Regarding Professor Amitage

Hope found a screwdriver on Paul and, together with Elizabeth, lifted the bed beneath the hole Paul had opened.

He climbed up and screwed the loosened boards back into place, grateful that Paul hadn't tossed the screws aside carelessly.

He chatted idly with Elizabeth. "What kind of person is this professor you mentioned?"

"Professor Henry Armitage," Elizabeth said. "He's a very kind old man, the librarian at Miskatonic University. He mainly teaches us modern literature of the New Federation. Actually, I don't know him all that well—I'm just a freshman working a work-study job under him, helping organize some documents."

The New Federation... that seemed to be the name of this country. "New" implied there was an "Old"—perhaps this nation had undergone a great revolution, or split off from another.

"He sounds like an old scholar, a gentleman. I'd guess he always wears a suit, maybe with glasses."

"You're right." Elizabeth laughed, her voice mingling with the sound of screws turning into wood. "That's exactly him—outdated black suit, black leather shoes, round-rimmed glasses, hair all white. He also wears a red bowtie pinned to his chest."

"A red bowtie would soften his scholarly air, make him seem gentler."

"He is very gentle. He's the gentlest professor I've ever met."

"But you said he's killed a lot of cultists. Is that true?"

"It's true too. There's no contradiction. Still, I only heard that from another, younger professor. Professor Armitage doesn't talk about such things with us. That other professor always brings up Armitage's exploits, like how Armitage executed Oliver of Dunwich."

No contradiction meaning...

An old gentleman in a black suit, black shoes, and a red bowtie, cheerfully finishing his lectures, patiently answering every student's question, then after work, clutching a three-inch-thick academic book, leaning on his cane, walking into a remote alley, opening a door without knocking, politely greeting the cultist napping inside, and while the cultist was still processing, suddenly pulling a revolver from his coat, cheerfully gripping the barrel and smashing his skull with the butt...

Hope cut off his strange imagination.

"Oliver of Dunwich—what did he do?" The familiar place name put Hope on alert. What was this Oliver's relationship with the Whateley family? Were there two groups of cultists in the same area?

Maybe he had some cooperation or conflict with the Whateleys.

"Sorry, I only know his name. But that seems like something from many years ago—even the professor who told me about it hadn't experienced it firsthand," Elizabeth said.

As a former university student, Hope knew that "young professor" was only relative to the title "professor." Anyone under forty could be called young. So that alone didn't pin down when Oliver was active as a cultist.

The screws at all four corners of the board were now tight. With this barrier, Elizabeth's voice from below grew muffled: "But you could ask him yourself... Do you want to come with me to Miskatonic University?"

"Come with you?" Hope was taken aback, slowing down as he laid the waterproof felt.

That bastard Paul had first cut this felt apart with a knife, then ripped it open by brute force. Without proper tools or materials, Hope couldn't restore it at all. He could almost imagine the drip-drip under this board when it rained.

"Right. With your ability, this place shouldn't be able to hold you, should it?"

Hope spread the waterproof felt flat, leaving as few gaps as possible.

"Close your eyes. I'm coming down," he said, tapping the roof with a "thump-thump" to make sure Elizabeth could hear him through the felt.

His figure appeared behind Elizabeth.

"Unfortunately, I have to stay here," Hope said. "Not because I'm willing to remain in a cultist's den, but Wilbur—my brother—is threatening the lives of Dunwich's residents. If they find out I've escaped, the consequences would be unthinkable."

Together with Elizabeth, he moved the bed back.

"What would they do?"

"I don't know. But I think if they had the ability to kill all of Dunwich's residents in one night, they would. So it's better I stay here."

"Phew... Your brother is a bastard," Elizabeth said. "Trust me, Professor Armitage will save you."

"I believe that too. I've never met him, but even just from your description, he sounds trustworthy. I have one more question, though I'm not sure if it's rude."

"You can ask. If I don't want to answer, I'll pretend I didn't hear."

Hope nodded. "You're an ordinary person, right?"

"Ordinary? What kind of ordinary do you mean?"

"If someone like me, who can teleport through space, is 'extraordinary.'"

"Then I'm ordinary. No different from anyone you'd meet on the street."

"So Professor Armitage isn't ordinary?"

"He isn't. I've seen him control wind to clean bookshelves."

Control wind... I wonder if it's through incantations or something else.

"What I want to know is, how do ordinary people like you see extraordinary people like me?"

In other words, this world's view of the supernatural—was it fear and disgust toward wizards, sorcerers, and demons, or worship and admiration toward the chosen, celestial masters, and immortals?

Elizabeth thought for a few seconds. "I don't know."

"You don't know? How could you not know?"

"I just don't. Before I met Professor Armitage, I always thought those extraordinary things were just folklore. And until today, I still thought they were far away from me. I haven't had time to think about it."

So the extraordinary side of this world and the ordinary side were disconnected. Ordinary people usually didn't encounter the supernatural...

That matched the state of Dunwich residents like Paul. They'd always slandered the Whateley family, but those slanders stayed at the "hearsay" level. Some might believe it, but no one had real proof. Others just treated it as idle gossip.

But... Star Hemp, the Great Night Hawk, Robert, the transparent liquid monster... Had I been encountering these extraordinary things too often? After all, I hadn't even been here a full day... Was it because of the cultists, or was it the protagonist's halo that kept the main character in constant danger?

Hope roughly understood. "When I teleported you here, I didn't know any of this would happen. I hope today's events won't trouble you too much."

"They won't. I might have nightmares for a few days, but I'll forget after that. Compared to you and the other residents of Dunwich, my troubles are nothing."

Hope nodded. Now wasn't the time or place for idle chat. After asking Elizabeth about the general situation, he planned to use "Uncertainty" to send her and Paul away.

He checked Paul's breathing again—steady and strong, better than before.

Just as he hesitated over whether to send the unconscious Paul back to the Corey couple's house, Paul finally woke up.