Chapter 98 - Another Researcher?

So he phrased his question a little differently, "Irene, you said that Ambrose used a 'similar' Observation Record to learn his acceleration-related Vision. Are there many that share this similarity?"

"Yes. There are quite a few."

.

.

.

That's all? But he had already given up on keeping any face, so he pushed harder, "Which ones?"

She wagged the index finger of her free hand, "Unh unh, can't tell you. Even after what you've done at that station, your clearance is not high enough to learn secrets like these."

Vern tilted his head, "Secrets?"

"Mhm. Observers have to risk their lives to find Visions that might have synergy with some Observation record. Most people aren't stupid enough to randomly imprint the Vision of a completely different record on their perception. It's like trying to split your perception into two."

Interesting. That means they go through trial and error to figure out what works and what doesn't? That suggested they didn't know about the underlying link.

"Some similarities are readily apparent, especially those grounded in the same underlying concept. Consider fire, for instance. However, most aren't so obvious. Whenever someone uncovers Visions that can be mixed and matched from various records, these insights are typically guarded as top-tier secrets within their organizations."

Vern nodded slowly. "Does Vigil have any that I can see? If not, how high of a clearance do I need?" He would have to analyze at least a couple visions to verify his conjecture about this 'shareability' being related to the eight octants of Fundamentalism.

She shrugged, "I don't really know your exact clearance. You'll have to go get a gemstone from the Resource Allocation Hall, but I'm guessing it isn't high enough."

"To see anything with clearance higher than a third shade, you'd need to go through the confidentiality ritual. Sooo if you haven't performed it already, you aren't getting anything from Vigil that can be called a real secret."

Vern clicked his tongue. That was unfortunate. What was this confidentiality ritual? Why a 'ritual?' Right as he parted his lips to ask that, her glare came back in full force.

"Don't you dare! I know what you're going to ask, but you better save it for the right people." She then swept back her hair and added with a haughty tone, "I know I am the most knowledgeable person around, but that doesn't mean I'll answer everything."

Vern restrained his words, observing the wave cascade through her lengthy tresses. He had never really seen such long hair in his life. Driven by curiosity and aiming to alleviate her irritation, he instead inquired, "Irene…how do you walk around with such long hair?"

The edge of her ruby lips curled upwards, "Guess."

He squinted, "Braid them, then bunch them into a bun?"

She scoffed, "You lack creativity, Vern." She moved her hand to the edge of her sketchbook and grabbed all the pages. Without any effort, she held all of them up and drew something on the canvas underneath.

Those silky white strands began shrinking from their edges as she rocked her head right and left. Dropping the stack of pages back, she eyed him with that cheeky look.

Vern shook his head, disappointment etched across his features. As expected of her, I guess?

She ignored his look and started putting what could only be called the final touches on the painting. It looked like she had finished with the form and his outline, no longer needing her 'art model' as frequently.

Vern felt a weird sense of urgency. He still had a few burning questions. There was no way he could let her go just like this.

So he asked with his most innocent voice, "Irene…I am a Fundamentalist, so I was hoping to do some comparative analysis between Observation records. Do you think I can be allowed to view some of them?"

She flapped her dangling feet and wailed loudly, "Aghh! That old man didn't pay me enough for this!"

Did I go too far? He thought, scratching his head. But then he noticed something off with her words.

"Old man? Paid you? Not me?"

She halted almost instantly and turned towards him with a guilty face that was also three parts smug.

"Oops…"

Vern squinted his eyes, quickly coming to a damning conclusion, "Captain Shinsei bribed you?"

She gave him a bright smile, "What do you mean bribe? It was the tuition fee!"

He knew something was off when she offered to answer his questions without him needing to beg for it. So Captain Shinsei really felt guilty about not being able to answer us, huh?

Vern gave her a side-eye, "Isn’t me sitting here also the 'tuition fee?'"

"Yes. I am expensive," she nodded repeatedly with a mischievous grin.

"…"

Vern just bore down with his scrutinizing gaze until she started fidgeting, not daring to make eye contact.

.

.

.

"Aghh. Okay. Okay. I'll answer this one question. That's it!"

"Five," he demanded in a deep voice.

"Two! No more than that!"

"Four."

"…"

.

.

.

"THREE! I'll fight you if you can't accept this compromise!"

"Sounds good," Vern nodded with a smile, his menacing expression changing instantly.

He could see she liked being dramatic and wasn't all that frustrated, or there was no way he would have pushed her this hard.

