009 Notes

After half an hour's respite, Kline's mind finally eased. During this time, he noticed four black spots on the back of his right hand, forming a small square.

These four black spots fluctuated from dark to light, disappearing quickly. However, Kline knew they still lingered within him, awaiting activation.

"Four points, a square. Could they correspond to the four corners of a meal? Perhaps I won't need to prepare meals anymore; I can directly proceed to steps and incantations," Kline speculated faintly.

While this seemed promising, the mysterious origin of these additions filled him with a sense of unease. Things unknown always invoked fear in people.

As he pondered the inexplicable occurrences from the previous night and the inexplicable practices that seemed to work here, coupled with his strange journey from Earth, the enigmatic and hallucinatory mist world, and the eerie whispers that haunted him during rituals, Kline couldn't help but shiver, even in the June heat.

He recalled a saying he once heard: "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest fear is the fear of the unknown." Now, he deeply understood the fear stemming from the unknown.

Unprecedented and uncontrollable, he felt an overwhelming urge to delve into the mysterious realm, to understand more, to dispel the unknown. Yet, he also entertained thoughts of burying his head, pretending nothing had happened, a fleeting desire to escape.

Outside the window, sunlight poured in, casting a golden glow over the desk. Kline gazed upon it, as if feeling a touch of warmth and hope.

As he relaxed slightly, a wave of exhaustion surged through him like a tidal wave.

The sleepless night and recent exertion left his eyelids heavy as lead, relentlessly drooping.

Shaking his head, Kline reached out to steady himself on the edge of the desk. Ignoring the scattered black bread crumbs in the corners, he stumbled over to the low bed, collapsing onto it as soon as his head touched the pillow, drifting into a deep slumber.

Rumble! Rumble!

Hunger stirred Kline awake, his eyes fluttering open, a refreshing sensation enveloping him.

"Besides a slight headache, I feel fine," he muttered, rubbing his temples. Sitting up, he felt as though he could devour a whole cow.

As he smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothes, Kline returned to the desk, picking up the silver pocket watch adorned with vine patterns.

Click!

The lid snapped open, and the second hand ticked away.

"Half past twelve, slept for over three hours..." Kline swallowed, tucking the watch into the pocket of his linen shirt.

In the Northern Continent, a day was divided into twenty-four hours, each hour into sixty minutes, and each minute into sixty seconds. Whether each second was the same length as on Earth, Kline couldn't say.

For him, at this moment, words like mysticism, rituals, and the misty world failed to enter his mind. Food was the most pressing matter—food!

One must be sated to think and act!

Without hesitation, Kline retrieved the four corners of black bread, brushing off the faint dust, intending to select one for his midday meal.

Due to the custom in his hometown of sharing offerings after rituals, and since these four black breads seemed unchanged, he felt compelled to conserve, especially with only five pence left in his pocket.

Of course, this decision was also influenced by the remnants of the previous owner's memories and habits.

Because gas was too expensive, even using it for lighting was distressing. He stoked the stove, adding some coal, pacing back and forth, waiting for the water to boil.

Eating the black bread dry would be choking!

"Ah, am I doomed to a life of black bread for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? If not for Melissa considering my upcoming interview, I'd only be able to afford meat twice a week..." Kline's mind wandered aimlessly due to hunger, unable to contemplate serious matters.

Thinking of that pound of lamb, his eyes seemed to glimmer as he glanced at the cupboard.

"No, no, I must wait to share it with Melissa," Kline shook his head vigorously, dismissing the idea of cutting it in half now.

As a singleton wandering in the big city, though he relied on eating out primarily, he had honed basic culinary skills. They might not result in gourmet dishes, but they sufficed.

Turning away, Kline intended to ignore the thought, but then he remembered he had bought tender peas and potatoes in the morning!

Potatoes! An idea struck Kline like a whirlwind. He spun back to the cupboard, retrieving two.

He first washed the potatoes meticulously in the communal washroom, then placed them directly into the pot with water.

After a while, he fetched the seasoning box, sprinkling a bit of coarse, yellowed salt into the water.

After patiently waiting a few more minutes, Kline lifted the kettle, pouring the not-quite-soup into several cups and a large bowl, then

 carefully lifted out the two potatoes with a fork, placing them on the table.

Phew!

Blowing on his hands to cool them, the aroma of boiled potatoes gradually wafted out, stimulating his appetite.

Saliva flooded his mouth, Kline couldn't resist, even though he had only peeled half of one, and the potatoes were still a bit hot. He took a hearty bite.

Soft! Fragrant! With a hint of sweetness! Kline's heart swelled with emotion as he devoured two potatoes, even eating some of the skin.

Only then did he pick up the large bowl, savoring the "soup," the faint taste of salt washing away the dryness from his mouth.

"This is how I used to enjoy it in my childhood..." Kline patted his stomach contentedly, while he soaked the black bread in the "soup" to soften it.

Perhaps due to the exhaustion from the previous ritual, he ate two full loaves, a whole pound.

Satisfied with his meal, Kline felt fully rejuvenated, experiencing the joy of being alive once more, basking in the radiant sunlight.

Sitting back at his desk, Kline pondered his next steps.

"No more avoidance, I must find a way to delve into the mysteries and become the extraordinary figure spoken of by the 'Justice' and the 'Hanged Man,'" he resolved.

"I must overcome the fear caused by the unknown."

"At present, the only way is to wait for the next 'gathering,' to see if I can eavesdrop on the 'audience' potion formula or acquire other mystical knowledge."

