The room where Abigail worked was lined with shelves and rows of scrolls meticulously arranged. The air was permeated with the scent of ink and aged parchment.
Charles knocked three times on the door, hearing a soft reply from within. As he opened the door, he found a dark-haired young woman with her hair pulled back in a bun, hunched over an ancient script laid out on the table. Sunlight from a large window fell precisely across her workspace.
"Abigail," he called. "Do you have a moment?"
Abigail looked up, her bright blue eyes reflecting keen intelligence as she gazed at him. "Oh, Detective Ravencroft." She set down her quill. "What can I help you with?"
"I found a paper with strange writing in the Hidden Domain," Charles began. "It's in a language I've never seen before. I asked the vendor about it, and he said it came from the 'Great Sin Kingdom.' I didn't know what that was, so I asked him more questions—but he became angry..."
"Have you ever read the scriptures of Fatus Rex, Galthanus, or Mund Clavis?" Abigail asked, her tone surprised.
Charles shook his head. "Never."
Abigail nodded with understanding. "No wonder he got upset. The Great Sin Kingdom is fundamental lore in these religions' scriptures. Even if you haven't read them, most people would have at least heard something about it."
"I genuinely haven't heard of it before. I don't know if Chief Edward mentioned it to you..." He tapped his temple. "About my memory issues."
"Oh, right," Abigail nodded. "Yes, the Chief did mention something about that." She leaned back against her desk and began explaining. "The Great Sin Kingdom appears in the scriptures of all three religions with very different details, but they share one common element... the kingdom's ruler led all his people in rebellion against the gods."
"The cause of the rebellion..." She raised a finger to count. "Fatus Rex says it was pride and arrogance, wanting to replace the gods. Galthanus claims they were overconfident in their wisdom, even building a tower that reached into the heavens to challenge the gods. Mund Clavis says they were seduced by a demon."
"But they all end the same way... the kingdom was destroyed. The gods became so disappointed in humanity that they withdrew from the mortal world, returning to their eternal realm, never to descend again."
Abigail walked to the bookshelf and retrieved a volume. "This is a translated version of the Fatus Rex scripture," she opened it and pointed to a page. "If you're interested, try reading from this page. It has more detailed accounts of the Great Sin Kingdom than what I've just told you."
"Thank you very much," Charles said as he accepted the book from Abigail's hand.
He left the room with two items: the equipment requisition form in one hand and the Fatus Rex scripture in the other. As he walked down the corridor, he studied the old book's cover. A kingdom rebelling against the gods—this must be the origin of the name "Great Sin." It was an intriguing story that might be connected to his true identity.
But now wasn't the time to delve into such matters; he had already delayed long enough. Charles slipped the book into his coat pocket and headed toward the Arcane Science Division, hoping the equipment he would receive would help him access the secrets hidden in the basement of the clinic.
The Arcane Science Division remained filled with strange devices, some familiar, others apparently newly acquired. Charles walked directly to the requisition desk, form in hand. This time, he wouldn't repeat his previous mistake of coming without proper documentation.
The same elderly white-haired man still sat at the desk, half-moon spectacles perched on his nose, though today he wore a brown uniform instead of the dark blue one. When he saw Charles, he looked up immediately, recognizing the officer who had once tried to requisition equipment without documentation.
"How can I help you?" the elderly man asked in a measured tone.
"I need equipment to open a blocked passage," Charles placed the requisition form on the desk. "Do you have anything suitable for this task?"
The elderly man adjusted his spectacles and examined the document. "You brought the proper form this time. That's progress."
He read through the details. "Tell me about the nature of this blockage."
"It's an iron door covered by stone debris and soil that collapsed from the ceiling," Charles explained. "We can't squeeze through, and if we try to dig or remove it improperly, the already unstable structure might collapse again."
The elderly man considered for a moment before rising from his desk and walking to the storage shelves. Not finding what he wanted, he disappeared into a back room. He returned with four distinct items:
Small, compact metal spikes, about a dozen of them, each small enough that three could fit in one hand.
A coil of greenish rope.
A glass bottle about the size of a liquor flask.
An ordinary spade.
He placed all the equipment on the desk, preparing to explain their use.
The elderly man picked up each item as he explained. "These spikes and rope must be used together," he held up one of the small spikes. "When driven into any material, these special spikes sink in as easily as if you were pushing them into wet mud."
He made a circular motion with his hand. "You place the spikes in a ring around the area you want to excavate, then thread the rope through each spike. The rope will hold the outer structure in place, preventing collapse while you dig."
The elderly man picked up the glass bottle containing a muddy-colored liquid. "This solution has special properties. When poured over soil or stone you want to excavate, it temporarily softens the material, making digging easier." He raised a finger in warning. "But be extremely careful—do not let this solution touch your skin under any circumstances."
"As for this spade..." he held up the tool, "it's just an ordinary digging spade, nothing special."
Charles felt slightly disappointed. He had expected the spade to have some special property like the other tools, but it was merely an ordinary implement.
"Is there anything else I should know?" Charles asked, intent on heeding every detail carefully. He knew that even a small mistake could be life-threatening.