Pouting, she turned back to the painting and answered, "Yeah, you should be able to check out the first sequence of the low clearance Records that we have. Don't ask me which ones. Your gem will make sure it all works out."

Vern rejoiced. As long as he could figure out the fundamental core reasoning behind how Observation Records helped one mold their viewpoints, he should be in a better position to make judgments for his own case.

So he moved on to the question that had been gnawing at him for quite a while, "Irene…what are your thoughts on Kingsmen's Bloodborne Infusion Art? Do you think an Observer should risk transfusing the Old blood?"

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Her hand, which worked the magic of the brush, stopped, and she replied after a while, "I would've done it if I had the option."

What is that phrasing? Is that to say she can't have it even if she wanted to? he mused. That could only mean one thing. She must be a noble. Not that it wasn't quite obvious already.

And Kingsmen can't pass on their art to nobles.

Vern waited for her to continue, and this time, she did, "You'll have another guillotine of thirst for blood hanging over your head besides the whispers, but the new improvements that have appeared in their bodies since Duskfall are very much worth it."

Then, she dropped her shoulders and scolded him, "I told you I'd only answer two questions, but you had to go and ask something that needs extra context to make sense. You filthy man!"

Vern scratched his head. How was I supposed to know?

She sighed and took off her poncho. Not sure what she was doing, he watched on, "Well, you see, us Observers have this stupid situation where if we're not careful, we can permanently alter our bodies to match our Viewpoints in an awkward way."

Beneath that splattered poncho, she wore a pure white nightgown. Pulling up a sleeve, she revealed her smooth pale white arm and turned it towards him. Under the moonlight, it appeared ordinary, but she kept receding the sleeve until Vern saw something…disturbing.

Starting from her elbow, a twisted multi-colored pattern ran up to her shoulder, the tints underneath blending and swirling like a living palette. Her upper arm seemed to be a waxy canvas of vibrant hues, each stroke creating an ethereal shade.

Vern asked in a low voice, horrified, "Does it hurt? Are you…okay?"

"Mhm, I don't feel much of...anything," she whispered. "Another drawback of being too hasty, I guess."

She pulled the sleeve down and donned the poncho right back before continuing, "Well, if I had the infusion of something as potent as Old blood, there's no way my body would have turned this subjective."

So the physical body becoming too much like one's viewpoint could be an issue, too?

.

.

.

One has to strike a balance in something like this as well, it seems. That was another pitfall to look out for in the future.

Vern voiced hesitatingly, "Can Kingsmen not make exceptions to the rule?"

She rested her head on her shoulder and replied while looking at the stained-glass window, "They can't. The blood fundamentalists that pioneered the art collected the blood of all major noble families and did something to the infusion liquid that nullifies the effect of the blood in our bodies."

Vern furrowed his brows. That was some dedication to prohibit the nobility from infusing the blood.

The only solution in this case would be to collect the Old blood from its source and reverse engineer the infusion art. Which won't just be treasonous but also impossibly hard without those Fundamentalists.

Not a viable path at all.

"Anyways, it doesn't matter. The point is that the blood could be very beneficial to Observers the way it has developed."

But Vern remained unconvinced. "Don't you find it…frightening? The thought of transfusing blood from some mysterious being? There’s got to be a reason it became so powerful after Duskfall, right? What if that being just decides to drain us dry on a whim someday?"

He was reminded of that scene during Duskfall. The blood of all humans around him flowed towards something beyond the sky, turning the corpses into shriveled husks.

She shifted her head to the other shoulder, "You're making so many assumptions right now."

Was he?

"Old blood doesn't belong to a singular being. It belongs to a race. But if your argument is that their progenitor—if there's one, can manipulate your very body, what makes you think that can't happen right now?"

Vern rubbed his chin. She was right. Wasn't that what killed a third of humanity in one sense? So, who was to say that one blood was better than the other?

"Also, you're forgetting an important point."

"Huh?"

"We're Observers. If you so choose, you can get rid of the old blood in your body. They made a cure long ago, after all."

Vern continued to look at her with a puzzled expression, knowing she'd guess his question. Because if it was possible to do so, why did Mistress Amelia have to kill her colleagues? Couldn't they just 'cure' them instead?

"I know. I know. You really want to go all the way down the rabbit hole, don't you? The Kingsmen can't do it because they've gone far down the path of infusion, and they're mentally…weak without the blood."

Ahh, right. Mistress Amelia said something along these lines, too.

