Chapter 36: The Archives

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Manstein opened the library doors. The library lay silent in the dead of night, and the fine particles of dust on the long tables rose in the breeze stirred up by the opening doors, revealed with perfect clarity beneath the moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

A camera hidden in the corner turned toward the unexpected visitor. After infrared facial recognition, Norma’s gentle voice sounded throughout the library:

“Professor Gerd Rudolf Manstein, it is very late. Is there anything I can assist you with?”

“Has the Maintenance Department gone off duty? A place containing so many important records, and yet I haven’t seen anyone standing guard tonight.” Manstein entered the library and closed the doors behind him.

“The last security officer went off duty two hours ago. From midnight onward, I will be solely responsible for the library’s security.” Norma’s feminine voice echoed through the empty library. “It is now 2:03 a.m. Would you like me to turn on the lights?”

“No, there’s no need. This isn’t my destination, Norma. Operate the elevator at the very back. I need to go down to the Archives.”

“May I ask the purpose of your visit?”

“A file I recently submitted to the Information Department for archiving contains several elementary errors. I need to correct certain details.”

“File corrections fall under the authority of the head of the Information Department. Unless this is an emergency, I’m afraid, Professor Manstein, you do not have authorization to enter the Archives.”

“It is an emergency. It concerns a student’s bloodline rating. If an error in my filing causes his rating to be lowered, I will be disgraced and will consider resigning in disgrace,” Manstein said coolly.

At Kassel College, matters concerning bloodline ratings could indeed be considered major issues. A student’s rating affected countless tedious aspects of life, and once an error occurred, correcting it would involve a great many troublesome institutions.

“Permission granted. Professor Manstein, you possess Class A clearance. The elevator leading to the Archives is now in operation. Your visit, as well as every file you consult or move within the Archives, will be recorded.”

The elevator light deep within the library came on. Without a word, Manstein walked toward it with his hands clasped behind his back. Just as he reached the elevator, a pleasant chime sounded.

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Kassel College did not exist solely among the castles clustered halfway up the mountain, as it appeared on the surface. Few people knew that the portion of the college situated aboveground was merely its more superficial half. The other half lay within subterranean fortifications such as Valhalla, the Ice Cellar, and the Archives.

The Archives were located above the Ice Cellar. They held countless secrets concerning the dragon-slaying operations, all catalogued and managed by the Information Department. Every student at Kassel College possessed an individual file. From birth until burial—or, if one was fortunate, for as long as one continued to leap about upon this earth—everything one did would be recorded in it. Yet because the Information Department adhered to the principle of overlooking nothing, students often derided these files as their “dark histories.”

After descending to a certain depth, the elevator stopped. Unfortunately, there was no elevator music. Ever since leaving the surface, Manstein had been surrounded by a silence as still as stagnant water. He did not dislike the environment; on the contrary, it stirred within him a faint sense of long-lost familiarity. There had once been a place where he had grown up that was several times more suffocating than this.

The elevator doors opened, and a dim red light illuminated Manstein’s face. Infrared light bathed the Archives. In the murky crimson glow, everything appeared rigid and oppressive. Before him stood rows of iron-gray cabinets stretching away on either side, with countless kraft-paper files arranged upon them. Every envelope was sealed with a painted symbol representing its security level.

Everything in the Archives was made of moisture- and insect-resistant aluminum alloy, and ultraviolet sterilization was carried out once every three days. Any mouse unfortunate enough to find its way inside would eventually starve to death. Moreover, all the aluminum cabinets holding the files were connected by Norma to high-voltage electricity and fitted with gravity sensors. Unauthorized access would trigger alarms and defensive measures. If an intruder was lucky enough not to die from the high voltage, the Maintenance Department, summoned by the alarm system, would soon make him wish he had.

Manstein did not hurry out of the elevator. Instead, he waited until the red light in the Archives went out with a click. Only when the bright white lights came back on did he step forward. Without sparing so much as a glance for the cabinets on either side, he headed straight for the student records section.

Every student received two identification numbers upon enrollment: a student number and an Execution Department file number. His student Mandi, for example, had the student number Al082321B, while his Execution Department file number consisted only of the final seven characters: 082321B.

The first four digits of a file number represented the month and day of birth. The next two digits were the sequence number, while the final letter indicated the bloodline rank. Mandi, for instance, had been born on August 23 and was the twenty-first hybrid to be entered into the files that year, with a bloodline rank of B.

Manstein clearly remembered Norma mentioning that Lin Nian’s student number was Al052044. His initial classification in the Execution Department records had been bloodline rank A, so his Execution Department file number should have been 052044A.

Without hesitation, Manstein went straight to Section A. The people in the Information Department were obsessive to the point of madness. They not only classified files by bloodline rating but had also deliberately separated current students from graduates. This saved Manstein considerable time. Before long, he was standing before the cabinet containing Lin Nian’s file.

But then he discovered, to his astonishment, that the cabinet was empty. The kraft-paper envelope that should have been stored there had vanished.

A cough suddenly rang through the silent Archives. It was violently forceful, calling to mind a patient in a hospital suffering from advanced tuberculosis. Every cough was hoarse and desperate, as though his vocal cords were being torn open and bleeding beneath the racket of a broken gong.

Manstein was not unfamiliar with that voice. Few people at the college coughed with such force. Unless someone had wandered into a burning building during a mission, there was only one person at the college whose own condition could make him cough like that.

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The head of the Execution Department, Von Schneider.

A hybrid who needed to carry a respirator with him in order to survive.

Manstein turned sideways. At the corner beyond the end of the cabinets stood a tall, gaunt man. Beneath his pure-black suit, scars resembling burn marks covered his body. A black mask concealed half his face, while the single exposed eye gleamed with a cold, knife-like light.

“Professor Von Schneider, I had no idea you would happen to be in the Archives tonight as well.” The skin on Manstein’s face twitched, but he managed to maintain his composure.

He remembered that someone on the Night Watch forum had once described the head of the Execution Department in detail. The man was said to be a ghostly, elusive figure. If he suddenly appeared before you one day, it usually meant you had violated party discipline—and that a merciless purge was about to begin.

“It isn’t much of a coincidence. I happened to see someone enter the library late at night and use the elevator leading to the Ice Cellar. I assumed it was some overconfident student trying to steal alchemical bullets or something similar from the Ice Cellar. I didn’t expect it to be you, Professor Manstein.” Schneider said, “I’m curious. What brings you to the Archives at this hour?”

“A student’s file. It contains several elementary mistakes on my part. If they aren’t corrected immediately, they may affect his bloodline rating,” Manstein said.

“Then you must be looking for this.”

Schneider raised his left hand, which had been concealed behind the cabinet. He was holding a stack of transparent sealed folders containing page after page of black-and-white records. At a glance, Manstein recognized the three-inch color photograph of Lin Nian printed at the top of the first document.