Lord of the Mysteries — Extra: An Ordinary Person’s Daily Life P2

Part 2

After drafting the opening of the document, Barton was about to add details when he suddenly realized that Fernal had not submitted any materials at all.

“Does he think he can apply for funding with nothing but a letter, relying solely on his relationship with the Foundation?” Barton searched across his desk and muttered in puzzlement.

In his impression, Fernal was not an arrogant man. Apart from being somewhat impatient, the archaeologist could be considered a standard Loen gentleman in all other respects.

Under normal circumstances, applying to the Loen Antiquities Collection and Preservation Foundation for assistance required more than a project description. One also had to provide site photographs, copies of ancient texts, and many other materials. Otherwise, the Foundation would have no way to examine the application, make a judgment, or spend large amounts of pounds dispatching a team to investigate the project site.

Or perhaps Fernal was simply too careless and had forgotten to mail the materials along with the letter? Of course, given Fernal’s relationship with the Foundation, after the higher-ups read the letter, it was entirely possible that they would send one or two people over to make contact and verify matters… Mm, as his friend, I should still help him a little… Barton shook his head. Without thinking too much, he stood and walked to the bookshelf.

He then extended his right hand and ran his fingers along the spines of one book after another, selecting the reference materials he needed.

At last, he pulled out several books and journals. Combining the various viewpoints within them, he added a detailed description of the historical origins of the mountains under Sivellaus County’s jurisdiction to the document he intended to submit:

“In the field of historical studies, there is a widely accepted view:

“For a certain period of time whose exact duration remains unknown, the Solomon Empire and the Tudor Dynasty coexisted on the Northern Continent. Their dividing line was very likely what is today the Hornacis mountain range and the Feynapotter plateau.

“Within this context, the extension of the Hornacis mountain range into Sivellaus County was quite likely a key point of contention between the two sides…”

Barton did not endorse Fernal directly. He merely used references to indirectly indicate that Fourth Epoch ruins could indeed exist in the mountains of Sivellaus County.

This way, if it were eventually proven that Fernal had deceived them, no one would hold Barton responsible, because those arguments had been made by famous historians. Barton had only excerpted them—a selective excerpt, of course.

At the end of the document, he listed his references:

“…A Study of Private Historical Materials from Sivellaus County, Azik Eggers, Lecturer in the History Department of Hoy University…”

After finishing the document, Barton read through it from the beginning and revised some phrasing and sentences.

Then he took the draft to the clerks’ room next door and asked them to use the mechanical typewriter to produce an official copy.

The Loen Antiquities Collection and Preservation Foundation had always employed a large number of female staff. From ordinary clerks at the bottom to deputy directors at the top, at least half were women.

Barton actually had quite a few complaints about this situation, but he had no way to oppose it, nor did he dare to. He could only choose to accept it.

Of course, he also had to admit that when he had to wait, watching those young female clerks busy at work was not a bad thing.

At least there’s more color here… Barton silently muttered while listening to the clacking sounds.

After the document was prepared, signed, and submitted, he continued his work as usual, methodically and unhurriedly.

This included, but was not limited to, preliminary project reviews, providing professional opinions and collecting materials, and adding supporting arguments to certain papers of the Foundation.

The day passed quickly. At six o’clock, Barton left the company, took a public carriage, and spent more than an hour returning home.

This was the normal state of affairs in Loen’s major cities, and it was why afternoon tea was so popular. After lunch between noon and one o’clock, one would not return home until half past seven or even eight in the evening. During such a long stretch of time, without afternoon tea as a supplement, the overwhelming majority of people would become exceptionally hungry.

Of course, this was limited to the middle class and above. Many poor people might eat only two meals a day, and when conditions allowed, both husband and wife would certainly work. After coming home at seven or eight, they still had to busy themselves preparing dinner rather than simply enjoying it.

“Fernal came to visit you this afternoon.” Barton’s wife casually mentioned this while taking his coat and hat.

“Fernal?” Barton was momentarily stunned.

The archaeologist who had discovered Fourth Epoch ruins in Sivellaus County had returned to East Chester County?

As soon as the words left his mouth, Barton frowned and silently muttered, “He really did forget to mail the materials, so he came back personally?

“No. That’s too much trouble. The Kingdom’s postal service is quite reliable.

“And he should know that outside weekends, I would definitely be at the Foundation. Mm, I might also have been sent to certain sites for inspection…”

Thinking this, Barton asked aloud, “Where is he?”

“He waited in your study for fifteen minutes before leaving,” Barton’s wife said truthfully.

Barton pressed further, “Did he say which hotel he was staying at? Or when he would come again?”

Fernal the archaeologist was from East Chester County, but not a resident of the capital, Stoen. He had no home here.

“He didn’t say. He seemed to be in a hurry,” Barton’s wife paused, then added, “Very impatient.”

Barton rubbed his gradually receding hairline and nodded lightly.

“I’ll go to the study first.”

His study was on the second floor. It contained several bookshelves and some porcelain pieces. He had a not-too-fanatical fondness for porcelain and would take the initiative to collect distinctive items.

After searching for a while, Barton found no note or letter left behind by Fernal.

He quickly decided to toss the matter to the back of his mind.

This had always been one of his principles: after returning home, he tried not to worry over work-related matters.

After dinner and a pleasant period spent with his wife and children, Barton washed up, got into bed, and fell asleep first.

In the silence of deep night, he suddenly woke and opened his eyes.

Ever since he had encountered danger during an archaeological expedition ten years earlier, Barton had possessed a slightly abnormal spiritual intuition. He could always sense certain movements that others could not. For example, another person might only realize a visitor had come for them when the visitor reached their door, but Barton could sense whether that person was connected to him the moment they appeared in the corridor.

Someone has broken in… Barton abruptly sat up, eyes wide open.

He glanced at his sleeping wife beside him and did not wake her. Moving as quietly as possible, he climbed out of bed and took down the double-barreled shotgun hanging on the wall.

Holding the gun, he gently opened the door and looked out into the corridor.

Thick darkness covered the place, with faint crimson moonlight revealing only the rough outlines of objects.

Barton did not hesitate. With considerable decisiveness, he entered the corridor and patrolled back and forth.

Yet he found no intruding thief.

Was my feeling wrong? Barton turned around, not especially confident.

None of the rooms on the second floor showed any signs of having been opened.

After thinking for a moment, Barton came to the door of the study, grasped the handle, and gently twisted.

The door opened silently. Everything inside was submerged in darkness, like all kinds of monsters.

Barton pulled open the curtains and, by the moonlight streaming in, carefully examined the room, confirming that all the furnishings were exactly the same as in his memory.

“It really was me being oversensitive… The aftereffect of yesterday’s nightmare?” Barton exhaled, then quickly left the study.

Behind him, the curtains he had pulled open swayed gently, as though stirred by wind.

The next day, Barton continued his somewhat repetitive life:

Kissing his wife and children goodbye, taking a hired carriage, reading newspapers, brewing black tea, reading letters…

“Huh? Another letter from Fernal.” Barton relaxed inwardly and opened it.

But there was nothing inside. The sender seemed to have forgotten to put the letter into the envelope.

“Has Fernal developed amnesia recently?” Barton glanced at the envelope in his hand and suddenly noticed that the pattern on it was somewhat unusual.

It was a commemorative envelope.

As Barton knew, in Backlund and Stoen, many high-class hotels provided specially made envelopes and stationery for their guests. They served as a kind of travel souvenir.

“Which hotel is this from?” Barton brought the envelope to his nose, preparing to smell its scent. That, too, would be distinctive and recognizable.

The next second, he smelled a faint trace of blood.