"Yes," the elderly man nodded. "The rope has a time limitation. It's effective for only one hour. If you haven't finished digging when time runs out and you try to continue, the structure might collapse." He pointed to the rope. "However, if you complete your excavation before the time limit, the structure will remain stable even after the rope's effect ends."
"And one more thing," he added. "When the time expires, the rope will ignite and burn itself away completely, so you won't need to retrieve it."
The elderly man gathered all the equipment into a bag and handed it to Charles. "Sign the requisition form." He offered Charles a quill.
After signing, Charles took the equipment bag with careful hands, especially mindful of the flask containing the potentially dangerous solution. He left the Arcane Science Division and headed to the stables behind the building. This time, he decided to travel by horseback rather than carriage. Traveling alone would be more efficient and faster.
Charles meticulously arranged the equipment in the saddlebags, wrapping the muddy solution bottle in thick cloth and storing it separately to prevent breakage. He double-checked all the saddle straps to ensure everything was secure before mounting his horse and setting off.
When he arrived at Saint Margaret's clinic, the dilapidated ruins stood before him, slowly yielding to the passage of time. This visit was different from his previous one—no Joseph to watch his back, no partner to share the work. It reminded him of his days working alone before joining the special unit.
Charles found a suitable spot to tie his horse, somewhere both hidden from view and secure. Taking the borrowed tools and an oil lantern, he made his way through the wild vegetation that had overtaken the path to the clinic entrance. It was easy to imagine how many injured and sick people had once sought help here when the building still stood intact.
He navigated through the debris until he reached what had once been the director's office, where the concealed staircase to the basement lay beyond a ruined wall. Inside, he spotted the metal door that he and Joseph had managed to open during their previous investigation. Burn marks from the great fire seven years ago still marred the walls, a grim reminder of that tragic event.
Without delay, Charles set down his lantern and softly spoke the incantation, "Nur Kalla," his voice resonating with an odd mixture of masculine and feminine tones. A small orange flame appeared at his fingertip, which he used to light the lantern's wick. A warm glow spread throughout the area, illuminating the path downward.
He carefully descended the damp stone staircase, his leather boots echoing against the worn steps. The musty air mixed with old dust irritated his nose. Fortunately, there was no rain today, so no water seeped from above. He continued along a narrow corridor until he reached a small landing that connected to a cramped passageway, leading to a partially open wooden door—his destination.
Inside, the lantern's light revealed rows of dust-covered tables that had once served as laboratory stations. Signs of his and Joseph's previous search remained evident. His attention turned to a large crack in the wall extending to a blocked passage. During their last visit, they couldn't get through this barrier. That was about to change.
Charles placed his lantern on the nearest table and began preparing the special tools. He took out the metal spikes and carefully considered where to position them. They needed to encircle the blockage, with the circumference neither too wide, which would waste time, nor too narrow, which would make digging difficult.
He began driving the spikes into the wall, forming a circle around the blocked area. Each spike sank effortlessly into the solid stone as if it were soft clay, just as described. Next, he uncoiled the greenish rope and threaded it through each spike until the circle was complete.
"One hour," he murmured to himself, recalling the elderly man's warning about the rope's time limit.
He then carefully removed the glass bottle containing the muddy solution, slowly uncorking it. A strange, pungent odor reminiscent of wet tree bark after rainfall wafted out. Charles poured the solution over the debris—stone fragments and packed soil—watching as it rapidly soaked into the materials. A thin vapor rose from the treated area, accompanied by a soft crackling sound like melting ice.
"Fifteen minutes," he reminded himself, mentally timing the chemical reaction, knowing the solution's effect wouldn't last long.
Charles grabbed the spade and began digging where the material had softened. The spade sank easily into what now felt like soft clay. He worked quickly but cautiously, careful not to compromise the structural integrity of the area.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he dug deeper. About ten minutes had passed, and a pathway was beginning to form, but it wasn't yet wide enough to crawl through. He needed to work faster, mindful of both the solution's short effective period and the rope's one-hour limitation.
While digging, he heard a strange sound from behind the pile of debris—something like a breath or whisper... or perhaps just wind passing through a narrow opening? Charles paused momentarily, listening carefully, but the sound had ceased.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts before resuming his work. There was no time to worry about strange noises; he had to finish before the solution lost its effectiveness and the materials hardened again.
Finally, the opening became large enough to pass through. Charles wiped the sweat from his face, noticing that the greenish rope had begun to emit a pulsing glow, indicating that time was running short. He quickly dug a bit more to ensure he could pass through comfortably.
At last, he heard the rope beginning to ignite. Orange flames suddenly appeared along its length, becoming a second source of light in addition to his lantern. The rope burned quickly, turning to ash and disappearing completely.
The young man paused, leaning on the spade to catch his breath after the exertion.
Charles stood up straight, his eyes fixed on the dark passage before him. He retrieved his lantern from the table and held it up, casting light into the newly opened pathway, revealing a corridor that extended deep into the darkness.
A musty smell mixed with something like old medicinal chemicals drifted out from the opening. The strange whispering sound he had heard earlier returned—now clearly just wind passing through the tunnel he had created, though it eerily resembled hushed conversations.
Charles took a deep breath, gripped the lantern firmly, and bent down to squeeze through the opening he had just excavated. He passed beyond the rusted iron door and into the hidden corridor, determined to uncover whatever secrets lay in wait.