The Meeting

Ji Ning had a vivid memory of the old man standing before him. He had watched the recording of the freshman ceremony several times—not every headmaster would get so drunk at such an event. Thus, every new student remembered Birmingham. Ji Ning stopped, bowed his head, and greeted him.

“Hello, young man,” Birmingham replied with a gentle smile, as kindly as a grandfather to his grandson.

“Good day, esteemed Headmaster Birmingham. Is there something you need?” Ji Ning felt uneasy under that smile, but the etiquette ingrained in him since childhood compelled him to use honorifics.

“Perhaps you saw me at the opening ceremony. You may simply call me Headmaster Birmingham.” Birmingham seemed unbothered by the hint of hostility in Ji Ning’s response. In fact, he silently admired him—so reminiscent of his own younger self, proud and untamed, yet powerful. Although to his senses the boy before him appeared weak, Birmingham harbored no doubts about a student who could stride across campus with an alchemical weapon slung over his shoulder. Only the naive or the truly arrogant would act with such brazenness.

Unbeknownst to Ji Ning, the old man had already marked him as a promising student. Ji Ning himself only wanted to end this conversation swiftly, to finish the small errand Senior Irina had assigned him: taking the alchemical weapon to the research lab to supplement the Hebrew pantheon’s enchantments. Such a high-level weapon was far beyond his current capabilities, and the seal Irina had left on the sword would only last another half hour. He was, understandably, in a hurry.

The atmosphere at Deer Academy was always rather laid-back. Aside from the necromancers, pale-faced and hunched in their formal garb due to the nature of their studies, most students laughed and bantered like ordinary undergraduates. Yet a keen observer would never call them slackers—the aura about them was more like that of lions lounging after a meal, their eyes flashing coldly from time to time, right hands always poised at their waists to draw a weapon at the first sign of trouble. At the slightest disturbance, their sharpness would flare.

Instinctively, Ji Ning kept his distance from these dangerous types. He avoided the main avenue of the academy, choosing instead a secluded forest path. As far as he knew, only the idle students who spent their days debating the Seventh Faith’s theology ever passed this way. Unfortunately, that also made him stand out to the old scoundrel who had picked him.

“Fortunate little deer, the academy has decided to give you an opportunity—a major trial, a chance for greatness.” Birmingham did his best to seem harmless. Though he was no longer of an age to be called a heartbreaker, he was always confident in his control of his own expression.

“Sorry, Headmaster Birmingham. I’ve just enrolled—I’m certain I lack the strength for any trial,” Ji Ning refused without hesitation. Ever since learning the world was not as peaceful as it seemed, he had approached everything with caution. He knew he was not ready to be involved in supernatural affairs. Survival was paramount.

Birmingham looked disappointed, even a little wounded. Had the academy declined so far that only freshmen dared carry weapons openly on campus? When he was a student, the grounds were full of maniacs toting demon-hunting crossbows and flame-shaped swords, ready for a hunt at any moment, striding out in broad daylight. Anyone sneaking about would likely be dispatched by some righteous soul. Birmingham sighed, but he didn’t intend to let Ji Ning go. For the sake of caution, every possible factor that might alert the board of trustees had to be eliminated.

He glanced at Ji Ning. “It’s only a minor reconnaissance task. I assure you, in the name of the academy, there’s no danger at all.”

“I must decline,” Ji Ning replied, turning to leave. Even if there really was nothing amiss, better to avoid any trouble. He had no time for the ramblings of an old man, especially one who was a master of the supernatural. The elderly always loved to reminisce, and if he overheard some ancient secret that should have been erased by time—who would he turn to for justice if he got silenced for it?

“An old man of my standing would never let a student’s secrets slip, but if I happen to drink too much tonight, who knows what might happen? I’ll be resting in the old dormitory, room C-601, until seven this evening,” sighed Birmingham, walking away slowly with his hands behind his back.

Ji Ning paused, then resumed dragging the greatsword onward.

Birmingham watched Ji Ning’s retreating figure, a wily smile playing on his lips. “Young deer, who comes to Deer Academy without secrets?” He strolled away, every step that of a lion patrolling his domain, supremely confident.