She exhaled deeply, "Look, you don’t have to take my word for it. You’re not the only researcher around, you know? Some rash Observer, a Fundamentalist too, who's already experimented with infusing and extracting this blood from his body, claims it’s totally feasible to ditch the Old Blood."

Vern straightened up on the stool, his interest piqued. The idea that others were also chasing this knowledge was stimulating. He pressed on, "And everything went smoothly for him?"

"Well, if being chained to your bed for a night while raving like a parched lunatic is nothing, then yes. But that was about it. According to the article he shared with all Observer organizations yesterday, there are no lingering effects after a week."

She then chuckled, "The funny part is his reason for flushing out the old blood—he wanted 'consistent experimental conditions' before he infused a higher tier of old blood directly into his system."

That sounded like someone with a death wish—even more so than himself. Yet, it was somewhat comforting to realize he and Lucian weren't the first to experiment with Old Blood.

Surely, this researcher had to be an Observer before the Duskfall while also being a Fundamentalist.

"Who is it?" he asked, his voice tinged with fascination.

Irene narrowed her eyes as if trying hard to remember, but then she gave up and lifted the sketchbook page to draw something.

A file soon appeared on her lap, and she opened it before responding, "Someone named Arlan Carter. Do you know him?"

Vern gasped as he tried to process the words. Soon, he nodded thoughtfully. "He is one of the few surviving Primal Fundamentalists. Those who are said to have first parsed the Insight Sphere under the guidance of Lady Lennix herself."

She squinted, "I don't think he looks that old. But whatever." She clapped loudly, "I am done. You ask me one more question, and I will throw this paint on you."

However, Vern's eyes were glued on that file in her hands. But I can't ask her any more questions.

So he got up and walked towards Irene. She kept an eye on him but continued painting. When he could almost smell her fragrance mixed with that of colors, she quipped, "Hey, I still need to look at you occasionally. I will start charging interest if you don't pay the tuition fee."

Vern rolled his eyes and extended his hand towards the file sitting next to her, "I'll be taking this."

"Wow, so ruuude. What if you don't have the clearance?"

"You'll have to stop me. I can't ask you any more questions, after all," he smirked.

She seemed torn for a couple instants but replied, "Hmm, I guess I can make an exception for this case. Just go back and sit on the stool."

"Whatever you say, miss milady goddess," he chirped, snatching the file.

He could hear her mumbling something behind his back, but he waved it off and began perusing the article as he sat back on the stool.

----------------------------------------

Irene picked up a very wide brush and applied what could only be varnish on the painting as she declared, "All right! I need to go to sleep. Get the hell out of here and get the clearance gem for your badge. I can't babysit you all day."

Vern extricated himself from his ruminations as he grabbed the file and the book—both of which he'd finished reading. Surprisingly, she took quite a long time to finish the painting. There was already a hint of sunlight seeping in from the window. What took her so long?

But instead of admiring the final result, he retreated and hid behind a large shelf before 'asking,' "So I can still come back here and read what I have clearance for, right?"

She weighed the palette in her hand for a bit before sighing, "Obviously. I am not some watchman who sits here all day controlling who reads what. I only did it for you because your presence here without a gem would be a violation." Then she folded her arms and gazed upwards, "At least I managed to draw such a neat piece!"

This reminded Vern of why he'd been sitting without back support for so long. Stretching his back a little, he curiously walked towards Irene.

He had seen the painting at many stages during the process, so he was already aware of its direction. She had a beautiful and realistic art style. So, the end result was going to be lovely as well.

But when he stood behind her tall stool, his breath caught in his throat, a mix of disbelief and awe washing over him. His gaze, initially casual, transformed into an intense, riveted stare as he looked at…himself.

It was as if he was seeing himself for the first time through a new, surreal lens. The vividness of the portrait, the intricate details that captured not just his likeness but the very essence of his being, left him momentarily rooted to the spot, utterly spellbound.

It was that same pose—his face, partially hidden by the book, veiling the lower half of his face and a subtle smile. Moonlight streamed through the stained glass window, casting a blend of light and shadows around him.

But that was only the start. It was as if…as if he could touch it. When he brought his palm closer to the canvas, the painted dust particles shifted away while his hand blocked the moonlight within, casting further shadows on his painted self.

Vern looked at Irene, who was smiling the smuggest smile, and then back at the painting.

He spent a few minutes just taking in the beauty of it, and all he could say at the end was, "It is beautiful."