Rice stood up, leaving the still-weak Hope to wait there, and walked towards the two of them alone.

He picked up the small box that was placed next to the table.

"Mr. Jack, are you alright?" Professor Rice asked.

"Ah----" Jack stretched his body, let go of the arm he was holding, and answered him after a while, "To be honest----it wasn't good. I didn't expect him to be so difficult----I underestimated him, thinking I could take him down in less than a minute----but if it weren't for Professor Armitage, I might have been the one who got taken down----his Inspiration is too high."

"You'll find a way to escape," Professor Rice said. "Even without Professor Armitage, you'll always be able to escape."

"That's true—it's just a little embarrassing—ha, I feel like I broke a few ribs."

Professor Rice walked up to him, put down the box, opened it, and inside were various bottles and jars. After a simple mixing, he handed two small bottles to Jack: "Drink this clear one first; it will prevent you from Affliction too much from Inspiration exhaustion. After a while, drink the red one to relieve physical pain."

"In a little while—can you be more precise, how about five minutes?"

"Sure," Professor Rice replied. "Actually, it's fine to drink them together, but they'll taste very bitter when mixed."

"Then let's wait five minutes."

Professor Rice went to see Professor Armitage, a respectable old man who was not wearing his glasses; they were placed on the table.

He was manipulating the wind, blowing those precious books.

Professor Rice walked to the window and looked down, straightening his clothes to keep his collar from touching the foul-smelling blood.

There's no one visible below the window.

"He ran away from here," Professor Rice asked.

"Hmm," Professor Armitage replied, "He's clever. Now I can only find a suitable place to store these books so he can escape."

Professor Rice looked up at the books suspended in the air by the wind. Most of them were well-bound, but many were damaged. The marks left by time gave them a mysterious and noble feel.

He glanced at a few book titles:

<The Confessions of a Mad Monk>, <The Third Sun>, <The Light of Ascension>

Professor Rice shifted his gaze to the other bookshelf, which was too far away; it was actually in another room, only visible through the window. "Did Wilbur make this?"

"Yes."

"But... isn't it a bit too far?"

"More than just far," Professor Armitage said. "If you were to examine that bookshelf now, you probably wouldn't find any signs of vandalism."

They walked toward Hope, leaving Jack there to rest for a while.

Professor Armitage said, "Wilbur's Inspiration is exceptional, far greater than we imagined. In fact, he already possesses a special kind of genius."

Recalling the collapsed bookshelf, Professor Rice quickly came to a guess. "The seventh order of Inspiration?"

"It's incredible, but it must be."

"What does that mean?" Hope asked, having overheard their conversation.

Professor Rice thought for a moment, "Special, that is to say—well, at the cost of a significant reduction in attributes, one gains incomplete high-level abilities."

"Like using a spell?"

"No," Professor Rice replied, "The reduced attributes from a special ability will never be restored, and the gained abilities will no longer incur any cost."

Permanent and irreversible—as Old Whateley said, of the three abilities, "Special" comes at the greatest cost.

While magic can be obtained through attribute exchange, this is probably not the primary method of acquiring it.

"Wilbur's Inspiration may be at the Third Tier now," Professor Armitage said, retrieving his glasses. "But he's using abilities typically reserved for the seventh order—he's already paid the price of at least one order."

Hope tried to raise his hand; his weakness was beginning to ease.

The seventh rank—that is, the number 7—and Wilbur's power—to render people powerless—to destroy bookshelves from a distance—

"What is that special effect?" Hope couldn't figure it out, so he asked the two professors.

"To turn something that might happen into something that is certain to happen," Professor Armitage replied. "The less likely it is, the longer it will take. The bookshelf itself was old, which gave him the opportunity."

It might happen, but it will happen—it sounds powerful—it's just—

Hope touched his own body.

Is it possible to suddenly feel weak?

Professor Rice looked at him, seemingly sensing his confusion, and then placed the box on the table and opened it.

He pulled a small bottle from under the box and gave it to Hope: "Drink this."

Hope didn't know what it was, but she opened the bottle anyway.

It seemed to contain only water, but it had a sweet and sour taste, which was quite nice.

Before long, the muscle weakness was further relieved.

He looked at the bottle in his hand with surprise: "This is—"

"A nutrient supplement," Professor Rice said. "A very ordinary one, but it contains a fairly comprehensive range of nutrients."

Hope's sense of powerlessness stemmed from malnutrition.

Hope —putting malnutrition out of his mind. "After gaining special abilities, what price do I have to pay to use them?"

"No," Professor Armitage replied.

"But—if that's the case, why didn't Wilbur use it before?"

Professor Armitage shook his head. "I'm curious too. Just now, he was very restrained and didn't recklessly use his seventh-order abilities."

Professor Armitage looked at the arm that Jack had thrown away; scales had also grown on the palm of that arm.

Even during Wilbur's fight with Hope, his hands were still like those of a normal person.

It's just some black hair; it doesn't even qualify as hypertrichosis.

"Perhaps he acquired this special ability through some kind of God blessing," Professor Armitage said. "After all—seventh-order abilities—are quite rare even among special abilities."

"That means he can't use it freely," Hope said. "He also lost an arm and was so badly injured—he would choose to drive away—but he doesn't have his own car, so—"

It's Nancy's car.

"What do you want to do?" Professor Rice asked.

Hope pointed to the window. "I want that curtain."

Even if he still can't stop Wilbur, he'll still have the ability to escape.