Click.
The blade's tip severed the last layer of connective tissue, and a whole, undamaged, grayish-white tremor gland dropped into the tray. A few tiny nerve bundles remained along its edges, like loose threads on clothing.
Winslow inspected it for a moment.
"First grade. Not the best, but first grade," he announced.
The students in the front row stared wide-eyed, even breathing more softly as they replayed Gordon's procedure in their minds.
There had been no wasted movements, no disastrous scramble to recover from a mistake. It had been the most ordinary procedure, yet somehow it felt impossible to imitate.
Gordon let out a breath and wiped the blade dry.
He could have done better, but he had deliberately left in a few mistakes. That way, Winslow would know he was still the same student as before, only one who had suddenly felt a strong urge to improve last night.
Several gazes followed him as he stepped back. A good performance was an easy way to attract attention at school.
The assessment continued.
Without Gordon's stellar example, this assessment would have been nothing more than a collective ordeal for medical students. But Winslow had already established the benchmark for "first grade," and everyone else could only grit their teeth and try to beat Gordon's record.
The second student brought his blade down and opened a great big hole in the White Rat Monster's skull.
The third student moved fast. The nerve bundles snapped just as fast.
The fourth student dropped his forceps into the tray. The White Rat Monster twitched, and so did he.
When Charlotte's turn came, she took a deep breath, clearly determined to do a good job.
Her movements were steadier than those of the students before her. But during the final separation of the nerve bundles, the tips of her forceps gave a slight tremble. The tremor gland flew out of the little white rat's nape and struck Winslow's coat.
The entire class fell deathly silent.
Winslow looked down at the gland, looked up at Charlotte, then bent over and retrieved it from the floor with his forceps.
"Third grade."
Charlotte froze for a moment.
"Don't. You. Laugh." She passed Gordon on her way back to her seat.
"Laugh at what?" Gordon said. "Wasn't your ballistics test a great success?"
"!" Charlotte's face flushed scarlet, and she walked away with her teeth clenched.
For some reason, Gordon felt that Charlotte had a great deal on her mind today. Her usual ease was completely gone.
After the assessment, Winslow asked Gordon to stay behind. Peter counted the instruments some distance away, terrified that he would have to pay for any missing forceps.
"You've improved a great deal," Winslow said.
"Thank you, Professor," Gordon said. "That's the power of education."
"Spare me. What exactly did you do last night?"
"Practice."
"On the Spider Demon corpse you bought for eighteen silver pounds?"
"When the price is high, your hands stay steady. That thing cost me half a year's lunches... It was hard to get distracted while practicing."
Winslow studied Gordon for a long while, his gaze growing profound.
"This is a terrifying world. I've met many extraordinary people, and they've done things that shook the world. You remind me of them," he mused.
"You have far too much imagination when it comes to your students."
"I never underestimate any student. Not even Peter," Winslow murmured.
Peter lifted his head, then lowered it again.
Gordon said nothing.
"I've seen plenty of students suddenly find their spark. Talent and ambition aren't actually rare, but where will they take a person? A hero, a madman, a genius..." Winslow continued.
"I don't intend to become any of those. I'll only act according to my own wishes," Gordon said.
"Many people say that."
"Professor, debt makes me anxious. I can't comprehend grand narratives," Gordon said. "I honestly didn't understand any of what you just said. These days, even my sweet dreams come in installments."
Winslow looked thoughtful.
"Starting today, you won't just be a laboratory menial," Winslow said. "You'll also be one of my assistants, helping organize materials and record low-tier aberrant specimens. You can give it a try."
"If anyone wants to buy a spider corpse from me, I'll quote them a high price," Gordon promised.
In the distance, Peter raised his head, then let it sink again.
"I have faith in your financial situation. Is your next question, 'Does this come with a raise?'" Winslow said.
"Correct."
"Three silver pounds a week."
Gordon's expression immediately turned solemn.
"Professor," he said, "I suddenly see the light of medicine piercing the thick, leaden clouds and shining down upon my barren life..."
"You didn't see it just now?"
"Just now, it was merely forty depraved humans abusing rodents. But now, it's a sacred pursuit of truth."
"If your performance remains consistent, I can consider writing you a scholarship recommendation," Winslow said slowly.
This time, Gordon did not immediately reply.
A scholarship.
That word carried weight at the Royal Academy of Natural Sciences University. It couldn't catapult someone to success, but it could narrow the despairing gulf between Gordon and his hundred-gold-pound student debt.
"Praise be to the academy's glorious traditions," Gordon said with heartfelt reverence.
After leaving the lecture hall, Gordon found Charlotte beside a carved window in the corridor. Frost-white mist crept across the glass, making the reflection of her profile especially hazy.
"I've become an assistant," Gordon said solemnly.
"Congratulations!" Charlotte sounded listless. "Well, Your Assistantship? Ready to rise in the world?"
"Don't put it that way," Gordon said. "The professor simply discovered that I still have potential for further exploitation."
