Chapter Forty-Six: Two Matters Weighing on the Heart

This was just one among countless impoverished families. The man of the house had died in the war, leaving only the mother and her nearly grown son to cling to each other for survival. Their daily existence was fraught with hardship, but misfortune had settled upon them: the son, once seen as the hope of the family, had been tainted by evil, nearly losing his soul to a malignant spirit.

Although it was Hendel who handled all the official record-keeping from beginning to end, Mulan had been quietly observing the situation of the woman in this household. Her body was thin, her face prematurely aged, and dirty, blood-stained cloths were wrapped around several of her finger joints. The only food in the house was potatoes—and even potato peels salvaged from elsewhere.

When they left that building, it was barely past noon, yet the street remained shrouded in gloom. Hendel had gone ahead to hail a horse-drawn cab, and Elvin strode forward in good spirits, while Mulan wore a somber expression.

“What’s the matter, Mulan?”

Mulan snapped out of her reverie and shook her head slightly.

“There are two things that concern me. Elvin, does the cathedral keep records specifically about holy relics?”

“I believe so, though I’ve never paid much attention. I can try to look into those materials for you. Is there something you want to know?”

Elvin understood Mulan’s temperament well; she never beat around the bush with friends, and her questions were always linked to her intentions.

Hearing Elvin’s response, Mulan did not hesitate.

“Help me find out if there are any holy relics or special elements associated with eyes. I’ll also look into the archives at the Black Castle. And—keep it discreet.”

“Eyes? All right, if I hear anything, I’ll come to you.”

Elvin had full trust in Mulan. Seeing that she did not wish to elaborate, he asked no further questions. He had seen the light in Mulan’s heart and knew hers was a soul capable of approaching the true gods.

“By the way, what’s the second thing that concerns you?”

Faced with Elvin’s inquiry, Mulan glanced back at the alley behind them, recalling that family. The two silver coins he had left were barely enough for two cab rides for most people, but for them, it could mean half a month—or even a month—of sustenance.

“The war pension they should have received hasn’t been delivered…”

Or rather, it had not been delivered in full. The woman had told Mulan she’d received government assistance—ten silver coins in total—but ten coins amounted to nothing.

“Do my old subordinates have families suffering in the same desperate circumstances as this one?”

As a retired soldier who had endured brutal warfare, and as a former officer, Mulan felt stifled at that moment. He wanted to know how those who had once depended on him, obeyed his commands without question, but died on the battlefield—how their families were faring now.

Leaving the shadowed street behind, Hendel was already waiting beside a carriage and hastened to open the door as Mulan and Elvin approached.

“Sir Jonst, Brother Elvin, please, step inside.”

Hendel was still visibly excited; this outing would be forever etched in his memory. For the first time, he had glimpsed the possibility of another world, witnessed things usually confined to rumor and legend: those beast-like, terrifying patients, those chilling roars and sinister presences, all made him understand that there truly were dreadful things lurking in time.

Mulan smiled at Hendel.

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“Such matters are likely to become frequent in the future. Remember not to investigate anything recklessly on your own.”

“Yes, Sir Jonst!”

Elvin, already seated in the carriage, couldn’t help but smile. Mulan’s assistant possessed remarkable energy—just the sort of person suited to accompany Mulan.

Mulan and Hendel boarded the carriage in turn, and it began to move. This area resembled a slum; through the window, they saw many children in ragged clothing. After traveling some distance, the scenery outside grew bright and splendid, as Digo’s opulence flaunted itself.

Elvin spent the journey in prayer, surrounded by a palpable aura of sanctity. He spoke of choosing to step onto the path of truth; the cathedral’s path formed its own system, seemingly simpler than what was described in the Book of Abundance.

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At the York District Police Station, in an office at the end of the third-floor corridor, Mulan sat at the desk, writing relentlessly.

“Dear Mrs. Auburn, I am Mulan Jonst, once your husband’s direct commanding officer. I deeply regret his death and cannot forget his bravery… Please forgive my boldness in writing… I earnestly await your reply. Mulan Jonst, November twenty-third.”

Having finished one letter, Mulan sealed the paper and immediately began another.

Of course, Mulan did not have all his subordinates’ family information, but he remembered several of the more familiar ones, with notes recorded in his military diary. He wrote out the content first, intending to look up the addresses later.

He composed more than a dozen letters in succession, each uniquely worded, as he recalled stories and pivotal moments of many soldiers, including them in his letters so their families might read and remember. The purpose of each letter, however, was the same: to inquire about the disbursement of pension funds.

By the time he finished, his lunch on the desk was already cold; in such frigid weather, even ten minutes was enough to rob it of warmth.

Mulan set down his pen and stretched, prompting Hendel to stand up at once.

“Sir Jonst, shall I reheat it for you?”

“No need, it’s fine as it is.”

Writing so many letters inevitably brought back memories of those war-torn years; at the worst times, even eating biscuits with ice water was a luxury.

As for today’s case report, Hendel had already completed it.

The first day’s work was thoroughly fulfilling. When the police station closed for the day, Mulan and Hendel left together, and several colleagues greeted them proactively—a promising start.

Hendel did not live in the Black Castle; Mulan returned home alone, taking the market path rather than the castle’s eerie main entrance, as many staff preferred that route.

The market was vast and bustling by twilight, but Mulan, pressed for time, made no detours. He bought some vegetables and meat and hurried back to the Black Castle.

Taking a path that circled a lake, Mulan encountered an acquaintance: Dolly, who sat on a stone by the water, lost in thought. Mulan slowed his steps.

“Dolly? I didn’t think you lived by this lake.”

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Dolly turned to Mulan.

“I just wanted to see each lake inside the Black Castle. Mulan, I thought you’d be at the lecture hall today—where did you go?”

The lecture hall was a paid learning space within the Black Castle. Besides borrowing books from the library, one could spend money or goods to hire someone to teach a subject, though the cost was steep, since the lecturers were not ordinary people and only accepted assignments of value. Newcomers, however, enjoyed a benefit: one free session per month, paid for by the Black Castle itself.

“I borrowed books and received a task assignment.”

“A task? On your first day? It seems they rate you highly.”

Dolly, as always, dressed in a masculine style, glanced at the vegetables in Mulan’s hand.

“Do you cook?”

“A little. Would you care to try some?”

Mulan’s invitation was tentative, but Dolly shook her head.

Mulan smiled and continued on. After a dozen steps, Dolly called out behind him.

“I asked about people having persistent nightmares today. The situation is very similar to yours. That… what’s the term, a mystic, I think? He said that anyone who comes into contact with the arcane is likely to suffer nightmares, but if it’s as severe as yours, that person should have long since suffered a mental collapse or been devoured by a dark god—not still alive. He even asked me where the person was.”

Mulan stopped in his tracks, not turning around. He had only briefly confided in Dolly about his nightmares during the latter part of the train ride, and even then, not in detail. Yet the answer was so dire.

“How did you reply?”

Dolly lay back on the stone, hands behind her head.

“I said, ‘That’s true. The person’s mind is unsound, and no one knows where he’s gone.’”

Mulan turned to face the stone, seeing only a hat and a cascade of hair from his angle.

“Are you really not going to try it? It’s a cuisine unlike anything in this world.”

The figure on the stone stirred briefly but remained silent. Mulan left her be and went home alone.

He did not rush to cook, but first retrieved his old notebook, looked up the addresses of fallen soldiers’ families, and matched each letter he had written with an address.