Second Source Substance

The ancient people of Logris clearly should not have had electron microscopes, nor should they have known the shape of deoxyribonucleic acid.

Perhaps it was only a coincidence.

Perhaps something had told them everything.

"..." Gordon said nothing and began the final deciphering.

He laid the eight-page letter on the left side of the desk, placed the rubbing in the middle, and found Harold's notes to put on his right. He stacked the Aberrant Dissection Atlas, The Properties of Source Substance, Introduction to Spiritual Craft, and other books in order.

"Have you figured it out?" Vera asked.

"Almost." Gordon slipped into focus mode. "I'm not going to school today. I'll burn myself out, transcend my limits, and decipher this thing."

"Ooh!" Vera shared his excitement. She had no idea what Gordon was saying, but his determination was stirring.

Gordon took out a sheet of blank paper.

First, he drew the Silver Fish Holy Casket.

It had once held a large source substance, possibly one associated with reproduction.

The power radiating from the source substance had permanently transformed it, turning it into a machine capable of secreting precipitates and producing source substance embryos.

In terms he understood, it was an embryo synthesizer.

Next, he drew Harold's clam shell.

Harold had suspended himself with iron chains, constantly activating it with river water. The inside of the shell was coated in womb amniotic fluid, and it periodically opened, closed, and contracted, spitting out residue.

Meanwhile, he had slowly dissolved inside, gradually becoming an elderly infant. After being blasted apart, he had turned into an alien placenta monster.

Gordon drew the Blackwater River.

The river water contained water-aspect spirituality, all of it coming from that greater source substance.

Yes, the greater source substance.

Finally, Gordon drew a dashed outline and a question mark at the edge of the page: the mysterious greater source substance, the one once enshrined in the Silver Fish Casket.

Although there was no connection for now, it was the origin of everything.

Gordon's attention returned to the ritual itself.

For a rebirth...

They now had an embryo, a womb, amniotic fluid, and supernatural vitality.

What was still missing?

Something to tell it what to grow into.

Something to guide the development of the new embryo, the blank source substance, and even Harold's renewed evolution...

Eve's question surfaced again.

Genetic information!

It controlled everything.

Only by introducing new genetic information could Harold avoid being born human again and instead transform into whatever he wanted to become.

Gordon abruptly stood, returned to his bedroom, and took the colorful scale from the small safe.

The scale still retained its vitality, its colors shifting with the viewing angle.

[Colorful scale. Some things can live for eight hundred years.]

Yes, this was it.

Gordon did not even need to draw it. He placed it on the blank paper.

"That's everything," Gordon murmured.

"Now what?" Vera asked.

"We need to confirm what it belonged to." Gordon grabbed the Aberrant Dissection Atlas and rapidly flipped through the entries on aquatic Aberrants.

Deepclaw Demons, Sea Dragon Demons, Giant Claw Demons, Poison Eel Demons...

Page after page of copperplate illustrations flickered beneath Gordon's fingers. He finally stopped at a record from 170 years ago.

Siren Demon.

In the engraving, the monster lay on a reef while several sailors cut it open. Its body resembled a young woman's, extending into a fish tail below the waist. The illustrator had done his best to depict its scales, then left a note full of frustration.

"It's colorful. I can't draw it."

"Remember, Vera? The Siren Demon looks like the mermaid at the pumping station. Was I the only one who saw that, or...?" Gordon showed Vera.

"I remember what she looked like," she said after examining it. "Definitely the same kind of creature."

"How many mermaids could there be in this world? Or 'Siren Demons,' rather," Gordon murmured.

"Not many. The Hunter School has no records of them either," Vera said. "I suspect plenty of them aren't real mermaids at all. We might even be the only two people in the world who've seen one."

Gordon understood.

In any case, the evidence finally formed a complete chain.

[Seashell Hairpin. Do not mistake the sea for the river.]

[Mermaid. Fairy tales never told you what they eat.]

Gordon recalled the hint that had appeared above the mermaid's head.

She had most likely come to the pumping station to take revenge on Harold. Wherever Harold had obtained the mermaid scale, gouging a scale that large out of a mermaid could not have been a pleasant process.

He finally stood.

The entire Tidal Birth-Rite was now complete.

Five elements: an embryo, a womb, amniotic fluid, supernatural vitality, and a genetic template.

The entire Arcane Ritual involved no offerings and no prayers to any deity for miracles. It looked like a form of supernatural bioengineering, ancient and precise.

Moreover, as long as Gordon reproduced it once, he could imbue his own new source substance with genetic traits.

He had the embryo: an untainted, brand-new source substance.

He did not have an artificial womb. He needed to commission one, perhaps with a spiritual artisan's help, and make sure they did not report him to the authorities.

He had womb amniotic fluid. He had stored half a crate of it at the university.

He did not have supernatural vitality. He needed to extract large quantities of water-aspect spirit crystals from the Blackwater River.

He had a genetic template. He could use this mermaid scale, which would most likely give the source substance properties associated with the sea, tides, singing, and the like.

