Chapter Twelve

"Well, now, there are simply too many detectable changes in consciousness," Dylan muttered. But before he could relay this information to the other team members, Kurt stepped forward and pressed the main switch on the communication system.

The red light beside the switch flickered out, and the communication line was severed.

"What’s going on?" Dylan looked at Kurt in surprise. "I need to contact the others. The situation is far from optimistic."

"No need," Kurt replied coolly. He leaned back against the inner wall of the van, shifting his gaze to the laptop he had been fiddling with earlier.

The screen displayed several images—different types of tire tracks imprinted on the road.

"Need? Need what?" Dylan’s confusion deepened. "I can explain it to you." He gestured toward the machine’s screen. "Those three-dimensional models—all generated through spiritual projection. Some are in the large room on the first floor, some upstairs, some in the basement. And that one, the largest, behind the house, it looks like a labyrinth. None of this is normal. Even though I’ve only just started studying spiritual science, I can tell how extraordinary this spirit is. Let’s not even mention why it possesses such a vast total consciousness—just the ability to simultaneously carry out multiple projections proves it’s not simple.”

"Those things," Kurt raised a hand and pointed casually at the display, "are any of them lethal?"

Dylan hesitated. "I... I don’t know how to answer that." He glanced at the screen, then back at Kurt. "By nature, spirits tend to be harmful to humans." He slowed his speech. "You understand, right? We’re talking about the lives of the other team members: Steven, Lannie, Zi’ang, and even Miss Walton."

Kurt nodded.

"I know this isn’t part of your plan, even though no one knows what your plan is," Dylan continued. "But the safest course right now is to recall everyone and temporarily withdraw from this area. It’s not that I doubt Miss Walton’s abilities—modern literature almost always cites her name—it’s just, we don’t know how powerful this spirit truly is."

Kurt closed the laptop and looked at Dylan. "Thank you for your analysis," he said. "To shut you up, let me say a few words. Two things happened today. Before Donald came home, it was just a simple homicide. I know who the killer is, how the victim died, and all the ‘what happened, where, and when.’ Then, at a later point, a spirit got involved, complicating matters. I could tell you everything about the case, and reveal my plan, but it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t change anything. On one point, you’re right—the spirit is not ordinary. I could share the relevant information with the others, but that would only lead them to be killed by the spirit. What you’re doing, on the other hand, is truly important. All the data you’ve collected will be invaluable once the mission is over. So, keep going. Don’t let anything distract you."

Dylan stared at Kurt for a few seconds before finally snapping out of it and averting his gaze. "Fine, alright. But there’s one more thing." He pressed several buttons on the console in succession. "The scarecrow on the screen is the spirit’s projection object, the blade of light was created by Steven, and at this moment it seems the former has absorbed the latter. Spirits don’t grow or regenerate consciousness like humans do; once formed, their total consciousness can only decrease, never increase. But in the guild’s database, an article called ‘Elementary Spiritual Science’ mentions a rare projection ability called ‘Peripheral Absorption’..."

Kurt smiled, reopened his laptop, and placed a finger to his lips.

Outside the van, dense rain cascaded from the sky over the wasteland.

In the curtain of rain, Amelia was being forced back, step by step, by a blue blade of light.