The Shepherd's Death

Ye Yan found the old man's special way of addressing him a little strange, but what surprised him more was the man's identity.

John Alwin.

The newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, the highest authority in the Sanctum, and the central figure overseeing the souls of the entire English diocese.

Earlier, Dr. Watson had only said he would introduce him to a scholar proficient in Sanskrit, never revealing who that scholar was.

Ye Yan had assumed Watson would introduce him to some language professor from King's College London (KCL). He never expected it to be the Archbishop of Canterbury himself.

"Surprised?" Archbishop Alwin seemed to have read his thoughts. The corners of his wrinkled eyes curved slightly. "I never expected it myself. At my age, I still find myself wanting to wield the teaching cane and tutor a young man."

Dr. Watson gave a timely, quiet cough.

"Allow me to make a proper introduction."

He removed his bowler hat and held it to his chest, giving the archbishop a gentleman's bow before introducing the young man. "This is Newman Easton, a friend we trust. We all affectionately call him Ye."

Then Watson turned to Ye Yan and said with a smile, "And the venerable gentleman before us... I imagine you've already guessed who he is. Archbishop Alwin is one of Great Britain's most distinguished linguists. I dare say few scholars can match him in the study of ancient scripts."

With the introductions over, Watson stepped back and took his pocket watch from his waistcoat.

"Ah, I'm afraid I must be going." He pretended to be in a hurry. "I have a consultation at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. I'm sure the two of you have plenty of unusual subjects to discuss."

As he turned to leave, Watson winked at Ye Yan, his expression clearly saying, You owe me a bottle of good wine.

His footsteps gradually faded at the end of the ivy-covered corridor, leaving only a receding, echoing whistle behind—a folk tune.

Mystery solved.

Ye Yan finally understood why Dr. Watson had yet to master his own power. Such a lively personality was entirely unsuited to the silent Winter Code.

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

But why had he chosen Secrecy from the Sanctuary, rather than Radiance from the Sanctum?

After everything he'd learned during this time, Ye Yan could now roughly identify the Principles controlled by England's three great mysterious organizations.

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

the Sanctuary's Secrecy encompassed the Winter Code and the Doctrine of Moth;

and the Administration's Edge belonged to the Doctrine of Edge.

Ye Yan knew the Doctrine of Edge existed because he had previously bought an enchanted police sword from the Administration. At that moment, it lay in his Consciousness Space.

[VR Police Sword]

[Category: Tier 1 Tool (Craftable)]

[We are exceedingly sharp.]

[Aspect: Blade]

Blade was the Principle of battle and conflict. Its elements were conquest, domination, struggle, and resistance. On the other hand, it also encompassed betrayal, deceit, and pain.

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

It was indeed worthy of being called incredibly sharp, practically the equal of the legendary swords in martial arts novels that could slice through iron as though it were mud.

After a brief moment of thought, Ye Yan turned around.

The cemetery wind stirred the archbishop's silver hair. He held out the old scripture in his arms to the young man before him. "Come with me, child. We have plenty of time to begin your first lesson before the moon rises."

Three hours later.

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

Ye Yan was certainly no language prodigy.

If he were, he wouldn't have struggled so much when learning French. Even now, he still spoke "Bonjour" with a ridiculous London accent.

This was nowhere near a normal rate of language learning.

The unfamiliar rules of pronunciation and the structure of the script seemed to have lain dormant deep in his memory, only now being gently awakened.

"Truly astonishing." Archbishop Alwin's finger paused on the last page of the scripture, and the parchment crackled softly. "If I hadn't witnessed your progress with my own eyes, I would almost suspect that you were already fluent in this ancient language."

"Perhaps I'm progressing so quickly because I've studied a language similar to Sanskrit," Ye Yan replied.

After thinking it over, he could only attribute this abnormality to his earlier exposure to the Fahe Language.

Perhaps this was what people meant by applying what one had learned to related fields.

