Death of the Shepherd

Ye Yan felt the old man's unique way of addressing him was somewhat strange, but he was even more astonished by the man's identity.

John Alwin.

The newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, the supreme head of the Sanctum, and the spiritual figurehead who governed the entire Diocese of England.

Previously, Dr. Watson had only mentioned introducing him to a scholar well-versed in Sanskrit, never once revealing his specific status.

Ye Yan had assumed Watson would introduce a linguistics professor from King's College London, never expecting it to be the Archbishop of Canterbury himself.

"Surprised?" Archbishop Alwin seemed to read his thoughts, the corners of his wrinkled eyes curving slightly. "Even I didn't expect that at this age, I would still have the interest to take up the mantle and serve as a teacher to a young man."

Dr. Watson gave a timely, light cough.

"Allow me to make a formal introduction."

He removed his bowler hat, pressed it against his chest, and performed a standard gentleman's bow to the Archbishop before gesturing toward the young man. "This young man is Newman Easton, a trusted friend whom we all affectionately call Ye."

Afterward, Watson turned to Ye Yan and said with a smile, "And this elder before us... I presume you have already guessed his identity. Archbishop Alwin is one of the most distinguished linguists in Great Britain; I dare say, few scholars can stand as his equal in the study of ancient scripts."

Once the introduction was complete, Watson stepped back and retrieved a pocket watch from his waistcoat.

"Ah, I'm afraid I must take my leave." He feigned a sense of urgency. "There is a consultation at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and I am sure you two have many unique topics to discuss."

The moment he turned to leave, Watson winked at Ye Yan, a look that clearly said, "You owe me a bottle of fine wine."

His footsteps gradually faded into the distance at the end of the ivy-covered cloister, leaving behind only a trailing, echoing whistle—the melody of a folk tune.

Case closed.

Ye Yan finally understood why Dr. Watson had struggled to master his own power until now; such a lively personality was fundamentally incompatible with the silent Winter Code.

The doctor seemed much better suited for the path of the Doctrine of Heart.

Yet, why had he chosen the secrecy of the Sanctuary back then, rather than the radiance of the Sanctum?

Through his observations over this period, Ye Yan had basically confirmed the paths of the doctrines mastered by the three great mystical organizations of England.

The Sanctum's Radiance corresponded to the Doctrine of Lamp;

The Sanctuary's secrecy encompassed the Doctrine of Winter and the Doctrine of Moth;

The Administration's sharpness belonged to the Doctrine of Edge.

Ye Yan was certain of the existence of the Doctrine of Edge because he had previously purchased an enchanted police sword from the Administration. At this moment, it lay within his own space of consciousness.

[VR Police Sword]
[Category: Tier 1 Tool (Craftable)]
[We are sharp beyond compare.]
[Aspect: Edge]

Edge was the doctrine of combat and resistance; its elements were conquest, dominion, struggle, and striking back. On the other hand, it also encompassed betrayal, cunning, and pain.

Ye Yan had tested the sharpness of the VR Police Sword.

This sword could indeed be called incomparably sharp, no different from the legendary blades in martial arts novels that could slice through iron as if it were mud.

After a brief moment of reflection, Ye Yan turned back.

The wind in the cemetery stirred the Archbishop's silver hair. He raised his hand to pass the ancient scripture he had been holding to the young man opposite him. "Come with me, child. Before the moon rises, we still have enough time to begin our first lesson."

Three hours later.

In the candlelit library, Ye Yan stared at the dense Sanskrit symbols before him, realizing belatedly that his learning progress was abnormally fast.

Ye Yan was certainly no linguistic genius.

If he were, he wouldn't have struggled so much when learning French, nor would he still speak "Bonjour" with a ridiculous London accent even now.

This was by no means a normal rate of language acquisition.

Those unfamiliar phonetic rules and character structures seemed to have been lying dormant in the depths of his memory, only now being gently awakened.

"Truly astonishing." Archbishop Alwin's finger paused on the final page of the scripture, the parchment emitting a faint, crisp sound. "Had I not witnessed your learning process with my own eyes, I would have almost suspected you were already proficient in this ancient language."

"Perhaps it is because I have studied a language similar to Sanskrit that my progress has been so rapid," Ye Yan replied.

