Mystery: Gray Walker

Chapter 149

"Thank you, Anaïs." He picked up the coffee cup, the warmth passing through the porcelain cup to his palm, warming his cold fingertips. He took a sip, the just-right bitterness clearing his jumbled thoughts slightly.

Anaïs also picked up a glass, sat down in the chair opposite him, and sipped it slowly, without disturbing his thoughts.

The only sounds in the room were the soft crackling of the fireplace and the occasional sips of coffee by the two people.

After a while, Green put down his cup and looked at Anaïs.

Do you know about Emperor Rosell?

Anaïs put down her coffee cup, a hint of surprise on her face.

"Emperor Roselle? Of course I know him."

She sat up straight, her tone carrying the awe and curiosity characteristic of someone discussing legendary historical figures. "The greatest monarch in Intis's history, no, perhaps one of the most dazzling figures in the modern history of the entire Northern Continent. He unified Intis, implemented far-reaching reforms, established a vast empire, left behind countless legends, and those controversial later years."

She paused, as if organizing her thoughts: "The port authority's archives also contain some records about trade and navigation policies during his time. My grandfather's manuscripts occasionally mention that era, describing it as an extraordinary period where rules were established and broken, and order and chaos intertwined."

She looked at Green, her eyes probing. "Why are you suddenly asking about him? Is it related to the manuscript we saw today? That writing—is it related to him?"

Instead of answering directly, Green continued, "What is the fate of Emperor Roselle in mainstream historical records and folk tales?"

Anaïs frowned slightly, recalling, "The official history and the church usually say that Emperor Roselle fell into some kind of great mental distress in his later years," becoming paranoid and irrational, and ultimately died—well, about 120 years ago?—in an undisclosed court coup, the specific details of which are top secret. Popular legends abound: some say he tried to challenge the gods and perished; others say he discovered a secret he shouldn't have and went mad; still others say he didn't actually die, but simply sleeps somewhere—though these are mostly just idle gossip."

She astutely grasped the crux of the Greene question: "You suspect—the contents of that manuscript point to the true fate of Emperor Roselle? Or, are they related to the legend that he did not die?"

Green nodded, then shook his head, his fingers unconsciously stroking the warm cup.

"It's not just the ending. The language used in that manuscript may very well have some profound connection with Emperor Roselle."

And the content therein,

He spoke slowly, somewhat puzzled, "It mentioned the title 'Black Emperor,' as well as terms like 'resurrection,' 'mark of order,' and 'return.' It's like an observation log, or a warning."

"Black Emperor—" Anaïs repeated the word in a low voice, her face turning slightly pale.

Even without a deep understanding of the extraordinary world, this title, imbued with an ominous and ultimate sense of authority, is enough to evoke an instinctive fear.

"This doesn't sound like the title of an ordinary historical figure. Is it... a symbol of some high status?"

"Most likely."

Greene confirmed her guess, "In the realm of mysticism, certain specific and powerful titles are often associated with unimaginable beings and powers. If 'The Black Emperor' truly refers to Emperor Roselle, then what he encountered in his later years was probably far more than a simple mental illness or political struggle."

He paused, allowing Anaïs to process the information, before posing a more crucial question: "Anaïs, besides mentioning that era, did your grandfather's manuscripts contain any more specific details about locations or objects related to Roselle?"

Symbols, or—a particular concept of "rules" or "order"? Especially those that seem inconspicuous or contradict mainstream accounts?

Anaïs fell into deep thought, her fingers lightly tapping her forehead.

"Let me think—there's not much direct mention of Rosell himself. But regarding 'rules' and 'order'—my grandfather was indeed very interested in the various new institutions, codes, and even standards of weights and measures established in that era. In one of his notes, he mentioned that some seemingly ordinary reforms implemented by Emperor Rosell, such as the new calendar, standard time, the rudiments of a nationwide postal code, and even the rejection and unification of certain ancient architectural styles, may, from a mystical perspective, have the potential effect of 'reshaping our understanding of reality' and 'establishing a unified field of order'—"

Her eyes gradually brightened, as if piecing together fragments: "You mean, the actions of Emperor Roselle during his lifetime might themselves be a kind of—a massive, real-world ritual or imprint? And the resurrection of the 'Black Emperor' requires these imprints as a foundation?"

Green secretly admired Anaïs's keen insight.

"This is a reasonable speculation. The manuscript's warning, Mrs. Elliott's emphasis on it, and even the interest of 'Fan Garden' in the manuscript may all stem from this. Emperor Roselle may not have been merely a great monarch; he may have been someone who reached a certain extreme. His 'legacy' goes far beyond the historical assessments of his merits and demerits."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice: "If this conjecture holds true, then what we've come across now—your grandfather's research, that manuscript, the secret collection of the Historical and Archaeological Society, and even the 'Flourishing Garden' mission—may only be the tip of the iceberg. We are touching upon a secret that may have lasted for centuries, about an emperor attempting to transcend death. His 'order' still influences the world, and his 'return' may not be entirely a figment of our imagination."

Anaïs gasped, instinctively glancing around the warm yet somewhat cramped basement, as if sensing a dangerous undercurrent for the first time.

"Then what should we do?!"

Her voice was a little hoarse, "If all of this is true, what we know has already put us in a very dangerous situation."

"Therefore, we need to be more cautious and have more information."

"Your affiliation with the Society is crucial. Try to understand, from an academic perspective, what publicly or semi-public research the Society has done on Russell's era, especially his later years and posthumous affairs. Pay attention to any seemingly contradictory or vague points. But remember, do not directly inquire about the 'Black Emperor' or anything related to his resurrection; that's too sensitive."

