Gun of Ashes

In just a few short seconds, Abigail’s thoughts raced.

No one knew what she had been through before, that made her excessively wary of ”Upper-Ranks” like Selyu; no one knew whether, if Oscar learned what she was thinking, he would end up in tears, drowning in shame.

Round it up, this identity really was bought with money; the previous Nation-Builder hadn’t resisted much at all, signing his name as smoothly as could be.

”Take a look. I think you’re going to need it.”

Selyu lifted the case. Her face was expressionless; from her attitude, it was as if if Abigail didn’t accept it, she simply wouldn’t let go.

”Alright...”

She was a Nation-Builder, after all; Abigail ought to show the proper respect.

While her mind was busy thinking of how to refuse, she picked up the case, set it on her desk, then opened it—and saw those old notebooks.

”What is this?”

”A...” Selyu pondered for a moment; she didn’t really know how to define that fellow, the Plague Doctor, and in the end could only say, ”A friend gave them to me. Yeah, you could probably call him a friend.”

”As for what’s inside, honestly I can only grasp the surface. Better to leave it to a professional like you.”

”Charles...”

Abigail murmured the notebook owner’s name, then turned to the first page.

The atmosphere sank into stillness. Abigail seemed to forget Selyu’s existence; she stared straight at the notes, and in the silence there was only the sound of pages turning and breathing.

Abigail’s absorption was within Selyu’s expectations. Selyu sat back down, quietly waiting; she was patient, and willing to wait for this.

Crossing a long distance and time, Selyu passed on to Abigail the torch the Plague Doctor had entrusted to her.

Abigail’s breathing grew a little rapid, her body faintly trembling. She forced her gaze away from the notebooks and, with difficulty, looked toward Selyu.

She took a deep breath, as if she had just broken free from some spell.

”Where is the owner of these notes?”

Abigail’s heart had never burned so fiercely; not even back when she almost dissected Lorenzo had she been this excited.

”He’s dead. Should be dead.”

Selyu said uncertainly. In this world, aside from Lorenzo, it seemed no one knew how the Plague Doctor’s story ended.

Abigail’s pupils tightened together; after the feverish joy came a grief so sharp it was almost unbearable.

”Someone like that... actually died...”

”Mm. Actually he had another name, one you should be very familiar with.”

Selyu said it almost against her own will. For some reason, she felt this story ought to be passed down; if nothing else, maybe many years from now it could help answer her questions about good and evil.

”What?”

”The Plague Doctor.”

Outside the window a bolt of lightning split the sky, a gale swept in, squeezing through the cracks in the glass, heavy with damp moisture.

In an instant Abigail felt something seize her, one cold hand after another dragging her back into that seemingly endless storm.

”The Plague Doctor?”

Abigail wondered if she’d misheard.

”Mm, the Plague Doctor—he’s the one who attacked Black Mountain Hospital before. He died, but the knowledge remained,” Selyu said calmly. ”He wanted to find a new owner for these notebooks. I thought you were a good fit.”

Abigail’s face went rigid. Her mood had surged and plunged within minutes, leaving her at a loss; a long moment passed before she spoke, very slowly, and even then her voice still carried a faint tremor.

”What a... surprise. Just like Victoria’s King’s Curse.”

Abigail hated assignments from the financiers—like that damned King’s Curse. For a long time, she had believed that storm had begun with the Curse; because of studying that accursed thing, Black Mountain Hospital had nearly been obliterated by the tempest.

Later, the Truth was confirmed, but the shadow in Abigail’s heart lingered; now that shadow grew a shade darker.

”My patrons always bring such interesting things.”

Abigail picked up the notebooks with care, as if they were heavy gold.

”Do they have a title?”

”Evolution Theory.”

Abigail paused for a moment, then said with a smile,

”Sounds pretty good.”

”How will you handle it?” Selyu asked.

”First we’ll make copies for preservation, then sort through the knowledge inside and integrate it with what Black Mountain Hospital already has...”

Abigail spoke of beautiful prospects. Only at times like this did she feel her exhausting work wasn’t so bad, that it still held enough reason for her to keep going. And just then Selyu cut her off.

”That’s not what I meant.”

Selyu shook her head, her heart full of confusion.

”How are you going to describe him?

These notebooks ultimately need an author. But I don’t think you’d choose to erase his name and claim all of this as your own. Yet that name is soaked in blood—does it really deserve to be carried forward?”

Abigail let go of the notebooks. She had never considered this, had never approached it this way.

Scientific progress demands sacrifices; Black Mountain Hospital is precisely such an altar. Those who’ve been corroded come here to release their final traces of warmth.

Seen from that angle, her own hands, too, are steeped in blood... Everyone who dwells in the dark has blood on their hands; it’s just that the piles of corpses under each person’s feet are different.

There is no good and evil. Everyone is wrapped in a hazy grey, impossible to distinguish.

”See? That’s how it is. In truth none of us are decent people, and still we cling to our stances, convinced we’re the good ones.” Selyu felt a stab of headache. She wasn’t a philosopher, not equipped to untangle these truths.

Abigail was dragged into the same grey, but soon she broke free again.

”I think I’ll keep that name. The part that belongs to Charles Darwin will remain; he’s the pioneer of this knowledge. But beyond that, no one will know more about him. As for the part that belongs to the Plague Doctor...”

Abigail’s words faltered, but quickly she continued.

”He’ll be forgotten, sealed in the archives. Anything connected to Demons will fall under the strict control of the Purification Mechanism, until the day all of this is no longer needed.

What happens in the dark should return to the dark.”

”Is that so...”

Selyu looked at Abigail, then out the window at Black Mountain Hospital, its walls gleaming faintly in the thunderstorm.

”What belongs to the darkness, returns to the darkness.”

Selyu gazed out the window, not sure what she was thinking.

...

”Well then, see you!”

Lorenzo waved to Heracles, bidding farewell to his tavern through the curtain of rain, while Heracles paid no attention at all to Lorenzo’s goodbye. He was busy tidying up the bar, fretting over what to do with Buscalo, drunk and collapsed on the floor.

The group opened their black umbrellas and walked on through the cold rain. The street was deserted, leaving only them, looking rather lonely. But soon Lorenzo began humming some strange tune; clearly he couldn’t get drunk, yet he acted as if he’d had way too much.

”Why are you always so cheerful, Lorenzo? Is your mindset really that good?”

Rod leaned against Lorenzo’s side, letting him support his steps forward.

In his eyes, no matter the situation, Lorenzo was never troubled, as if this man simply wasn’t capable of having worries.

”I’ve just made peace with it, Rod.”

Lorenzo hauled him along—this kind of drunkard-transport work really couldn’t be left to the guests, so Lorenzo had to shoulder it himself.

”What do you mean?”

”Think about it: our history is so long. And in that long history, what’s left in the books is only a handful of strokes. Even kings and soldiers can barely leave their names in those few lines, let alone nobodies like us.”

As he spoke, Lorenzo patted the face of Shao Liangxi, still flushed from drink. In truth she had sobered up quite a bit; the chill in the air had cleared her head.

”Don’t worry. We’re all going to die, and we’re all going to be forgotten. So why cling so hard to anything? We’re all headed back to dust anyway.”

He sounded like some second‑rate mentor, offering his brand of counsel to the group.