In a hidden corner of Tivian, there was an ordinary room. It was a small, modestly furnished single bedroom. The walls were lined with wallpaper, the floor covered in elegant wooden boards. Heavy curtains were fully drawn, blocking out the sunlight, which only faintly filtered through the fabric, casting a soft glow at the edges and providing a bit of illumination to the otherwise dim room.
Against one side of the wall stood a simple single bed. Lying on it was an elderly man in his fifties, with graying temples. He was fast asleep, breathing steadily, and appeared to be in good health.
After an unknown number of minutes passed, the man’s eyelids began to twitch. Slowly, he opened his eyes. As he gradually regained consciousness, he frowned and pressed a hand to his forehead, then sat up slowly in bed. He looked at his hand in front of him, then around the unfamiliar room in a daze.
“I... I’m still alive? Where… is this?”
Muttering to himself as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings with blurry vision, John’s question was soon answered by a voice.
“You’re in a safe place. Here, you don’t have to worry about anyone trying to harm you, Professor Acheson.”
Startled by the unfamiliar voice, John immediately turned toward its source. In the corner of the room sat a vague figure. As John squinted, trying to get a clearer look, the figure spoke again.
“Your glasses are to the right of your pillow.”
Momentarily stunned, John reached out and quickly found his familiar glasses. After putting on the thick lenses, the world before him came into focus. He looked again toward the voice and saw a man dressed in a trench coat and wearing a low-crowned hat, with a hooked nose and deep-set eyes, sitting in a chair and smiling calmly at him.
“Who are you? Did you save me? I remember being trapped in a carriage that fell into the river... I should’ve drowned…”“You could say... it was we who saved you—not just once. Without us, Professor Acheson, you probably wouldn’t have made it out of the port alive, let alone survived the river.”
The man, named Ed, replied with an unchanged expression and a faint smile. John froze for a moment, then seemed to realize something.
“The port... Those... those moving, strange characters—were they written by you? Were you the ones warning me?”
“Of course. We spent quite some time preparing a proper welcome for you, Professor.”
Ed said casually. John fell silent for a moment, then continued.
“Thank you… but I want to ask—why go to such lengths to help me? We’ve never met before, have we?”
“The reason we saved you isn’t much different from the reason others want you dead. It’s because of something you know. Tell me, Professor Acheson—you do understand why you were being targeted, don’t you?”
Ed asked calmly, looking directly at John, who fell silent at the question. After a moment of thought, he responded.
“The ones trying to kill me… must be the same people who murdered my friend Richard—or rather, people working for Barrett. The secret research we were conducting… that might have been what brought this death sentence on us…”
John spoke with his head slightly bowed, a trace of sorrow in his voice when he mentioned Barrett. Ed’s smile faded slightly as he responded.
“It seems, Professor Acheson, that you’re not entirely ignorant of your situation. That makes our conversation easier. Perhaps you could introduce yourself and explain how you came to be involved with the mystical world and with Barrett. Let’s get to know you properly.”
“Introductions… are supposed to go both ways, aren’t they? Sir, I know nothing about you—or rather, about any of you.”
John replied cautiously, attempting to glean more about the other party before revealing too much. But it was clear Ed had no intention of complying.
“As for me… I’m just an ordinary ‘detective,’ seeking the truth. Along with like-minded companions, I explore the unknown facets of the mystical world. Some of those secrets involve the research you conducted with Duke Barrett, and the people who want you dead. That’s why we saved you. The secrets you hold—that’s the price we’re asking for your rescue.”
Ed gave a deliberately vague and brief explanation. Realizing that Ed wouldn’t reveal any more, John—who was clearly in a weaker negotiating position—gave a resigned sigh and nodded.
“A detective, huh… Well, since you’ve laid it out like that, I suppose I’ll start by talking about myself.”
With a quiet sigh, John fell silent for a moment, then reached for the cup of water on the nightstand, took a drink, and organized his thoughts before continuing.
“I’m John Acheson. As you can see, I’m currently a professor at the Royal Crown University. In my youth, I was a student there too. During my student days, I had brief, shallow exposure to a student-formed mystic society called the Scholarly Society of Mystical Knowledge. That was my first glimpse into the mystical world...
“After graduation, I became an archaeologist. I traveled throughout Pritt and even beyond, studying the ‘surface history’ while also attempting to access the more taboo ‘mystic history’—the sort that most professional historians avoid. Eventually, through a combination of chance and deliberate effort, I encountered a mystic society based in Tivian known as the ‘Hand that Brushes the Sand.’ After joining, I began to truly engage with the mystical world…”
“‘Hand that Brushes the Sand’? That name sounds like it’s from North Ufiga, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Though it has a branch in Tivian, the society originated in North Ufiga. Its founder was a man named Sobek the Dust-Wiper, once a member of a North Ufigan treasure-hunting guild. He spent years navigating ruins and tombs across North Ufiga and even the wider world, looting relics.
“But unlike others in the trade, Sobek was interested not only in material treasures, but also in the hidden knowledge inscribed within the tombs. He even violated guild taboos to decipher these secrets.
“Perhaps due to years of chronic exposure to cognitive poisons, Sobek gradually lost interest in treasure and became obsessed with forgotten historical knowledge. Eventually, he broke away from the treasure-hunting guild and founded the Hand that Brushes the Sand, hoping to gather like-minded individuals to decode the hidden histories buried in ruins. I encountered their Tivian branch and, through them, took my first true steps into the mystical world. It was there I learned how to research mystic histories safely.”
