Under Haida's guidance, Fran quickly and efficiently browsed through all the exhibits in the esoteric section.
Clearly, neither of them was the type to wander aimlessly.
This resulted in their movements being swift and purposeful, with a strong sense of direction. After viewing one relic exhibit, they immediately headed to the next, so much so that Vivian even struggled to keep up.
It had to be said, it was quite reminiscent of a theft gang's reconnaissance…
Sister Haida had meticulously planned the route, allowing them to let Fran enjoy the exhibits while maintaining their original patrol schedule. This ensured that their security duties weren't neglected.
Following Haida's lead, Fran arrived at the modern academic section.
At the center of this area was a somewhat crudely made yet advanced mechanical device. Although some parts were slightly incomplete, it already had components like the cylinder block and crankshaft linkage… It was an internal combustion engine.
Moreover, this engine wasn't just a prototype; its design concept was nearly mature, requiring only minor improvements to be put into practical use.
The description provided by the White Chalice Order below was very fitting, even carrying a hint of the arrogance typical of researchers.
"What is it? It is a new machine that creates power from flame and air, the tireless heart that drives steel creations, the triumphant horn that heralds the end of the steam age. It is an 'internal combustion engine.' If you understand its existence and principles, you will know… we stand at the pinnacle of this era."
"The White Chalice folks are advancing their academic pursuits faster and faster…"
Fran stroked her chin, slightly marveling at the changes of the times.
She wasn't entirely sure whether a technological explosion could still occur in a civilization where "gods" existed as objective entities. But she didn't dislike this change, as development and progress are inevitable trends.
If one were to draw from the experience of the Warhammer universe, the coexistence of gods and civilizational advancement is indeed possible.
"Dr. Fran, are you also interested in modern science?"
Seeing Fran linger by the internal combustion engine for a while, Vivian couldn't help but ask curiously.
After spending some time with Fran, she now found herself in a superposition of fear and fearlessness toward the doctor.
As long as medical topics weren't brought up, Fran was gentle and harmless, very easy to get along with. But if she got excited… Vivian still remembered the High Priestess of the Red Chalice who was reduced to a skeleton.
"Of course. Information has a shelf life; it must constantly evolve to remain fresh. Even I, at times, have no choice but to chase after the most cutting-edge knowledge like a moth to a flame."
Fran quickly shifted her gaze away from the internal combustion engine.
She had little interest in this machine that might herald a new era. After all, she had already witnessed such things in her previous world, so there was no sense of novelty…
"Actually, this internal combustion engine is a very outdated model within the White Chalice Order, and many components have been reduced to prevent technical leaks. If those old scholars haven't hit any major technical roadblocks, they should have already replaced most of the steam power within the Order…"
As an agent of the Confidential Hall, Vivian dealt with such secrets on a daily basis. She knew a fair bit about the inner workings of the White Chalice.
"That does indeed sound like something the White Chalice Order would do."
Fran didn't doubt the authenticity of Vivian's hearsay, as the researchers of the White Chalice were indeed known for their secrecy.
"I've heard that the White Chalice Order has made some breakthroughs in exoskeleton-style armor, but the specific information is classified at too high a level, so I don't know…"
Just as Vivian and Fran were discussing some anecdotes about the White Chalice Order, Haida, who had been silent for a while, spoke up.
"Dr. Fran, I've had a question these past few days, and I hope you can answer it."
"Go ahead, Sister Haida. No need to be formal."
Fran never shied away from others' questions. In most cases, she was eager to provide answers.
"When you dissected the High Priestess of the Hunger Club, why did you say she was merely a 'half'?"
"Ah, that matter… It's because Sains' body only had half a heart, which means we were only dealing with half of her. The other half is still alive. If she had been complete at the time, the situation would have been more troublesome."
Fran tapped her lips with her index finger, recalling the specifics of the situation.
Haida's expression hardened, clearly indicating that Fran's answer confirmed some of her suspicions.
