An Academic Legacy

Winslow stroked the manuscript on the desk one last time, took off his glasses, slowly wiped the lenses clean with a handkerchief, and put them back on.

"Gordon," Winslow said solemnly, "right now, we can only work backward from reactions to infer the underlying nature. Our reach falls short of our ambitions. I want you to do something difficult, but right... lay bare the truth of source substance for humanity, and conquer its mysteries before this era ends."

"Professor, I do want to explore the truth," Gordon said.

"A worthy ambition," Winslow said. "It reminds me of the first Aberrant dissection I took part in when I was young. There was that terrifying Balro Demon, with a huge, misshapen heart growing inside his chest... everyone around me screamed and shrieked, desperate to get away. I stayed where I was and kept cutting."

"And you weren't afraid at all!" Gordon's respect deepened.

"No. They simply ran too fast and blocked the door."

"..."

Winslow skipped over that detail.

"In any case, all I thought back then was that if we could rip something's heart and lungs out, we could deal with it. People cannot live in fear forever."

Gordon thought of Harold at Lace Pumping Station, and the frenzy on his face.

Looking back now, Harold had been disgusting and dangerous, but... yes, he could be defeated. He could be smashed to a pulp.

And over his lifetime, Winslow had probably unraveled countless mysteries like that.

"Professor, you're still young," Gordon said. "You can still publish plenty of top-tier papers and keep your colleagues awake at night."

"My spirit is young, not this shell." A wistful note entered Winslow's voice. "...I want to establish a method. A school. Call it the Winslow School for now, if you like. Others can call it whatever they please. It requires four supreme crafts, and those four crafts are also my signature disciplines..."

He unfolded a small blackboard and wrote on it with chalk.

Gordon listened attentively.

"Supernatural anatomy, so that the secrets of every so-called 'monster' have nowhere to hide beneath the knife."

"Source substance natural history: observation, identification, and documentation, to classify and name every source substance in the world."

"Spiritual craftsmanship, to turn danger into tools and put the 'supernatural' truly at humanity's service."

"Pollution pathology, to study the damage source substance does to humans, and find ways to treat and reverse it."

Winslow lowered his hand and looked at Gordon.

"Which one do you want to tackle?"

Looking at those four fields, Gordon felt as though he were looking at four weapons capable of conquering the world.

"Professor," Gordon said earnestly, "if there's no extra tuition, I want to learn all of them."

Winslow's eyebrows stirred slightly. To be honest, this was both the answer he had wanted to hear and the answer he had expected from Gordon.

He nodded.

"But Peter studied for six years without mastering a single one," Winslow said. "And he lasted the longest."

"People differ a great deal," Gordon said.

"Yes. Peter, at least, could cover his own expenses. You still have to attend classes, write reports, work as an assistant... and pay off your debts." Winslow was unconvinced.

Gordon smiled, but showed no intention of backing down.

He thought of Vera's illness, and all the unsolved mysteries in the world.

If he knew a little pollution pathology, perhaps he could cure Vera. If he knew spiritual craftsmanship, he could personally process every piece of source substance he acquired...

"Professor," Gordon said, "I can learn slowly, but I won't learn just one."

"Why?"

"Anything can happen in this world," Gordon said. "I can't wait until I find an Aberrant's corpse to learn how to dissect one, or expect patients to wait until I finish studying medicine before they die."

Winslow sighed.

He went over to the bookshelf and took out several thick books.

These were among the most precious books in the world.

"Do not lose or damage them," he warned.

The Aberrant Dissection Atlas, The Properties of Source Substance, Introduction to Spiritual Craftsmanship: Commanding Source Substance, and Symptoms of Source Substance Pollution. Every one of them put a brick to shame.

Gordon reverently accepted the four books, feeling as though he were receiving four sacred scriptures.

Their weight was all too real.

Gordon hardly dared imagine it.

If he thoroughly absorbed these four books, how learned and accomplished would he become?

Seeing Gordon's expression, Winslow knew he had given them to the right person.