Thinking it over, he could only attribute this anomaly to his previous contact with the Fahe Language.

This was likely what was meant by drawing inferences about one thing from another.

Just as someone who understands Latin finds it twice as easy to study Romance languages like French or Spanish, there must be some deep connection between the Fahe Language and Sanskrit.

Otherwise, the Samsara Bookstore would not have specifically guided him to study this ancient language first.

"The wisdom of mortals is, in the end, no match for the omniscience and omnipotence of the Lord."

Archbishop Alwin's gaze drifted past the candlelight, his eyes growing brighter as he looked at Ye Yan. "I am becoming increasingly certain that you are the existence mentioned in the prophecy."

"Prophecy?" Ye Yan looked up at Archbishop Alwin. "Forgive my presumption, but you called me a Prophet the moment we met. Could it be that you have foreseen something related to me?"

This was an Archbishop who bore the title of "Prophet"; it was impossible for him to speak such baseless words.

Alwin set down the book and shook his head with a smile.

"History has warned us time and again that revealing prophecies too early only invites disaster. However, there is one thing already set in stone that I can tell you."

His gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight, his tone soft as he recounted, "In the light of the future I saw, an innocent child would die because of my partiality."

"That child was you."

"Yet you broke that prophecy, sparing me from the sin of shedding innocent blood."

Alvin sighed heavily, a sound mingled with both guilt and relief.

"But a sin is a sin, even if it never truly came to pass."

"Therefore, the first thing I must do is atone. However, given my status, it is not convenient for me to seek you out personally, so I entrusted Watson to look after you."

Hearing this, Ye Yan recalled the scene of his first meeting with Watson; he had once asked the doctor who had commissioned him to care for him, but the man had only given a vague answer about a respected elder.

So that was it; the respected elder the doctor spoke of was Archbishop Alvin.

Everything made sense now.

No wonder when he sought the Church's assistance on Jersey Island, the clergy had been so cooperative—not only did they forgo the standard verification of his abilities, but they even provided him with a mobile communication device far beyond the technological level of the era.

"Very well, that is all for today's lesson."

Alvin stood up.

"Come find me at the church again next Sunday."

Ye Yan bowed slightly to Archbishop Alvin to express his gratitude, then turned and left the library.

With a heavy click, the library was completely sealed off from the outside world. The flames on the twelve silver candlesticks trembled in unison, casting the old man's silhouette against the surrounding bookshelves to form twelve swaying shadows.

He walked toward the seemingly ordinary floor-length mirror in the corner, the Hebrew inscriptions on its frame shimmering in the firelight.

Alvin pressed his palm against the cold glass.

A blurred figure gradually sharpened within the mirror: a young man hunched over a desk, a Lamp casting a warm halo of light before him.

Alvin's lips trembled slightly, and ancient Aramaic incantations echoed through the room.

As the chanting continued, the first candle flame suddenly extinguished, and the Lamp in the mirror dimmed accordingly. Just as the image was about to vanish, a wisp of blue smoke eerily flowed back into the wick, the light reignited, and the young man's figure reappeared.

Immediately after, the flame of the second candlestick flickered violently before snapping out. Thick darkness surged from within the mirror, coiling around the young man's body like a living thing. His silhouette struggled within the shadows until it was finally swallowed whole.

When the third candle flame died, a blinding white light erupted from the mirror. When the radiance faded, only an empty chair remained before the desk, the pages of an open book flipping rapidly in an invisible wind.

Alvin stumbled and turned, the twelve candles having burned out, though his eyes could no longer see.

In the darkness, a warm liquid traced a path down his cheek.

He reached up to touch it, his fingertips meeting a slick sensation.

"Three candles burning in the dead of night..." the old man's voice was terrifyingly hoarse, blood sliding slowly from the corners of his eyes to drip onto the floor: "One... represents the past... already gone... one symbolizes the present, entangled by shadows; and the last one..."

"The last one..." Alvin gasped with difficulty, his blood-stained fingers leaving a trail of dark red characters on the floor.

"Will ignite... the entire night sky..."

The library suddenly shook violently, and all the bookshelves began to tilt toward the center. Amidst the thunderous crash of toppling tomes, the old man's final whisper was barely audible.

"The shepherd... must endure three deaths... and humanity... will eventually... lose... its final ark..."