The nighttime streets were nearly devoid of human figures.
The occasional passerby lacked the leisure to admire the snow at night, typically just on their way home.
For ordinary people, nighttime safety relied mostly on luck; although not every venture outdoors guaranteed trouble, it was certainly different from the daytime.
It symbolized uncertainty and danger.
Walking in such a snowy night, Ronald and Patricia were not in a particular hurry.
More than safety concerns, they were worried about the cult magicians of Berlingwich.
The seriousness with which the official forces were responding meant that in the silent darkness of the city this evening, there would surely be undercurrents stirring.
One could only hope that Berlingwich’s investigators would handle the situation smoothly.
Stepping on the snow that had started to accumulate, their footsteps gradually receded into the distance.
Not until they were two blocks away from the wooded path and saw that it was deserted and safe did Patricia speak first:
"That original script at the train station last time, it was you who took it, wasn’t it?"
Ronald nodded freely, without any intention of hiding it from the girl:
"I collected the original script right away that day. When the agency’s people arrived later, it seemed they treated the incident as part of the cult magicians’ attack and didn’t suspect us."
Even so, the person Ronald should be most thankful to for preserving the original script was Patricia.
At the registration into Berlingwich, if the girl had so much as hinted at the word ’original script’, the agency’s focus on the train station incident would have been worlds apart.
it would have been difficult for him to keep the original script as nonchalantly as he was doing now.
Hearing Ronald’s forthright response, Patricia nodded her face unchanged, then continued:
"So, what do you plan to do with this original script next?"
Ronald didn’t answer immediately.
Facing a companion with whom he had shared dangers, he thought seriously for a few seconds before speaking earnestly:
"The original script’s power is incredibly strong, and its effects when it runs rampant are even more dangerous, so currently, I don’t want these precious things to fall into some weird people’s hands; I rather intend to protect them."
Honestly, due to the influence of the ’lifetime’ of work he had done before crossing over, Ronald had quite a fondness for those original scripts that affected human society’s history and even its civilization’s development.
This fondness wasn’t the worship of power, like ’I turret because its caliber is big!’, but more like ’This postmodern abstract painting is wonderful, it’s just a pity that most people can’t appreciate it.’
Moreover, these original scripts were almost guaranteed to be dangerous to people if they were not deciphered.
The lifeless bones in Black Mountain, the temporal disarray affecting the train station.
Ronald still could not forget these things.
Walking beside Ronald, Patricia chuckled at this novel answer.
"To protect the original script..."
This was the first time she had met someone with such a perspective about the original scripts.
In this world, among members of the mystical side, the craving for original scripts was nearly universal; the aim was typically to strengthen their school or to make a profit or some such thing.
Her interest in the person before her intensified:
"Ronald, tell me about your school."
"What kind of organization is the Copenhagen School, exactly?"
"The Copenhagen School, huh..."
Ronald’s gaze seemed a bit vacant, and he couldn’t help but scratch his head.
Nevertheless, bracing himself, he brought out an explanation he had prepared a long time ago, meant to be used on the agency:
"Although we cannot do without the source text, my school is essentially not about gaining power..."
Suddenly, Ronald broke off his speech.
He fell silent, his eyes fixated on a street heading west, where the lights spread out into the distance on the snowy night, paving the road with a deep yellow hue. It seemed as if something noteworthy had appeared in the depths.
Seeing this, Patricia subconsciously tightened her grip on the umbrella in her hand.
Keeping her voice to a level only they could hear, the girl asked,
"Ronald, did you find something?"
Ronald, his expression somber, nodded:
"There’s a problem over there."
"You know my capabilities, there seems to be an act of betrayal happening there."
In fact, it had just happened.
The sin of ’betrayal,’ as mentioned in the "Divine Comedy - Hell," had been captured by the source text.
According to Ronald’s experience, it was hard for the actions of ordinary people to trigger an activation of the source text to the required extent.
The activation of the previous three powers had generally been due to the presence of mystical individuals experiencing intense emotional fluctuations—that’s when the "Divine Comedy" would respond.
So the conclusion was quite simple.
On this street to the west, was someone from the mystical side betraying others?
Considering the bureau’s operations this evening, it was impossible to ignore the significance of this behavior.
Patricia fell silent too.
No one was a fool; realizing such a thing at this time made the result all too obvious.
Ronald didn’t remain silent for too long, less than a minute. After ensuring there were no individuals dressed like investigators visible on the street, he silently summoned the source text within his sleeve.
Then, an almost imperceptible incantation was slowly recited:
The dark water flows down, to the base of the dim and precipitous cliff.
I stopped and gazed attentively,
Seeing that the swamp was full of people, smeared with filth,
They were all naked, as if their anger had not subsided..."
The night became the perfect cover for the power of the Divine Comedy.
In addition to the mist concealed beneath the coat, more darkness began to spread in places the streetlights could not reach. The clouds in the sky obscured the stars and the moon, making tonight’s darkness much more profound than usual.
Then, Ronald walked towards the west side of the street.
The lurking mist, like attendants guarding a king, swirled forward around him.
However, to prevent ordinary people from accidentally discovering the existence of the mist, Ronald still carefully controlled the amount, making sure they didn’t escape his attention.
Then, he spoke to the girl beside him:
"I’ll go take a look, Patricia, you..."
He stopped mid-sentence.
In the dark snowy night, Ronald’s advance did not cause snowflakes to fall on his head.
Almost at the same time, Patricia came over with her umbrella.
Even more eye-catching was the girl grasping the black umbrella with one hand and forcefully drawing something from the bottom end with the other.
Along with the low hum of the sword blade, a medium-length rapier was drawn out.
Patricia, holding the metal-crafted sharp edge, smiled nonchalantly at Ronald:
"It’s safer with more people."