"I see."

Anaïs nodded solemnly. "I'll start with historical documents and conventional semiotics. And you? Mrs. Elliott's suggestion—"

"I will accept it, but conditionally."

Green stated his decision after careful consideration: "I need her to provide more information about the manuscript's provenance, as well as specific measures to ensure my absolute confidentiality. At the same time, I will control the depth and scope of my interpretation. We must figure out whether Mrs. Elliott is trying to use us to unravel the mystery, or—she also has her own deeper plans in this game."

He picked up his slightly cooled coffee and downed the remaining dark brown liquid in one gulp. The just-right bitterness seemed to help him untangle this mess. He glanced up at the old-fashioned clock on the wall; the brass hands pointed to four in the afternoon.

"The snow seems to have lessened a bit, but the roads are definitely going to be difficult to travel." Green put down his cup and said to Anaïs, "You should head home early and be careful on the road. We'll contact you again tomorrow."

Anaïs checked the time, nodded, and got up to pack her things. She put on a thick coat, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and looked at Green again with obvious worry in her eyes. "You—be careful too. Contact me immediately if anything happens."

"I will." Green gave her a reassuring look.

After seeing Anaïs off, listening to the sound of her footsteps fading into the distance, Green didn't move immediately. He stood there, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the fireplace, as if lost in thought.

The only sound in the room was the crackling of burning firewood.

After about a minute, he slowly turned around, without looking up, and said calmly to the empty room, "Come out, there's no need to hide anymore."

After he finished speaking, the room fell silent except for the sound of the flames.

A few seconds later, a slight rustling sound came from under the bed in the inner room, which Anaïs had been using as a makeshift bedroom. Then, a cat, entirely black except for its eyes which gleamed a ghostly green in the dim light, silently emerged. It leaped lightly onto the table, sat down in front of Green, and tilted its head.

Then, under Green's calm gaze, the black cat's form began to blur, elongate, and change. Its black fur faded, transforming into a form-fitting black fabric, and its petite body stretched out, finally becoming a slender girl dressed in black bodysuits. She had neat short black hair, fair skin, and a delicate face with a feline cunning and alertness—she was Lillian, the contact person for "Flourishing Garden."

"Meow~" She first let out a habitual meow, then spoke in a clear, human girl's voice, "Looks like you've had quite a haul, Mr. Grimm. Mission complete?"

Her gaze swept across Green's face, trying to catch any hint of emotion.

Green didn't answer directly, but instead pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his coat.

The paper was ordinary notebook paper, on which the contents of the document were clearly recorded in slightly hurried handwriting.

He handed the paper to Lillian.

Lillian took it, glanced at it quickly, and a hint of undisguised surprise flashed in her eyes. She looked up, her gaze towards Green now filled with scrutiny and—a trace of barely perceptible apprehension.

"I never expected—" She paused, lowering her voice, "that you could actually do it. Not only did you see it, but you were also able to write it down from memory—such complex, non-standard symbols, and in such a short time."

She carefully examined the symbols on the paper, her fingertips gently brushing across the ink.

"This can't be explained simply by having a good memory. Mr. Green, it seems you have more secrets than we anticipated."

Green neither confirmed nor denied her assessment, only asking casually, "Can you confirm the contents? Is this what you're looking for?"

Lillian didn't answer immediately. She held the paper closer to the fireplace light, examining it more closely, her lips moving silently, as if trying to spell or compare it with some information in her memory. After a moment, she nodded, then shook her head.

"The symbol system is correct; it's a specific variant of ciphertext," and the source indeed points to that unspeakable era and that being.

However, based solely on these few keywords,

She pointed to several symbol combinations that she had highlighted on the paper, "It's already worth the cost of this operation."

She looked at Green, her gaze sharpening: "I overheard some of your later conversation. The Black Emperor."

"Emperor Roselle—resurrected? You've got some nerve, daring to delve into secrets of this level."

"A secret has come to us."

Green corrected him: "Now, my part is done. What about what you promised? Who killed my aunt? Where is Emily?"

Lillian shrugged, her movements seemingly effortless, but her eyes were unusually serious.

"Literal meaning. She ran away."

Ok?

What does that mean?

Green was suddenly stunned. His brain seemed to have been hit hard by those few light words. After a moment of blankness, he felt an unbelievable absurdity and chill.

Lillian means—Amélie is the murderer? She killed her own mother?

No, that's impossible!

"What did you say?" Green's voice trembled slightly.

"You heard me right," Lillian said, looking at the fire in the fireplace. "Because I went to see you that day and happened to witness the whole thing, but it wasn't what you expected."

"Your aunt sacrificed herself willingly. I guess—she couldn't escape the pain of losing her husband, and perhaps she was carrying some other burden that we don't know about."

She sighed softly, her voice lowering, "For an assassin to achieve a promotion, they need to complete a specific ritual related to death. And your aunt seemed to know something, or perhaps she sensed something. When that moment came, she didn't resist, didn't cry for help, and even—it was as if she was guiding and cooperating."

Green felt a tightness in his throat, wanting to say something but having no idea how to say it.

Auntie—sacrificed herself? For Emily's promotion?

This caused him a deeper, more profound turmoil than a simple murder. He knew his aunt had been depressed ever since his uncle's death, but—

"Does Emily know? She—did all of this consciously?" Green's voice was extremely dry.

"That's the problem, and that's why she 'ran away.'"

Lillian leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice, "Emily was in a very—abnormal state at that moment. There was pain and struggle in her eyes, but she was driven more by instinct. She carried out the act, but I'm not sure if she was completely herself at that moment."