Just as knowing Latin made it much easier to study Romance languages like French and Spanish, the Fahe Language and Sanskrit must share some deeper connection.

Otherwise, the Samsara Bookstore wouldn't have specifically directed him to study this ancient language first.

"Mortal wisdom can never match the Lord's omniscience and omnipotence."

Archbishop Alwin's gaze passed over the candlelight, growing ever brighter as he looked at Ye Yan. "I'm increasingly certain that you are the one foretold in the prophecy."

"The prophecy?" Ye Yan looked up at Archbishop Alwin. "Forgive my impertinence, but you called me the Prophet the first time we met. Have you foreseen something concerning me?"

This was the archbishop who bore the name of "prophet." He wouldn't make baseless claims.

Alwin set down the book and smiled, shaking his head.

"History has warned us time and again that revealing a prophecy too soon only brings disaster. But there is one thing already set in stone that I can tell you."

His eyes fixed on the dancing candlelight as he spoke softly. "In the light of the future I saw, an innocent child would die because I showed favoritism.

"That child was you.

"And yet you broke the prophecy, sparing me from the sin of spilling innocent blood."

Alwin let out a heavy sigh, tinged with both guilt and relief.

"But sin is still sin, even if it never truly comes to pass.

"So the first thing I must do is atone. Given who I am, however, I can't seek you out in person. That's why I asked Watson to look after you."

Hearing this, Ye Yan recalled his first meeting with Watson. He had asked the doctor who had entrusted him to look after Ye Yan, but Watson had only vaguely replied that it was a respected old man.

So that was it. The respected old man the doctor had mentioned was Archbishop Alwin.

Everything made sense now.

No wonder the clergy had been so cooperative when he sought the Church's help on Jersey Island. They hadn't followed the usual procedure to verify his abilities, and had even provided him with a mobile communication device far beyond the technology of the era.

"All right, that's enough for today's lesson."

Alwin stood.

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

Ye Yan bowed slightly to thank Archbishop Alwin, then turned and left the library.

With a heavy click, the library was sealed off from the outside world. The flames of all twelve silver candlesticks trembled at once, casting the old man's shadow across the bookshelves in twelve wavering shapes.

He walked toward the seemingly ordinary full-length mirror in the corner. Hebrew script on its frame glimmered faintly in the firelight.

Alwin pressed his palm against the cold glass.

A blurred figure slowly emerged in the mirror: a young man bent over his desk, writing furiously, a bright lamp casting a warm glow before him.

Alwin's lips trembled slightly as an ancient Aramaic incantation echoed through the room.

As he chanted, the first candle suddenly went out, and the lamp in the mirror dimmed with it. Just as the image was about to vanish, a wisp of smoke strangely flowed backward into the wick. The flame reignited, and the young man's figure appeared once more.

Then the flame on the second candlestick flickered violently before abruptly going out. Sticky darkness surged from the mirror, wrapping around the young man's body like a living thing. His silhouette struggled in the shadows, then was swallowed whole.

When the third candle went out, a blinding white light burst from the mirror. Once it faded, only an empty chair remained before the desk, and the open book's pages fluttered rapidly in an unseen wind.

Alwin staggered around. Somehow, all twelve candles had already burned down, and he could no longer see.

In the darkness, warm liquid trickled down his cheek.

He raised a hand to touch it. His fingertips came away wet.

"Three candles burn in the night..." The old man's voice was terrifyingly hoarse. Blood slowly ran from the corners of his eyes and dripped to the floor. "One... represents the past... already gone... one represents the present, wrapped in shadows; and the last..."

"The last..." Alwin gasped, his bloodied fingers leaving a string of dark red marks on the floor.

"Will set... the entire night sky ablaze..."

The library suddenly shook violently, and all the bookshelves began to tilt inward. Over the thunderous crash of collapsing books, the old man's final whisper was barely audible.

"The Shepherd... must die three times... and humanity... will eventually... lose... its last Ark..."