Investigator's Survival Tips

Hope helped Jack into the back seat of the red car.

"Wow." Jack looked at the scenery outside. "You guys drove the car onto the lawn!"

"He drove the car onto the lawn, it has nothing to do with me," Hope said. "I thought you would take immediate action."

But Jack leaned back in his seat, looking at the signs of a struggle, bullet holes, and bloodstains left inside the car.

"Action? You mean I'm going to storm Professor Larry's office alone with a gun? No, that's too dangerous." Jack replied, "I can't go and fight Wilbur alone right now—I can't even cast a single spell. I have to wait for those who came to surround Wilbur to arrive."

How long will it take?

"I don't know. I don't actually have much connection with Miskatonic University."

Perhaps to kill time, Jack seemed to remember something. "Wilbur doesn't seem to be of any use to you?"

"Intuition—I don't know why, but his intuition certainly doesn't work for me."

"I know some people would call it intuition, but it's actually a manifestation of high Inspiration," Jack said. "It's strange, you were born into a cult family, yet you seem to know nothing about it."

"I have amnesia," Hope replied.

Amnesia—that's even stranger—I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing.

Jack began to examine his automatic pistol, which looked heavier than Dr. Morgan's revolver, but with a shorter barrel.

Equally brand new.

"The problem now is—" Jack said, "I don't know exactly how much of Wilbur's Inspiration he's consumed."

"There are probably less than the second rank left," Hope said.

Specifically, it's 1.87; Wilbur's consumption is actually greater than Jack's.

Wilbur clearly paid a heavy price for his escape.

Hope hesitated for a moment before telling Jack these things.

Clearly, only he could see those numbers; it was a talent he possessed, a perk of being a time traveler, or a blessing from the King of King of Kings.

In either case, deciding whether or not to let others know is a matter that requires careful consideration.

But Wilbur's matter is more important right now.

Jack looked away from the pistol and at Hope.

Hope felt uneasy under his gaze. "What's wrong?"

"How did you know?" Jack asked.

"Some special methods—I can't tell you," Hope replied.

"But—I need a reason to believe you," Jack said.

He shrugged at the same time. "Of course, you can choose not to give any reason; my trust is not important to you."

Hope glanced at him, paused slightly, and said, "Your Self-Being is somewhere between the first and second order, your Inspiration is zero, and the other two are at the level of a normal person."

He did not give specific numbers because, until now, everyone has been talking about attributes in terms of vague ranks.

"This feeling of being seen through—it's not a good feeling—" Jack said.

Jack exhaled. "That's amazing. I believe you now."

He continued to stare at Hope, which gave Hope a chill down her spine.

When Hope could no longer hide her discomfort, Jack finally said, "I have high hopes for you."

"What?" Hope didn't understand why he said that.

"If you're willing to join the Federation," Jack said, "I believe you'll become an excellent investigator. Perhaps even a legend."

Hope was pleased; he enjoyed hearing praise, even though he didn't want to be an investigator.

He still didn't understand Jack's words. "Why... why do you say that?"

"Because you did something really stupid," Jack said.

"Uh—" Hope licked her lips: "I—"

Jack interrupted him, "If it were me, I would never let you know I have this ability so easily."

"But----"

"But you think you need to say it," Jack said. "Because you think I need it—ah, you don't want Wilbur to escape—I might be a little narcissistic, and there's also your desire not to hurt or kill me—anyway, it's a noble but foolish recklessness."

"Foolish recklessness—if someone were bored enough to do some research on the causes of death of investigators, they would find that more than a quarter of them died because of this."

Hope stared blankly at Jack.

Jack paused for a moment, then continued, "But 'nobility' is a good thing—the person who compiles the statistics on the causes of death of investigators will find that another quarter of the investigators died because of their 'nobility.'"

Hope didn't know what to say.

He had thought Jack was praising him.

Now it sounds more like mockery.

Jack patted him on the shoulder. "These investigators who died for nobility often don't end up with intact bodies; they're all turned into mincemeat or some other weird stuff, their brains stuffed into their intestines, and their handsome or beautiful faces shoved into their own backdoors—"

Hope's face grew increasingly pale.

Jack suddenly laughed, "Sorry, I seem to have startled you—but what I really wanted to say is—ha, another three-quarters of the investigators died because they weren't noble enough."

Hope was stunned.

"Based on the Federation's years of experience," Jack said, "The fact is, compared to various survival tactics and caution, those emotions 'called virtues,' such as nobility and kindness..."

Justice and compassion are the best medicine against madness and the unknown.

"And I believe you possess these."

Hope hesitated for a moment, then said, "But—wouldn't you be better off not becoming one of those investigators you mentioned?"

"Of course," Jack didn't deny it, but said, "but in most cases, so-called 'ordinary life' is hard to achieve, especially for someone like you—"

Look at what your younger brother has become.

℃

The two of them tacitly stopped the conversation at the same time.

Hope was thinking about his future—what future did he have? He had been here for half a month, and Number Four Hope told him that he only had three months left.

Jack spoke of Wilbur again, "Not even second rank—in that case, I can relax a little."

"Does this mean his Inspiration is no longer a significant threat?" Hope asked.

Jack nodded. "That's about right."

He pointed the automatic pistol at the history department building, pausing briefly on each illuminated light. "If his Inspiration still reaches the second level, he'll feel something when my sights overlap with his body. But if it's insufficient, even by a tiny margin, he won't feel anything."

The difference in size—that is, between 1.99" and 2.00"—represents a qualitative leap.

"Are the differences between each rank really that large?" Hope asked, then added after a moment's thought, "I mean, when they're actually only a tiny bit different."

Jack nodded. "Even if it's just a little bit, there's still a gap between the second rank and the first rank."