"The other half of Sains is still alive… So, I guess that's the reason you're attending the exhibition today, right, Dr. Fran?"
"Hmm…"
Fran looked at Haida, her amber eyes carrying a hint of a meaningful smile.
"You guessed right, Sister Haida. Any prize you'd like?"
Having received Fran's confirmation, Haida proceeded to ask, "Then, please answer my next question. Will the other half of Sains attack the museum today?"
"I don't know?"
Fran slightly spread her hands, answering decisively without any hesitation.
"Fate and human intentions are both elusive. I can't determine whether the followers of the Red Chalice will come today or not. But based on the information we have so far… the probability of her visiting the exhibition is not small. In fact, both the White Chalice and the General Affairs Hall are aware of this, they just haven't informed you."
"For the past five years, the White Chalice has been solely responsible for the security of the museum's spring exhibitions. But this year, they chose to collaborate with the Hunters of Secrets Order. Everything is quite clear… isn't it?"
"...Indeed it is."
Although Fran didn't respond directly, Haida still got the answer she wanted.
——
Dylan Sions was a down-and-out horror fiction writer.
After writing a few talented works in his youth, he found himself stuck in a creative rut. The prose in his novels became increasingly bloated and cumbersome, like over-pickled vegetables, losing the agility it once had.
Yet, at the same time, Dylan clung to an inexplicable arrogance due to his past achievements. Beneath this arrogance lay a sensitive undercurrent of insecurity and confusion.
He gradually became afraid of interacting with the outside world, afraid of being judged, but for the sake of making a living, he couldn't give up writing…
Asking Dylan to craft intricate, tightly woven storylines was beyond him. But to lower himself and join the ranks of those writing easily digestible popular fiction felt unworthy to him.
And so, he could only continue in his increasingly distorted style, barely clinging to life…
In his disappointment, he developed a habit of heavy drinking.
Alcohol, hormones, and the deafening music of noisy nightclubs… Only by immersing his mind and body in these brain-damaging substances could he briefly forget the version of himself that had run dry of creativity.
He claimed to be seeking inspiration, but his increasingly deteriorating mental state made it difficult for him to even maintain the most basic level of creativity.
Excessive alcohol can obviously damage a person's intelligence, yet those who drink heavily often fail to notice this decline due to their diminished cognitive abilities. Thus, a vicious cycle is formed.
...Another night of heavy drinking.
Amid the joyful crowd, Dylan faintly caught a unique and sweet fragrance, indescribable, but it left him feeling more relaxed than ever before.
In his daze, a strand of dark hair drifted before his eyes... He followed the soft strands and saw a beautiful dancer.
She wore a silk gown from the sandy nation of Atilan, her skin a healthy wheat color, her figure agile and graceful, like a coiled water snake.
"Miss, you're a bit too close…"
The dancer's body was already so close to Dylan that he could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin silk.
Though he was no inexperienced novice and was thoroughly enjoying the moment… he still felt obliged to politely remind her.
"Oh?"
The dancer didn't distance herself because of Dylan's apparent lack of interest. On the contrary, she moved even closer. Her moist lips approached Dylan's ear, leaving behind a warm breath.
"But I think we can get even closer…"
"Th-this place is too crowded…"
Dylan had never been treated with such enthusiasm by a beautiful woman before. In his flustered state, he inexplicably felt a flicker of longing for the distant land of Atilan.
Is this the custom of a foreign land? It's really exciting...
"Right here," the dancer pouted slightly, seemingly fixated on this point alone.
"Alright then..."
Under the influence of alcohol and hormones, Dylan became excited. He licked his lips and agreed to the dancer.
The dancer hugged Dylan contentedly, her smile bright and pure.
"Enjoy tonight, sir. Let our distance shorten even more. As close as glue and paper, or even become one..." ...
"Ah... Where am I? It's already the second day?"
Dylan woke up, his face showing the emptiness and exhaustion of a hangover. He shook his head, becoming a little more alert, and then frowned.
