Chapter 144 | I Transmigrated into Cultist Simulator

The screeching alarm bells shattered the morning quiet of London's West End.

Rapid, heavy tolls echoed over St. Blaise Academy, shaking the snow from the eaves of the Gothic buildings. The main gates, which should have opened on schedule, were brutally locked with iron chains. Police officers in dark grey uniforms swarmed out, completely sealing off a half-block radius around the clock tower.

In the abandoned prayer room beneath the clock tower, the cold stone pavement had been completely cordoned off.

Charles von Trier's stiff corpse lay askew in a pool of blood. The clean, brutal slash across his throat looked exceptionally gruesome under the dim light of the whale-oil lamp.

The patrol team conducted their on-site investigation rapidly, but the more they searched, the more questions arose. The killer's movements had been as clean as a ghost's; aside from Charles's dead body, they had left behind absolutely no physical traces or mental residue.

By noon, the Academic Committee issued an emergency lockdown of the entire school, initiating a dragnet interrogation of all registered extraordinary beings in the academy.

In the large conference room on the first floor of the library, Ryan sat among the crowd waiting in line for questioning. With his head lowered, his face pale, and his fingers unconsciously fidgeting with the hem of his robe, he perfectly played the part of a terrified, weak commoner student.

Yet beneath this fearful exterior, Ryan's mind was operating at high speed with a near-frigid rationality.

Was he stupid?

Of course not.

From the moment he killed Charles, Ryan had never expected to hide the truth forever relying on a so-called “perfect crime scene” or Violet's cover-up.

This was St. Blaise Academy, an abyss where the Suppression Bureau, imperial financial oligarchs, and various ancient factions intertwined! The professors and old monsters here possessed all kinds of incredible Secret Histories rituals—divination, retrocausality, soul extraction... In the face of absolute extraordinary power, leaving a “traceless scene” was nothing more than burying one's head in the sand.

If the Suppression Bureau was determined to investigate, finding the truth was only a matter of time. He lacked a noble birth and a powerful family background to back him up; on this chessboard, he was just a rootless commoner. It was highly possible that woman had already sold him out.

Therefore, from the moment he accepted Violet's deal and stepped into the clock tower, his true intention had never been to “kill his enemy and secure a foothold in the academy.”

What he wanted was to muddy the waters completely, making as big a scene as possible!

With Charles dead, the Trier family would be furious, Violet would seize the opportunity to reshuffle the board, the Suppression Bureau would forcefully intervene, and the Academic Committee would be on high alert. St. Blaise Academy, once a monolithic prison that strictly monitored every ordinary student, instantly turned into a boiling pot of chaos!

Only by muddying the waters enough, with the attention of all factions locked onto Charles's death and the power struggles, would this seemingly heavily guarded cage finally reveal its one and only fatal crack!

From start to finish, this godforsaken place was never some sanctuary for nurturing extraordinary beings. It was a flat-out breeding ground for monsters!

A bunch of lunatics!

The professors spouting academic Secret Histories were lunatics, the scheming noble students were lunatics, and even the Suppression Bureau outside was a bunch of lunatics waving the banner of order! They treated students without backgrounds as lab rats, as expendable fuel!

Ryan closed his eyes, rapidly sorting through the causes and effects in his mind, a cold sneer and a chill rising in his heart.

He thought of Director Morton.

Director Morton was himself a commoner extraordinary being walking the edge of the system, nothing more than a slightly stronger ant in the eyes of those giants. Back when the incident of the “White Door” broke out in the East End, it had created such a massive mess that Morton couldn't possibly clean it up on his own, let alone rewrite the fate of the commoners being harvested. Sending Ryan into the academy back then was likely the only compromise and protection he could offer within the cracks of power.

This path was abnormal from the very beginning. As an ordinary person with no background or resources, he was constantly monitored by countless hidden eyes in the academy. If he didn't stir up an earth-shattering commotion to forcefully draw everyone's attention to an overt vendetta, he wouldn't even have a chance to walk out of these gates!

Only by making everyone believe he was barely surviving on his last breath, or that he was a victim of factional struggles, could he secure that single blind spot for escape in this breeding ground.

“Next, Ryan!”

The door to the interrogation room was thrown open, and the detective's voice interrupted Ryan's thoughts.

Ryan stood up, the coldness in his eyes vanishing instantly, replaced by a perfectly measured look of terror and restraint. With his head lowered, he submissively walked into the interrogation room.

...

The interrogation lasted for a full two hours.