Ji Ning squinted after the old fox until he vanished from sight. Was this old bastard planning to hand him back to the Foundation? On his way to the weapons lab, Ji Ning kept pondering an escape from Three Portlands, but ultimately lacked the courage to attempt a runaway adventure in a foreign land.

Making up some excuse, he parted swiftly from Senior Irina, deciding to see what game the old fox was playing. Though Irina had clearly noticed his anxiety, she did not press him. The fearsome sword sat quietly in her hands, as docile as a fruit knife. She bowed her head, stroking the blade gently, seemingly indifferent to Ji Ning’s unease. Only after he left did she stretch and shake her head at the closed door, like a parent helpless in the face of a naughty child.

In the old dormitory, room C-601, four young people with grim faces sat in silence around a round table, each lost in their own thoughts.

Birmingham pushed open the half-closed door, entered with a gentleman’s bow and a cheerful smile. None of them responded. They simply watched him coldly, saying nothing. At least three of the four had considered silencing him for good, but dismissed the thought as soon as it arose. If the world’s anomalies couldn’t manage it, how could they? If they could, the headmaster’s position would be theirs.

They faced a master who had survived the Seventh Occult War, a living peak of humanity’s achievements in the supernatural. Though he seemed just a frivolous old man, they all knew that merely living to old age in this business spoke volumes.

“Well, why don’t you each introduce yourselves?” Birmingham paid their frostiness no mind, drew up a chair, and sat down without a trace of headmasterly airs. In Ji Ning’s eyes, he looked no different from the old men in city parks, setting down their birdcages to play chess.

A young black man with dreadlocks spoke up first: “My name is Carl Sewell, specializing in modern firearms combat.”

“I’m Afra Schultz, currently studying Ancient Uralic under Professor Anna.” Seated near the door, a girl with a long red ponytail replied with lively energy. Her rimless glasses framed pale blue eyes that darted around the room. With her cherubic face, she resembled a delicate creation—God sculpted her with dollops of sweet cream and glistening honey.

“Katherine Ivanova, computer and tactical analysis,” said the blond girl beside Afra, her skin pale and gaze icy, reminiscent of Siberian snows. Yet her beauty defied description: the proud bridge of her nose, skin white as milk, irises an almost translucent blue, and her long, shimmering golden hair fell in graceful arcs under the sunlight. At first sight, one saw nothing else—the world faded to a wasteland and all that remained was this elfin girl.

“Ji Ning, support combat.” Ji Ning answered cautiously. The rear was always safer than the front lines. There was no shame in treasuring one’s life; what deserved scorn was blind arrogance that endangered the team.

“Young people never know how to warm up, but you’ll get used to each other,” Birmingham mused, distributing files to everyone.

Ji Ning stared in confusion at the strange cover—a crest etched with twisted symbols that seemed to mock the ignorance of life, like the relic of some bizarre cult.

Carl, the young black man, clearly knew more than Ji Ning. He leapt up, shouting in his native dialect, agitated. Ji Ning ignored his outburst, flipping through the file instead. His grasp of the academy’s lingua franca was poor, but two crooked words stood out: cannibalism.

“Dear Carl, you ought to learn from our Eastern friend here. Why the fuss?” Birmingham exhaled a smoke ring, unconcerned.

Calming down, Carl switched to the common tongue, and this time Ji Ning understood: “The Cult of the Flesh is not our problem. You should call in the GOC or the Foundation.”

“This file was borrowed from the Foundation,” Birmingham replied smugly, his tone making clear what sort of ‘borrowing’ he meant. “Level Four access isn’t given lightly. Even I, as headmaster, had to jump through hoops.”

“I don’t want the Foundation after me. You can handle this yourselves; I’m out,” Carl said, not even touching the file, preparing to leave.

“Who would believe that someone walking out of this room hadn’t read the files?” Birmingham’s gaze was steady as he fixed on Carl, who finally sat back down. Everyone knew: if the Foundation suspected you of something, you’d better make sure you actually did it.

“Then, the Crete Project officially begins. Any objections?” Birmingham took a slow drag on his cigar, feeling the blood surge in his veins, excitement welling up as if he were young once more, everything still under control. The only response was the soft rustle of turning pages.