That was genuine... pure hunger for knowledge.

"Give me a set of notes every week," Winslow said. "You'll write them during the Rescue Festival holiday too. Remember, taking notes does not mean copying the books. I want to see the results of your reasoning, to see what you've actually understood."

[Books. Greatly increase intelligence, greatly reduce time spent sleeping.]

"Understood," Gordon said.

"Take them." Winslow waved a hand. Parting with them hurt, too.

"One more thing..." Gordon finally revealed why he had come. "Professor, do you recognize this?"

He took the copy of the ancient rubbing from his pocket and placed it on the desk.

Professor Winslow paused, then opened a drawer, took out his treasured magnifying glass, and examined it closely.

"Where did this come from?" Winslow asked.

"A private notebook."

"What private individual would use Ancient Logris Script to write notes?"

"A slip of the tongue. A dead man's notebook," Gordon said.

Winslow turned the knob on the gas lamp and carefully examined every stroke.

"This is the script used by the island's early inhabitants," Winslow said. "It predates Saint Joshua's arrival on Logris. The people of that time did not yet understand grace, suffering, or salvation. They offered sacrifices to anything they could not explain: tides, lightning, harvests, disease... even a stone that oozed blood."

"Could you translate it for me?" Gordon asked curiously.

"We can leave that to someone more specialized." Winslow thought for a moment. "I have a student who excels at this. Her name is Eve Grant."

Gordon had never heard that name.

Eve...

"Have I met her?"

"No. Impossible," Winslow said. "She isn't even in Lundenim. Besides, I'm not particularly keen to have you two meet."

"Why?"

"You're both too clever," Winslow said. "And I mean that in a bad way. Perhaps you're simply two people full of bright ideas, but there's no telling what would happen if you got together."

Fine. Now I have to meet her, no matter what.

"She's your student too? Which of your signature disciplines did she inherit?" Gordon asked.

"She has no interest in these skills of mine." Winslow glanced regretfully at the hefty volumes in Gordon's arms. "She cares more about theology. She said that there exists something in this world more important and more powerful than Saint Joshua... never mind. I don't even dare go on."

"Heretical worship," Gordon murmured.

In that case, Eve must also have heard of the "Fisher King" worshipped by the Blackwater Hermitage.

"Yes. After several arguments with the Church, she left Logris." Winslow took a stack of calling cards from the drawer, leafed through them, and had Gordon note down Eve's address. "If you want these inscriptions translated, you'll have to write to her. Send it to 17 Saint Michael Street, Lu Ming, Crown Territory of Gallia."

Gordon understood.

He gathered the four books in his arms and headed out.

After classes the next day, Gordon found a café and wrote a letter to Eve Grant.

"Dear Ms. Grant..."

"I recently came across a ritual inscription believed to date from ancient Logris. Professor Winslow believes you may be one of the few people capable of reading it correctly..."

"Enclosed is a copy of the relevant symbols..."

"P.S. If you have any information concerning curious claims such as 'the deep sea lies beneath Lundenim,' 'the connection between humans and Water Monkeys,' or 'the Fisher King,' please let me know..."

After finishing, Gordon changed "Blackwater Hermitage" to "a rather unenthusiastic folklore group," and "ritual" to "repetitive behavior." If Eve really was clever, she would understand why he had written it that way.

As for the sender's name, he wrote Professor Noah Winslow first, then Gordon Vick. The former ensured the letter would not be tossed into a fireplace; the latter ensured the reply would find him.

Once the ink had dried completely, he put the letter, the copy of the rubbing, and his return address into a cream-colored envelope, then stamped it with a small seal.

Finally, he went to the post office and sent it by registered mail, spending 100 copper cents to send this question across the strait.

It would be delivered to the city's largest port, cross the open country and vineyards of Gallia, and arrive in Lu Ming.

Lu Ming! Gordon felt a certain longing for the place, too.

It was a vast metropolis second only to Lundenim in size in this world, a city of light and brilliance. The people of Logris called it the jewel in the crown.