For nearly half a month that followed, Lin Jie settled into a highly structured routine.

Every morning he appeared punctually at the Underground City's library and archives, no longer absorbing knowledge aimlessly and broadly, but instead focusing all his energy with clear purpose on three core areas.

The first was UMA case analysis and response strategies related to mental contamination and soul attacks.

The second was I.A.R.C.'s internal summary reports on Grotesque Armament design philosophies and failure cases.

The third involved local British Isles folklore, particularly the mysterious legends and unsolved mysteries from remote regions.

His knowledge system was becoming more structured, solid, and targeted at an astonishing rate.

Every afternoon he would lock himself in the "Tactical Training Room" provided by the Association for hunters, engaging in one high-intensity simulated combat session after another with Marcus.

He would ask Marcus to simulate various types of enemies—sometimes lightning-fast "Predators" skilled in stealth and ambush, sometimes heavily armored "Tanks" with thick hides and fearless dispositions, and sometimes he'd even have Marcus activate [Unshakable Bedrock] to simulate "Law-type" enemies that couldn't be moved by conventional means.

In these confrontations, Lin Jie almost never initiated attacks. He acted like a calm, calculating observer, constantly testing the limits of his current equipment.

He precisely calculated the effective range and duration of the "Curse Storm" from his [Cursebreaker Vambrace], repeatedly gauging the strength changes of [Serene Heart]'s passive mental protection field under different levels of mental pressure.

His combat style was increasingly resembling that of a trap-laying spider. He no longer pursued the violent aesthetics of a one-hit kill, but instead sought the "optimal solution" that incorporated all variables into calculation, leveraging minimal cost to achieve maximum victory.

His progress was evident. Marcus, the battle-hardened burly man, went from easily cornering him at the beginning to frequently falling into his bewildering tactical traps later on.

Several times, Marcus found himself embarrassingly tripped up by a cleverly placed tripwire before he even realized what was happening.

"I swear, Lin Jie," Marcus complained grumpily after falling for another trap constructed from visual blind spots and audio misdirection during a simulation, dusting himself off as he stood up, "Fighting simulated battles with you is more mentally exhausting than taking on an entire squad of goblins! I feel like my brain can't keep up!"

Lin Jie simply smiled and handed him a towel. These high-intensity simulated confrontations were growth opportunities for both of them.

Marcus's textbook-perfect combat techniques and wild intuition had also taught him valuable practical experience that couldn't be gained from books.

Just as Lin Jie thought these peaceful and fulfilling "leveling up" days would continue for a while longer, a sudden invitation disrupted all his plans.

It was a rare clear afternoon in late autumn London. Lin Jie had just returned to his Baker Street apartment after a morning of research, planning to enjoy a simple lunch.

However, as he opened the door, he keenly detected something unusual.

Lingering in the air was a unique scent that didn't belong there—similar to metal lightly ionized by ozone.

He immediately grew alert, closing the door unobtrusively while his right hand instinctively moved toward [Serene Heart] at his waist.

His eyes meticulously scanned every corner of the apartment: bookshelves, fireplace, sofa... All items were exactly as he'd left them, with no signs of disturbance.

Finally, his gaze settled on the desk.

There lay a thin, palm-sized card made of special metallic foil.

This wasn't ordinary mail—it was an "Aether Telegraph" receiving terminal, used internally by I.A.R.C. to transmit urgent encrypted messages.

This "point-to-point" communication method was only employed when the sender's matter was too urgent for conventional channels.

Lin Jie took a deep breath. He understood something must have happened.

He walked over and picked up the metallic foil. As his fingers touched it, rows of Gothic letters formed by faint electric arcs began appearing on the foil's surface.

The telegram's content was exceptionally brief, but the amount of information contained and the sense of urgency it conveyed made him somewhat tense.

"Dartmoor, Black Dog, Come at once.—W.K."

No salutation, no greetings, no explanations—just three ominous keywords and an initialed signature.

W.K.

William Keane.

Instantly, countless pieces of information related to these three keywords flashed through Lin Jie's mind.

"Dartmoor" was the core highland of Devon in southwestern England, a vast expanse known as "England's Last Wilderness."

It was covered with granite tors, peat bogs, and numerous prehistoric ruins rich with Druidic mystery.

By day it was a paradise for hikers and archaeologists, but by night it became a breeding ground for horror legends and ghost stories.

And the "Black Dog" was the most famous and deadliest of all Dartmoor-related legends.

Nearly every child raised in Devon had heard their elders' stern warnings—if you see a massive black hound with eyes glowing red like burning coals on the moor at night, never meet its gaze and don't attempt to approach it.

You must immediately lower your head as if you saw nothing, then flee the area at top speed, for it was a messenger from hell and an omen of death.

Anyone who saw it would die mysteriously within a year.

In the appendix of I.A.R.C.'s [Black Book], there was also a brief but highly-rated record of the "Dartmoor Black Dog," its threat level temporarily classified as Town-class.

A Town-class UMA whose main attack methods were "instant death curses" and "mental fear" was far more dangerous than field-type opponents like the Twisted Man.

This was already a hunt that would require a standard I.A.R.C. team to take seriously.

And William, that veteran with an extremely cautious approach, had actually used this method equivalent to "highest-level emergency request for assistance" to send this telegram.

This could only mean the situation he faced had deteriorated to the point where even he felt he couldn't handle it alone!

Lin Jie didn't hesitate.

He didn't ponder why William would face that legendary creature alone, nor did he consider whether this might be a trap set for him.

He only knew that his friend, that most reliable "old soldier" he could trust with his back, was in dire straits on a distant moor, awaiting his support.

That was enough.

He grabbed the hunting jacket he'd just taken off, and equipped [Serene Heart]—which had become part of him—along with all his other combat gear at the fastest speed possible.

Then he rushed out of his apartment and directly hailed the fastest carriage he could find on Baker Street.

"To Paddington Station!" Lin Jie tossed the coachman a pound far exceeding the fare. "At your fastest speed! If we can get there within half an hour, this pound is yours!"

The coachman's eyes lit up instantly at the sight of the gleaming pound. He sharply cracked his whip through the air with a crisp snap.

"Hold tight, sir!"

Amid the coachman's excited shout and the powerful neighing of the horse, a hunt unfolding across England's ancient and mysterious moors began abruptly in this urgent manner.