I'm a proper student; I only take nine kinds of potions every day.

"As an investigator, connections are very important. When facing truly terrifying beings, one person's strength is very insignificant."

"Many magic arrays, sacrifices, and rituals require several people, or even more than a dozen people, to operate at the same time."

"Never let your network of relationships become too strained."

Ivan smiled and nodded. "I know, Doctor. I'm talking about someone like Alcott."

Armitage snorted through his nose after hearing this.

"Is there any need to say anything? Just kill him."

After discussing money, Evan changed the subject and briefly recounted what he had discovered in the hotel bathroom the previous night.

Armitage showed no surprise whatsoever after hearing this.

"I know."

The old man waved his hand dismissively.

"They are Dagon cult members from Innsmouth. They are making a deal with some local factory owners."

Ivan's eyes widened slightly: "This... this is so blatant?"

Armitage shrugged. "This Deep Ones are honest. And they're rich."

He paused.

"I once considered getting involved."

A rare hint of weariness and helplessness, characteristic of this old man, slowly seeped into his voice.

"I got a real slap in the face."

He picked up his teacup and watched the steam rising from its rim.

"I've even banished Outer Gods back in the day. But this time I couldn't handle this group of murlocs who worshipped the Old Gods."

Ivan nodded.

But next second...

"Wait, I think I've missed something incredible!?"

He then practically jumped up from his chair.

"Doctor, Doctor, wait a minute!"

His voice was filled with undisguised curiosity and excitement.

"You've had dealings with... Outer Gods?"

Armitage then realized that he had let something slip.

The old man raised his hand, pressed his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and sighed.

However, looking at the young man in front of him who had wiped out an entire squad of apprentices from the Theosophical Society overnight, and considering his unusually cheerful demeanor, the old man ultimately decided not to become a riddle teller.

"Ah."

He picked up the blue-and-white porcelain teacup on the table and took a sip of hot tea.

"This is one of the reasons why Richard and Hill recommended you to me."

“I once fought against the being behind your immortal witch ancestor.”

He put down his teacup.

"With the help of several old friends, He was successfully banished."

"hiss……"

Evan gasped and instinctively leaned back in his chair.

"Goodness, this is a real veteran."

His mind was buzzing.

He had long known that this old man was no ordinary person. But he never expected that the man's resume would contain the words "exiled from the gods".

He banished the Outer Gods. He didn't go mad. He didn't die.

Now I can still sit in this small office on the second floor, wearing my reading glasses, leisurely teaching and enjoying my retirement.

What kind of steely will is this?

For a moment, Evan didn't know what expression to use when facing the old gentleman who looked like just an ordinary retired scholar.

I finally understand the true value of those titles that Hill introduced back then.

Armitage didn't linger on the topic. He tapped the table lightly with the nib of his pen, pulling Ivan's wandering thoughts back.

"Regarding your invitation to return home."

The old gentleman's voice returned to its usual businesslike composure.

"I've already made some progress. The place is in Arkham. I've contacted people at the university and asked them to go and investigate."

Ivan's eyes lit up, and he asked eagerly, "How was it?"

Armitage shook his head: "External forces cannot intervene."

"With our current strength, there is no way to stop a person in a higher position."

"The superior..."

Ivan repeated those three words.

Which category is it?

Armitage put down his pen and raised his finger.

"Apprentice. Expert. Master."

He raised one finger for each word he spoke.

"You should already know about these three."

Evan nodded: "It's in the Witcher's legacy."

Armitage raised his fourth and fifth fingers.

Above the master is the lord.

Above the lord is the superior.

"At this level, you can understand it as having completely transcended the human realm."

"It has entered the realm of the truly extraordinary."

The old man paused for a moment, then steered the conversation back to Ivan.

"Your ancestor, Keisha Mason, was a witch born in Arkham in the seventeenth century."

He picked up his teacup and took another sip, looking at Evan over his glasses.

"Throughout history, she is the only witch to have reached the fifth stage."

"The witch's...fifth stage?!"

Ivan blinked, his face full of shock.

As three heroes of the sewers, the Witcher is locked out at the third stage, Master level.

So how did you, my dear sister, manage to sneak off to the fifth stage all by yourself?

You have no sportsmanship! How can you face us, your brothers in the sewers?

While mentally complaining, Evan matched Armitage's words with the few blacked-out words on Pris's suicide note.

The blacked-out content finally took on a complete outline at this moment.

"Goodness."

He sighed.

"I feel like I just left the starting village and was blocked by the final boss."

Armitage burst out laughing.

"Although I don't quite understand the metaphors you young people use, I can understand what you mean."

The old man's smile quickly faded.

"Since you are directly connected to her by blood, there is nothing we can do if she wants to harm you."

"And they won't notice anything."

"The so-called invitation to return home is just a deception."

His eyes gradually sharpened: "What she really wants is to devour you descendants in order to suppress her own madness."

"No matter where you hide, you can't stop them."

He paused for a moment, then added a sentence.

"Just like your parents, and your grandparents."

!!!

Ivan sat in the chair, his pupils widening completely in that instant.

Factory accident. Unexplained suicide.

The police officer on duty at the station said, "Kid, go home and don't get yourself into trouble."

Those files that were locked in the filing cabinet and never touched again.

Those causes of death that he had repeatedly pondered, repeatedly doubted, but could never find the truth about.

At this point, everything matches up.

It's all fake.

Ivan sat in the chair, his fingers unconsciously clenching the hem of his suit jacket, his breath quickening.

I felt a sense of shock, as if I had finally seen the cruel truth after the clouds had parted and the fog had cleared.

"PhD."