He saw the bustling crowd around him and the many exhibits in glass cabinets.
The Norrington Central Museum. How did he end up here? Wasn't he having a great party last night? Who dropped him off at this academic place?
The dancer from last night, her delicate skin and supple waist were so unforgettable. Just thinking about it made him feel intoxicated. Dylan felt a bit unreal, as if that beautiful encounter was just a delusion brought on by alcohol.
But the face of that exotic dancer was so real, as if etched in his mind. Such a delicate appearance, how could he have fabricated it with his nearly exhausted imagination?
I don't know what's going on, but let's go home first... My head hurts a bit. I need to lie down on the bed for a while.
Dylan rubbed his temples, but the dizziness from the hangover didn't ease up at all; instead, it intensified.
He walked over to an exhibit, his face pale, and reached out to lean on the wide glass display case. Cold beads of sweat trickled down his face.
Why do I feel so sick? Ugh, no. This is the Central Museum of the White Cup Sect. If I throw up here...
"Sir, you can't lean on the display case."
A funeral maid on patrol noticed his odd behavior and immediately came forward to remind him.
But Dylan couldn't suppress the overwhelming dizziness. He collapsed to the ground and began to vomit violently.
"Sorry, I'm not feeling well... Ugh... Ugh..."
What he vomited wasn't the stinky food residue mixed with alcohol, but bright red blood.
Like a gushing spring, a huge amount of blood couldn't be contained and overflowed from his throat.
The last image in Dylan's consciousness was a slender arm emerging from his mouth.
Like a tender sprout stretching out, like a fresh bud blooming, like a cicada shedding its skin in midsummer, it was breathtakingly beautiful...
The dancer's pure white silk dress was already stained red, but she didn't care about any of it.
Her delicate feet adorned with silver bells stepped in the sticky pool of blood, like a solo dancer standing alone on the stage.
"Welcome to the Mei Yue Festival, everyone, and to the grand banquet of our Lord."
Sains bowed to everyone around, seemingly a gesture of greeting before the performance.
"All action teams, prepare! Visual confirmation of a target from the 'Crimson Cup' has been spotted! Near Exhibition Area B07!"
The funeral maid who had come to inquire about Dillon noticed the strange occurrence before her.
She quickly contacted other hunters involved in security and drew her pistol, aiming to shoot at Sains, who was still bowing...
But suddenly, a pool of blood spread beneath the dancer's feet, rising like thorny spikes, piercing through the chest of the funeral maid, lifting her high before smashing her back down into the blood pool.
[Blood Manipulation], a secondary upper-level secret art of the Crimson Cup cult. It can condense living blood plasma into various forms, with a maximum density approaching that of steel.
"Too slow, little nun. Once you chose to contact others, you should have given up on trying to attack."
Sains caressed his neck with a look of unusual ecstasy.
"Another nun was far more decisive than you. In a moment when I couldn't even react, she sent two blades into my carotid artery and my heart... such exquisite pain, I fear it will take me many years to savor completely."
"An evil offspring has infiltrated! Hurry, run!"
The people around, witnessing this bloody scene, immediately screamed and began to flee in all directions in a frenzy.
"Run, please run faster, children. Keep your lives intact..."
The pool of blood beneath Sains spread rapidly along the ground, like a dark crimson shadow enveloping all. Those who couldn't run fast enough fell into it, merging into a mass of bones and blood.
"Bang!" The hunters who received the call swiftly arrived, opening fire on Sains.
The hunter's prayers inscribed on the steel-core bullets flickered with a bluish light upon striking her body, causing intense burns. However, the deep crimson plasma surrounding the dancer wrapped her completely, like layers of a cocoon.
At that time, Heda was able to easily assassinate Sains because she was taken by surprise. Facing an overwhelming and unexpected attack in her psychological blind spot, she couldn't even mount an effective counterattack.
But when Sains was fully prepared… she would demonstrate to everyone what it truly means to be the "High Priestess."