"Then let's go over your account."
"Can I pay in installments?"
"I haven't said you need to pay me back now."
"You sounded very much like a creditor just now."
"Because I am one."
Charlotte drew a folded sheet of paper from her exquisite lace cuff.
"I lent you eighteen silver pounds yesterday... Based on your income..."
"I have three copper pennies." Gordon counted out the coins. "I can offer you a symbolic victory."
Charlotte looked at the three copper pennies and raised her eyebrows.
"You-you really have the nerve to bring those out. I haven't handled any currency smaller than a silver pound since I was three."
"Oh, allow me to explain. I once got through an entire day on one eighth of a copper penny..."
"That's not what I mean." Charlotte sighed. "I just want to know, since you've read more books than I have, could you help me understand a few things related to aberrants?"
Gordon remembered the headline in that morning's newspaper.
"Montfort Family's old residence sealed off overnight"...
He looked at Charlotte.
"Something happened at your house?"
"It's much more serious than that." The smile faded from Charlotte's face.
"Tell me more," Gordon said.
"It's a house our ancestors left us. I remember that ancient, solemn mansion, opulent and stately, standing proud and immovable on the banks of the Blackwater River... I spent my childhood in that old house, surrounded by the shadows of rumors. Starting last night, the people at the ancestral home suddenly stopped letting me in. The butler said it was only a plumbing problem, and the basement had flooded," Charlotte said.
"The short version."
"There might be an aberrant causing trouble. Some people say they've seen it. I drew this based on the servants' descriptions." Charlotte took a folded note from her small bag.
[Abstract artwork. Do not look.]
Gordon forced himself to stare at it for two seconds. He barely managed to identify a fish's head, a human body, four or five hands, and a tail that had taken considerable effort but remained incomprehensible.
"Your artistic paper-making skills really do improve by the day."
"It was very frightening, and they kept being evasive. What else could I do?" Charlotte was a little embarrassed and annoyed.
"It sounds like your family doesn't want this to become a big deal, attract the Aberrant Affairs Bureau's attention, and leave an official record," Gordon said.
"Yes. It would affect my civil service application."
Gordon understood.
In the Logris Empire, the Aberrant Affairs Bureau was hardly a charitable organization dedicated to "protecting the people from harm."
Why hadn't the aberrant attacked someone else? Why had it attacked your family in particular?
Was your family hiding contraband?
If they intervened, they would only seal off the scene, register the contamination, investigate everything about the victims down to their underwear, and finally make it all public. By the end of the affair, no one would benefit except a few lawyers who would become filthy rich.
"Don't turn on me once you've landed that job," Gordon said ruefully.
"I'm serious. Some things in the ancestral home are very important, and I want to do my part too. But they all treat me like a child. You're different. You... occasionally do something decent. Will you help me? Come take a look with me."
"Your family won't just sit back and do nothing."
"They hired an Essence Hunter," Charlotte said.
"Then what would I be going for? To cheer the hunter on?"
"She's very capable. At least, she looks very capable. But after going inside, she only said that something in there was dead, and something else wasn't dead yet. She was vague about it and asked us to pay more."
That was very professional.
Going into battle without an official bounty, registration with the Bureau of Affairs, or workplace injury insurance—if you died in the basement, even your epitaph would be hard to write.
More money. There had to be more money!
Only money could give someone the courage to face danger.
"I understand. What's happening at your house is no ordinary incident. There must be some deep, dark secret," Gordon said.
"Hmph. Then you don't have to come help me." With that, she stopped looking at Gordon.
Gordon suddenly realized that this young lady, who usually acted so high and mighty, had already prepared herself to be refused.
If he said, "I'm not going," she would say, "I understand," in disappointment, then return alone to the entrance of that gloomy old mansion, left to face a group of servants who refused to tell her anything.
"I'm someone who repays kindness," Gordon said. "You generously lent me eighteen silver pounds when I needed them most. A friend helped me through an emergency. We can take our time settling that debt."
"Yes!" Charlotte whipped her head around, her dull eyes instantly lighting up with astonishing brilliance. "You owe me money, and I happen to need someone who understands aberrants. Gordon, you'd better make me look like a good judge of character."
"But let me make one thing clear first." Gordon raised a finger, his expression utterly serious. "I'm not a professional hunter. I don't charge in, I don't take hits from monsters, and I'm not responsible for swearing my loyalty in front of your ancestors' portraits. If there's danger, I'll run faster than you."
"Then what can you guarantee?" Charlotte asked, laughing despite her irritation.
"I can guarantee..." Gordon gazed into her eyes. "That under any circumstances, I'll be completely honest with you."
Charlotte smiled faintly.
That was exactly what she wanted to hear.
"Then we'll need to go to my house next. It's just..."
"Wait," Gordon said. "You're not expecting me to walk there, are you? Charlotte, I need to ride in the same carriage as you."
Before you continue