Captain Klaus of the Suppression Bureau stared fixedly at Ryan with his hawk-like single eye, while the faint glow of a verbal lie detector flickered between them.

In the face of the questioning, Ryan demonstrated an incredibly precise control over the situation. He did not lie—he admitted that he had indeed quarreled with Charles during the day, and confessed his hatred for him, but for the critical window of time, he provided a perfect and unfalsifiable secret alibi.

Although they placed him as a prime suspect, in the absence of absolute evidence and with the various noble factions bickering with one another, they could only temporarily release him back to his dormitory under tight surveillance.

Suspected? It didn't matter.

As long as they didn't throw me straight into prison tonight, my goal was achieved.

...

Late at night, one-thirty.

The blizzard in London's West End raged to the extreme, burying the entire St. Blaise Academy under a blanket of heavy snow.

No lights were lit inside the dormitory. Ryan sat before the pitch-black window, quietly watching the patrol team's lanterns flicker through the curtain of snow.

Suddenly, the latch of the dormitory's secret door let out an incredibly faint click.

A tall, capable figure slipped inside like a silent ghost, locking the door behind them.

The newcomer unbuttoned his high-collared trench coat, revealing an exceptionally calm and rigorous face—Alvin.

Ryan sat in his chair, slightly surprised. “Group Leader, the academy is locked down so tightly tonight. Why did you take such a risk to come here?”

Alvin casually pulled over a chair and sat down, his lenses reflecting a cold glint under the dim snowy light. He looked at Ryan and got straight to the point:

“Director Morton sent me.”

Hearing this name, Ryan's eyes narrowed slightly.

Folding his hands over his knees, Alvin spoke in an incredibly calm and objective tone. “Ryan, your move against Charles today to completely muddy the waters was even more decisive than we anticipated. But you don't need to harbor any resentment, thinking Director Morton pushed you into this fire pit. The Director had no choice either; he simply cannot change the rules and destiny of this world.”

Alvin paused, his voice steady and powerful.

“Back in the East End, the mess of the ‘White Door’ was astronomically huge. The Suppression Bureau wanted to silence everyone, and the old monsters at the top wanted experimental subjects. If he hadn't handed you over as a compromise, all the witnesses of the White Door back then—including you—would have been collectively slaughtered that night. Sending you to the academy was his only compromise to keep you alive.”

Ryan fell silent for a moment.

“So, what now?” Ryan asked coldly.

“Now, escape.”

With extreme composure, Alvin pulled a pitch-black metal box from his coat, placed it steadily on the table, and pushed it in front of Ryan.

“Keep this safe,” Alvin said, his tone precise. “Inside is a steamship ticket departing from Plymouth Harbor for New Salem at six tomorrow morning, along with a complete set of clean, fake identification documents and a passport prepared for you by the Director.”

Ryan looked at the metal box on the table and raised an eyebrow. “Is this part of your plan?”

“Not entirely,” Alvin shook his head. “Director Morton has been waiting for an opportunity to break the deadlock. You are special, but you are not strong enough yet. Go find Simon. That kid is truly fortunate.”

Alvin stood up, adjusted his collar, and looked down at Ryan.

“Go, Ryan. If you stay in London, you will ultimately be nothing more than a living experimental vessel. Director Morton shouldered the mess of the White Door for you, and tonight, you used your own blade to win your ticket to the New World.”

“Pass a message to Director Morton for me.”

“Tell him I am very grateful.”

Alvin looked at Ryan, who was faintly radiating Glory.

“Very well,” Alvin nodded. “I will deliver the message.”

Ryan held the metal box in his hand. Carrying such critical items as fake identification, a passport, and a ship ticket on his person or hiding them in his dormitory was no different from playing with fire.

Tomorrow morning, whether it was the Suppression Bureau's search or the Council of Professors' extraordinary scrutiny, these things would be dug up instantly. Not only would his cleverness backfire, but it would also directly implicate Director Morton.

Ryan did not tuck the metal box into his coat. Instead, he pushed it back toward Alvin.

“This thing cannot remain in the academy, and it certainly cannot be kept on my person.”

Alvin froze slightly, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“The academy is the eye of the storm tonight, but the surveillance on the outer perimeter actually has blind spots.” Ryan extended his finger and tapped the table. “You have a more legitimate identity to move in and out. Take this box and leave first. Store it in the blind-box hidden compartment in the basement of the ‘old blacksmith shop’ in the third block to the south, outside the academy.”

“Understood.” Alvin didn't drag his feet at all, decisively tucking the metal box back into the inner pocket of his trench coat.

“Group Leader, you go first,” Ryan said calmly, pressing his finger against his gear badge.