Lastly, he needed a place that was easy to defend, hard to attack, and had an ample water supply. The ritual would probably take ten days.

Harold had chosen the old pumping station, only for Gordon to wreck it. That amply demonstrated the importance of choosing a site.

If Gordon used this ritual, he would first have to find somewhere no one could invade, or at least somewhere he could easily escape if they did. He also had to keep it secret.

"We're going to create new life!" Having worked everything out, Gordon spoke excitedly to Vera.

"?" Vera frowned.

"No..." Gordon hastily corrected himself. "Ready to hunt a source substance?"

"Source substance, yes!" Vera nodded, her eyes lighting up.

"Just so we're clear, it'll most likely develop deep-sea properties. It might not suit you."

"Oh." The light in Vera's eyes dimmed as she reined in her appetite. "Moderation."

"The treatment's working better than expected..." Gordon sighed in relief.

"But you still haven't explained Harold and the ritual," Vera said.

Gordon turned his gaze back to the desk.

"Basically, Harold had a mermaid scale and used it as the genetic template required for the Tidal Birth-Rite. His dream was..."

As Gordon reached that point, a series of interconnected theories suddenly came to mind.

"...Right, I just remembered. Harold explicitly wrote, 'Coming ashore was one long misunderstanding.' He thought evolving toward the Ape God was a mistake. But if I'm right, life came ashore from the sea, not a river. How does that make sense? The Blackwater Hermitage clearly worships the river, yet Harold wanted to return to the sea. Either Harold had broken with the Blackwater Hermitage long ago, or what the Hermitage worships never had anything to do with this city's long, stinking Blackwater River in the first place."

The Rescue Festival holiday began tomorrow.

The entire school exuded a festive atmosphere in which no one had any interest in studying. Black drapes hung over doors, and white candles stood in windows. Students had prepared their suitcases, ball invitations, and individual holiday plans, waiting to spend the next fourteen days enjoying two full weeks of fun.

Gordon arrived at the university carrying a pile of weighty, complicated clues. Several enormous problems lingered in his mind.

His holiday plans would include controlling Vera's corruption, continuing to search for relevant information, and finding the right person to commission an... artificial womb.

Then he would have to obtain large quantities of water-aspect spirit crystals and scout out a suitable place to create a second source substance.

In terms of how packed his schedule was, he was far ahead of everyone else.

"Mr. Vick." Charlotte wore an azure spring coat over her uniform, with black gauze pinned to her left breast for the Rescue Festival. "You've been looking quite lively lately. You didn't even come to class yesterday."

"I've been sleeping well." Gordon had been going to bed early and rising early lately. "Just assume I was sleeping in at home yesterday."

That was true.

Vera would confiscate his coffee, impound his books, and silently watch him beside his bed.

An extremely effective medical intervention. It let him get a full seven hours of sleep every day. Occasionally, he even dreamed of Vera herself.

"You might look reasonably refreshed," Charlotte said, sizing Gordon up, "but has anyone ever told you that you need something more formal to wear?"

"My student debt has undergone mitosis again," Gordon said. "For now, I can't spend money on a new skin."

Charlotte walked up beside Gordon and brushed off his shoulder.

"You can't keep wearing this coat to every occasion," she said.

Gordon looked down.

[Your coat. It has accompanied you through classes, the Montfort Ancestral Home, and the exploding pumping station.]

"The cuffs are worn out," Charlotte said.

"The patina of time."

"There's a tear in it."

"One of a kind."

"And something burned a little patch of the hem." Charlotte's gaze moved downward.

"Rich historical heritage."

Charlotte pursed her lips.

"Getting you a new outfit is hardly a big deal for a young lady like me. I'd much rather see you properly dressed." She lifted her chin. "You can think of it as... an investment in your image."

"Any conditions?"

"When you go out with me, you have to offer me your arm, like this." Charlotte demonstrated, then added, "...As a matter of courtesy."

Link arms with Charlotte. The thought flashed through Gordon's mind.

They walked onward. Gordon kept a small distance between them the whole time.

That distance seemed to leave them just a little short of something.

What exactly were they missing? Gordon could not say. Perhaps it really was only a new set of clothes, yet it seemed like more than that.

"I looked into Olivia Brendel," Charlotte said. "I didn't go to her Greenbough Mansion. I promised you I wouldn't get myself mixed up in danger, but I did make some discreet inquiries about whether she had any connection to the fishmen."

"She seems to come from some association." Gordon remembered the seal.

"Yes, the Logris Underwater Heritage Archaeological Association," Charlotte said.

"Hah, one big fishman family."

"No. If only it were that simple. She cut all ties with the association long ago and started running Greenbough Mansion instead," Charlotte said.

"Sounds like a nice, peaceful place."

"No, it isn't." Thinking of it, Charlotte could not help blushing. "...They call it a 'mansion,' but really, it's, well, that sort of place. Officially, they hold poetry salons, concerts, and card games. As for what they do after midnight, no one's willing to tell me outright..."