"Four days until Monday. Before then, I must confront the issues surrounding the previous host—why did he commit suicide? What did he experience..."

Unable to return through time and simply walk away, Kline picked up the open notebook, intending to flip through it for clues, to see if he could piece together the fragmented memories.

Clearly, the previous host had a habit of taking notes and using them as a diary.

Kline knew full well that the cabinet acting as the desk's right leg was filled with completed notebooks.

This one began on May 10th and primarily contained entries about school, mentors, and knowledge:

"On May 12th, Mr. Azek mentioned that the common language of the Barong Empire in the Southern Continent also originated from ancient Fuskak, a branch of the Giant's language. Why would this be so? Does it mean that all sentient beings once used the same language? No, this must be a fallacy. Even in the records of the 'Revelation of Night' and the 'Book of Storms,' in eras older than ancient, Giants were not the sole rulers of the continent; there were also Elves, other races, and Dragons. Well, these are all just legends, mere myths."

...

"On May 16th, Senior Professor Cohen and Mr. Azek discussed the inevitability of the Steam Age. Mr. Azek believed it to be contingent, arguing that without the sudden appearance of Emperor Russell, the Northern Continent might still be in the same age as the Southern Continent, stuck in the era of cold weapons. The mentor emphasized the individual's role too much. He believed that with the development of the times, even without Emperor Russell, there would still be Emperor Robert. In short, the Steam Age might be delayed, but it would definitely come. Their debate felt meaningless to me. I prefer discovering new things, unraveling the obscured history. Perhaps, I shouldn't have chosen history but archaeology instead."

...

"On May 29th, Welch found me, claiming to have acquired a notebook from the Fourth Era. My goddess, a notebook from the Fourth Era! He didn't want to ask the students from the Archaeology Department for help, preferring to ask for mine and Naya's assistance in deciphering its contents. How could I refuse such an opportunity? Of course, it had to wait until after the graduation defense; at this moment, I can't afford to be distracted."

Seeing this, Kline's spirits lifted. Compared to the earlier historical readings and conceptual debates, the appearance of the "Fourth Era" notebook was more likely to be related to the previous host's suicide.

The Fourth Era referred to the time before the current "Iron Age," a period shrouded in mystery and lacking in records. Even the unearthed tombs, ancient cities, and documents were scarce. Historians and archaeologists could only piece together fragments from the vague theological texts of the seven major churches, primarily focused on faith education, to gain some insight into the existence of the Solomon Empire, the Tudor Dynasty, and the Threnosos Empire.

Determined to unravel the mysteries and uncover history, Kline had little interest in the more mythological "First Three Eras," also known as the "Era of the Gods." His excitement was palpable.

"Ah, upon closer inspection, the previous host was concerned about the interview and worried about future employment unnecessarily..." Kline couldn't help but sigh.

The current university was still rare, with most students being nobles and wealthy children. Even if commoners were admitted, despite facing discrimination due to their status and being excluded from others' social circles, as long as they weren't extreme, they could still gain some networking resources through group discussions and collective activities, which were quite valuable!

For example, Welch MacGowan was the son of a banker in Conston City, Kandiston County, Lurun Kingdom. He was generous and wealthy, often asking for help because he had been grouped with Kline and Naya for homework and presentations.

Without dwelling on extraneous thoughts, Kline continued reading the notebook:

"On June 18th, graduation. Farewell, my Hoye University!"

"On June 19th, I saw that notebook. Through comparison of structure and roots, I discovered it to be a variant of ancient Fuskak, or more accurately, a subtle evolution of it over a thousand years."

"On June 20th, we deciphered the contents of the first page, written by a member of a family called 'Antigonous.'"

"On June 21st, he mentioned the 'Black Emperor,' which completely contradicts the era deduced from the previous content. Could the mentor's view be wrong? Is the 'Black Emperor' actually a shared title for every emperor of the Solomon Empire?"

"On June 22nd, this family called 'Antigonous' seems to have held a prominent position in the Solomon Empire. The notebook owner mentioned being involved in a secret transaction with someone named Tudor. Tudor? Tudor Dynasty?"

"On June 23rd, I restrained myself from thinking about that notebook and Welch's offer. I must prepare for the interview! This is extremely important!"

"On June 24th, Naya told me they made a new discovery. I think I should take a look."

"On June 25th, from the newly interpreted contents, the notebook's owner received a task: to journey to the main peak of the Hornarchus Mountains, to visit the 'Land of Night' located at its summit. My goddess, the main peak of the Hornarchus Mountains exceeds six thousand meters; how could there be a country there? How do they survive?"

"On June 26th, are all these strange things real?"

At this point, the notebook ended, with Mingrui crossing over on June 28th in the early morning.

"So, the entry on June 27

th did exist, and it was that line... 'Everyone will die, including me'..." Kline turned to the first page he had seen, making a chilling realization.

To unravel the mystery of the previous host's suicide, he felt he should visit Welch again, to examine the ancient notes. However, with his extensive experience in novels, films, and TV shows, he sensed that if he went and the matter was indeed related, he would likely encounter unknown dangers—those fools who knowingly enter haunted castles are a cautionary tale!

But not going wasn't an option; avoidance never solves problems, only allowing them to fester until they burst, overwhelming oneself completely!

Call the police? But I can't say I committed suicide...

Thud!

Thud, thud!

Suddenly, a rapid, forceful knocking echoed at the door.

Kline sat up straight, listening intently.

Thud!

Thud, thud!

The knocking reverberated through the desolate hallway outside.