When Lin Jie and Sergeant William stood together beneath the massive glass dome of King's Cross Station, a wave of heat mixed with steam and the clamor of the crowd washed over them.

This was the heart of the vast railway network of the British Empire, where steel behemoths emitted satisfied roars, pumping countless passengers like blood to every corner of the empire.

Their destination was the distant Scottish county of Inverness-shire, a lengthy journey requiring significant time during this late 19th century period.

The Association had booked them two seats in a first-class carriage, allowing them to avoid the overcrowded, foul-smelling environment of third class.

Guided by a conductor in a crisp uniform, they found their private compartment decorated with heavy velvet curtains and comfortable leather seats.

With a long, mournful whistle, the steam train named "Flying Scotsman" slowly pulled away from London amid violent shaking and clattering sounds.

The outline of this massive city shrouded in fog and conspiracy rapidly receded outside the window, eventually becoming a blurred gray silhouette on the horizon.

Leaning against the soft seat while watching the constantly changing scenery outside, Lin Jie felt an indescribable emotion surge within him.

Just half a month ago, he had been a vagrant struggling to survive in the gutters of White Church District, yet now he sat on this luxurious train representing the pinnacle of industrial civilization as a "professional."

The strange and unpredictable nature of fate was displayed to its fullest extent at this moment.

The train soon left the city limits and entered the vast English countryside.

The scenery outside the window transformed from crowded terraced houses and towering chimneys into emerald green pastures divided by low stone walls into countless squares.

Flocks of sheep grazed leisurely on the grass, occasionally interspersed with several Gothic churches with pointed spires and ancient squire's manors standing quietly on distant hillsides.

This was a world completely different from modern society.

The steam train's speed wasn't particularly fast, giving Lin Jie ample time to appreciate this flowing oil painting.

Unlike Lin Jie's somewhat relaxed and curious mood, Sergeant William sitting opposite him maintained his signature composure.

He didn't look at the scenery outside, nor did he rest with closed eyes, instead meticulously wiping every component of his Winchester M1873 lever-action rifle with linen cloth.

His movements carried a rhythmic quality, as if he wasn't maintaining a cold killing tool but conversing with an old friend who had accompanied him for many years.

"The Zulu War..." Lin Jie finally couldn't help breaking the silence in the compartment while looking at the rifle full of Western and colonial style in William's hands, "I've read about that experience in books."

William's hand wiping the bolt paused slightly.

He looked up at Lin Jie, then returned his gaze to the parts in his hand, his voice devoid of any emotion. "It was war. War is never 'easy'—a foolish game initiated by arrogant bastards, a despicable invasion."

This answer said nothing at all.

But his willingness to speak itself represented a tacit communication gesture.

Lin Jie didn't give up.

He knew that to establish deeper trust with someone like William—reserved in character and filled with inner stories—he must find the key that could touch the hardest barrier in his heart.

"I've read accounts about the Battle of Isandlwana," Lin Jie chose a more specific approach. "Thousands of British soldiers equipped with the most advanced Martini-Henry rifles of the time were defeated by a Zulu army armed only with spears and cowhide shields. That must have shocked the entire empire back then."

This time, William's wiping movements stopped completely.

He slowly raised his head, his eyes revealing extremely complex emotions—a mixture of regret, shame, and a deeply ingrained awe.

"You're right, lad," William's voice became somewhat hoarse. "Those historians and newspaper reporters, they only attribute the defeat to commanders' stupidity or ammunition supply errors."

"But they're wrong. Everyone on the battlefield that day knew we didn't lose to those natives with spears. We lost to... a force we couldn't comprehend."

He paused, as if recalling the nightmare that still haunted him.

"The Zulu war cry... it wasn't just sound. It was something that directly struck your soul, awakening your deepest fears, making your hands tremble uncontrollably, preventing you from performing even the simplest reloading actions."

"Their witch doctors, those Sangomas, performed bloody rituals before battle. On the battlefield, their bodies were covered with symbols we couldn't understand, and their eyes... held no human emotion."

"They're part of the inner world too, just like us," Lin Jie voiced the crucial conclusion for him.

William let out a long sigh.

He reassembled the parts in his hands with a crisp "click," then solemnly placed the freshly maintained rifle back into its gun case.

"After that war, I understood one truth," he looked at Lin Jie, his eyes becoming sharp. "In this world, the deadliest enemies are never the visible weapons before you, but those things you cannot see, cannot understand, and cannot explain with common sense."

"So when I saw you in that warehouse, using mere analysis to throw the monster that had Marcus and me—so-called 'elites'—into confusion, I knew..."

"You and I are the same kind of people. The only difference is I use a gun, while you use your head."

These words dismantled the final barrier between them caused by differences in identity and background.

They had both faced the pure terror brought by supernatural forces and survived such desperate situations using their own methods.

This shared experience was an adhesive that no language could match.

The atmosphere in the compartment became subtle after this brief yet profoundly meaningful conversation.

Silence remained the main theme, but that silence no longer stemmed from unfamiliarity, but from a tacit understanding.

Lin Jie took out the complete translated version of the Cartographer's diary from his luggage and began reading quietly.

He viewed this journey as his final opportunity to strengthen his knowledge reserves before entering a new battlefield.

William closed his eyes, beginning to truly conserve his energy.

Though his body was relaxed, this experienced old wolf could instantly transform back into the deadliest hunter at the slightest disturbance.

The train continued northward, and the scenery outside gradually changed.

England's gently rolling pastoral landscapes were gradually replaced by more rugged, desolate highlands.

The sky became higher and more overcast, with stretches of heather dyeing the moorland a melancholy purple.

They were entering the ancient Scottish Highlands, steeped in Celtic legends and clan feuds.

In the evening, a well-dressed conductor brought a lavish dinner to their compartment—roast lamb chops, buttered potatoes, and a bottle of red wine from Bordeaux, France.

Such services that would cost a fortune in the surface world were already included in the Association's meticulous logistical system for I.A.R.C. agents on "official business."

While enjoying his dinner, Lin Jie reviewed the Cartographer's diary entries about various "aquatic UMA" in his mind.

They were about to face an ancient secret hidden beneath Scotland's most mysterious lake.