While reminiscing, John continued telling Ed his story. Ed listened in thoughtful silence for a while before speaking again.
“So… you actually had your own secret backing in Tivian? That ‘Hand that Brushes the Sand’ branch?”
“No, not anymore. A few years ago, the Wolfblood Society launched what they called ‘Crimson Offerings Hunts’ in many regions, exterminating numerous small and mid-sized societies aligned with the Chalice. Even those aligned only peripherally with the Chalice were affected. Tivian was one of the worst-hit regions. Since the Hand that Brushes the Sand practiced the auxiliary Chalice-based ‘Body Possession Path,’ they too were implicated. The Tivian branch I belonged to was wiped out. I only escaped because I was just an Apprentice—I didn’t carry enough Chalice value for those beasts to be interested in me…”
John replied to Ed’s question, and after hearing his response, Ed nodded slightly with a thoughtful yet grim expression.
“Wolfblood Society… I didn’t expect their appetite to be that insatiable, going after auxiliary Chalice groups too…”
Ed muttered. After a moment’s contemplation, he turned his gaze back to John and asked another question.
“Then… did you ever try to reconnect with other Hand of the Sand branches afterward?”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t hold any important position in the Tivian branch, so I wasn’t privy to other branch locations or information. And after witnessing the brutality of those beasts, I was scared—afraid of running into them again. I gave up the idea of joining any society, just to avoid being implicated again. After that, I focused on teaching at Royal Crown and continued my own research independently… until I met Richard.”
Seated on the bed, John continued his recounting while Ed quietly listened, seated across from him.
“Richard… or rather, Barrett, I met him in the university library. At the time, I didn’t know he was a duke. He often spent hours poring over history books there, and I liked to stay in the library reading too. Several times, we ended up looking for the same books. That’s how we came to know each other, and eventually, we discovered we shared an interest in mystic history—not just mundane academic history.
“After breaking ties with any societies, I had been conducting my research alone. Meeting Richard was the first time I found someone who shared my passion again. We began exchanging insights and eventually collaborated on our research. Richard and I became partners in the study of mystic history. Later, he confided in me about a major research topic he had been working on for some time—and invited me to join him.”
“Your research topic… it was the mystic history of the Wind King’s Rebellion, wasn’t it?”
Ed interjected. John paused slightly at his words, glanced at Ed, and continued.
“Yes, exactly. The period five hundred years ago—the section of Pritt history buried by both the Church and the royal family. It was originally Richard’s project. He eventually shared it with me, and I was deeply grateful for his openness, so I dedicated myself fully to assisting him. Throughout last year, our efforts were almost entirely focused on that topic, and we achieved a great deal.”
“But earlier this year, Richard didn’t show up for our scheduled meeting to discuss our progress. I wrote to him and tried to contact him using the methods we’d established during our library exchanges, but there was no reply. Then I saw the newspaper report—the story of Duke Barrett’s assassination. And the photo in the paper… was identical to Richard.”
John spoke with a tinge of sorrow in his voice. Ed let out a soft sigh and continued.
“After seeing your research partner killed, you realized you were in danger too?”
“Yes… Richard’s death reminded me of the companions I had lost to the Wolfblood Society. Although I wasn’t certain who killed Richard or why, I felt the threat looming over me. I decided to lay low. That’s why I volunteered to join the academic excursion organized by my department—I used it as an excuse to leave with the students. I thought I’d hide away for half a year and return once things had cooled down… but I didn’t expect things to unfold like this…”
John shook his head, his tone heavy with the weight of fate. Ed, too, remained quiet for a moment before speaking again.
“We found the note you left for Barrett in the Royal Crown library.”
“What? You actually found that scrap? Damn it… I left in such a hurry that I forgot to retrieve it. Once I confirmed Richard was dead, I really should’ve gone back for it…”
John frowned, clearly irritated at his carelessness. As a scholar more than a mystic, his counter-intelligence awareness was understandably poor.
“Heh… You should be glad you left that note. Without it, who knows what might’ve happened to you today, Professor Acheson.”
Ed offered a wry smile, then shifted topics with a direct tone.
“You mentioned in the note that you found some kind of ‘temple.’ Can you tell me more about that?”
“The temple… oh, that…”
John looked like he wanted to answer but hesitated. Noticing this, Ed followed up knowingly.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already put strong cognitive poison protections in place. Go ahead and speak. If it overwhelms me, I’ll stop you.”
“Cognitive poison protection? Well then…”
John nodded silently and, after gathering his thoughts, began.
“The temple I referred to was one of the divine sanctuaries ordered to be found by Geoffrey, the ‘Black Veneration King,’ leader of the Old Faith faction during the Wind King’s Rebellion. During that period, King Geoffrey, following the advice of a ‘prophet-witch’ in his court, launched a simultaneous war against the Hierocratic faction and began mobilizing manpower across Pritt to search for ruins tied to the Queen of the Night Sky, who had once ruled the land.
“Geoffrey believed that the Queen had abandoned the people of Pritt and departed for distant lands out of disappointment. But if he could recover all her lost temples and sanctuaries, and perform rituals of repentance there, she might change her mind and return—bestowing blessings upon those who remained loyal to her. With her divine favor, he hoped to win the war against the Hierocratic faction and expel the alien faiths that had crossed the sea and taken root across the Three Isles of Pritt—thus achieving an unprecedented historical feat.”