Bathed in the glow of dusk, Kabas Town seemed peaceful and serene. The setting sun painted the town's unique blue rooftops a warm shade of orange—it was breathtaking.
At that moment, an archaeological team of twelve was gathered in the town's only tavern, sitting around a large table and discussing matters.
"Mr. Wallace, are you certain this town is worth investigating?
"We've been walking here for a whole day, and aside from a few seemingly ancient ballads, we've found nothing!
"This is just an ordinary town—its history only spans a few hundred years."
A middle-aged man with thinning hair but a spirited look downed a cup of coarse ale and complained to the young man sitting at the head of the table.
That youth was no older than twenty-one or twenty-two, his blond hair slicked neatly back, his face handsome, his suit from an expensive brand, and his accessories carefully chosen. One glance was enough to tell his identity was far from ordinary.
His name was Jishengk Wallace, a graduate of Stone University's History Department, and the sponsor as well as initiator of this archaeological expedition.
The complaining middle-aged man was Associate Professor Mosal Siyatri, also from the History Department.
"Don't be impatient, Mr. Mosal... you've studied the ballads here. Perhaps the secret of this town only reveals itself at night," Mr. Wallace replied with a gentle smile, his demeanor elegant enough to draw the lingering glances of the two young ladies at the table.
The two ladies were both quite young. One was Smine, a grassroots priestess of the Church of the Evernight, about eighteen or nineteen years old. Since archaeological teams often encountered strange phenomena, having a clergyperson in the group was standard practice.
The other was younger still. Baby fat had not yet completely left her face, though her features were fine and beautiful, her brown hair long and naturally curly.
Her name was Elizabeth, a native of Tingen. She was the daughter of an import-export merchant and a titled lady.
In hopes of broadening her daughter's social circle and introducing her to more promising young men, Elizabeth's mother had not let her apply to a local university in Tingen. Instead, through her own father—a baron—she obtained a letter of recommendation for Stone University.
Elizabeth herself, fascinated by the supernatural due to past experiences, had carefully chosen the History Department.
Her mother had no objections. After all, her intent was not for her daughter to truly learn much.
Thus, at the start of the year, Elizabeth moved in with her grandfather in Stone and became a student under Professor Mosal.
This time, she had followed her teacher out for "fieldwork."
—At that time, history and archaeology were still inseparable, both housed in the same faculty.
As Elizabeth listened to Mr. Wallace conversing confidently with her teacher, she found it strange. His tone, accent, even gestures hadn't changed at all, yet somehow he felt... warmer than before.
She glanced at the others but noticed no significant differences.
"Was it just an illusion?" Elizabeth thought with a faint sense of unease.
The gentleman beside her seemed to sense her mood. Adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, he asked kindly, "Miss Elizabeth, are you feeling unwell?"
This man was Dast Goodrian, a doctor by profession, and like her, from Tingen. She had no idea why he had joined this archaeological team. He seemed distant from both Wallace's group and the academy faction.
Yes, in Elizabeth's eyes, the twelve could be divided into three camps:
The "Academics," led by Professor Mosal, which included herself and two senior students, four in total.
The "Patrons," led by Mr. Wallace, with Smine and his four attendants, making six.
And lastly, the latecomers, Dast Goodrian and Stephen Humphreys—acquainted with Wallace but not closely so.
Being from Tingen herself, Elizabeth had already spoken with Dast before. Now, hearing his concern, she smiled faintly and shook her head: "It's nothing... Perhaps I've just never stayed overnight outside home before. I only feel a little uneasy."
Dast hesitated for a moment before lowering his voice: "When the sun sets completely, something may change... Be careful. If you find yourself in danger, you can come to me."
Sir, don't you realize how suspicious that sounds? Elizabeth muttered inwardly, though she knew he meant no ill. Her anxiety, however, only deepened.
She subconsciously touched the amulet hanging at her chest—crafted by Melissa's brother when he was still alive, and given to her by Melissa before leaving Tingen.
Having witnessed some of that man's miraculous feats, Elizabeth cherished the amulet dearly, wearing it always.
As a "Telepathist," Dast naturally noticed her motion. He opened his spiritual vision briefly, then said softly with a small smile, "There's a trace of spiritual power left in that amulet, but its effect is weak now. It can only ward off minor wraiths."
Elizabeth had intended to dismiss his words, but seeing his confident tone, unease stirred in her heart. Almost instinctively, she blurted out, "It was crafted by Klein. I believe he will shelter me from the Goddess's divine kingdom."
Only after speaking did she realize her slip. She quickly pressed her lips together.
Dast, however, froze briefly before murmuring in an almost wistful voice, "Klein... You mean Klein Moretti?"
Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise. She didn't answer, but her pale-blue gaze betrayed her thoughts clearly enough: You knew Klein?
"Of course I knew him... If not for his sacrifice... Forget it, let's not talk about this..." Dast looked her over again, then lowered his voice even further: "Since you're his friend, I must warn you again. This town's nights are extremely dangerous. Keep close watch on the villagers—follow their lead and hide until dawn."
It sounds like Mr. Dast knows the real cause of Klein's death... Elizabeth thought of her friend Melissa, still searching desperately for clues. She gave Dast a thoughtful look, silently noting his warning.
Neither of them realized that when they mentioned "Klein," the sponsor at the head of the table—Mr. Wallace—briefly cast his gaze their way before looking back.
At the same time, a young man of twenty-one or twenty-two with neatly combed blond hair suddenly found himself in a classroom-like space.
While he was still confused, words appeared on the blackboard: "Welcome to Alvin Abraham's Riddle Labyrinth. Here is the first question..."
(End of this chapter)