Alvin took a deep look at Ryan, adjusted the brim of his hat, and decisively turned around. With a swift movement, he vanished into the secret passage, silently blending into the raging night and blizzard outside.

The secret door closed soundlessly, and dead silence returned to the room, leaving only the howling of the wind and snow outside.

He did not choose to force an escape under the cover of night—there were at least several patrol squads cross-monitoring in the blizzard outside. Breaking out now would only turn him into a sitting duck.

He turned around, reached deep into the bottom drawer of his desk, and pulled out an unopened bottle of concentrated laudanum.

The thick, brown liquid sloshed inside the glass bottle, emitting a pungent herbal scent and a tempting, decadent sweetness.

Ryan popped the cork and, without a single shred of hesitation, tilted his head back and drank the entire bottle of laudanum in one gulp!

The cold liquid, carrying a powerful numbing effect and hallucinogenic toxicity, slid down his esophagus and instantly exploded in his stomach! The violent toxicity and intense mental blast struck his cerebral cortex like a tempest!

His consciousness was thrust into a deep dreamscape and high-dimensional void.

...

Darkness, boundless darkness.

Within this deep dreamscape woven together by high-dimensional perception and hallucinogenic poison, Ryan opened his eyes.

Opposite him, a shadow that looked identical to him—yet wore modern casual clothes and had eyes reflecting absolute rationality—stood quietly in the void. It was his other self, the conscious mirror image that possessed the vast knowledge and global perspective of another world.

“Charles is dead. The waters have been completely muddied by me,” Ryan's true self spoke, his voice echoing in the dream void.

“You did well,” the shadow opposite him smiled slightly. “The information Alvin brought confirms our suspicions. Director Morton's arrangement was indeed a compromise, and our only way out. It was highly wise to have Alvin take the items to the ‘old blacksmith shop’ for safekeeping.”

“But the spies of the Suppression Bureau and the Council of Professors have the academy locked down tight. Trying to force our way out tonight would be suicide,” Ryan's true self said coldly.

“Therefore, you need to walk into the cage of your own accord.” The shadow took a step forward, pointing his index finger at Ryan's chest. “Tomorrow morning, the divination ritual and the Suppression Bureau will definitely come knocking on your door. Do not resist; let them arrest you. Being arrested is your only safe passage to legally leave this breeding ground and head to the Lower End.”

“Understood,” Ryan's true self curled his lips into a cruel arc. “Once we enter the Suppression Bureau's dungeon or interrogation room, they will focus all their attention on the bickering between the Academic Committee and the noble factions. And that will be the best opportunity for us to flip the chessboard in the second half, retrieve the passport, and board the ship.”

“Pleasure working with you, my other self.”

The dream shattered.

...

The next morning.

Before the faint light of dawn could pierce the heavy haze, an extremely violent crashing sound shattered the dead silence of the dormitory!

Boom!

The wooden door of the dormitory was forcefully blown to pieces by a massive extraordinary shockwave!

“Freeze! Official business!”

Amid bone-chilling roars, several Suppression Bureau detectives wearing high-collared leather trench coats, holding silver-plated large-caliber revolvers and binding shackles, charged in like ravenous wolves!

Leading them was Captain Klaus, radiating a freezing killing intent, his single eye fixed dead on Ryan, who sat on the edge of the bed. Beside Klaus stood a withered old man wearing the high-ranking black-and-gold robe of the Academic Affairs Office, clutching a bone scepter. A suffocating, pale-blue fire burned within his hollow eye sockets.

At this moment, Ryan sat on the edge of the bed with a deathly pale face, chapped lips, and dark circles under his eyes. A strong stench of laudanum drifted from his body, and the fluctuations of the 【Lantern】 within him were weak to the extreme, perfectly presenting the state of someone on the verge of collapse after a drug overdose.

“Mr. Ryan, the divination ritual has already reconstructed the scene,” Klaus sneered, raising the cold iron shackles in his hand high. “The slashes and mental tearing on Young Master Charles have been confirmed to originate from your 【Lantern】 Principle. The Academic Committee and the Trier family have jointly issued an arrest warrant—you are under arrest!”

Clack!

The heavy, cold iron shackles clamped tightly onto Ryan's wrists. The chains, engraved with suppression runes, instantly erupted with a bone-chilling coldness, wildly suppressing the extraordinary power inside his body.

In the face of a room full of murderous Suppression Bureau agents and the grim-eyed old professor, Ryan did not resist. He didn't even lift his eyelids, letting the cold chains bind him tightly.