2. Lafami University

In the dim, dusty antique bookstore, a middle-aged man with a bushy beard lounged behind the counter. Dressed in a slightly outdated suit and wearing glasses, he was engrossed in a yellowed book.

The wind chime at the door jingled, signaling a customer’s arrival, but the man didn’t look up or stand, merely saying, “Feel free to browse. Call me if you need anything.”

Then, he buried himself back in his book.

Silas stepped into the bookstore and glanced around.

It was a small shop. According to the text on the doorframe, it was called “Glenfield Antique Bookstore.” Inside, there were two rows of bookshelves and a few tables, cramped with stacks of books—not new ones, but old volumes exuding the scent of aged ink.

The original Silas’s memories held no trace of this bookstore.

Silas placed his black long-handled umbrella by the door and, as the owner suggested, began browsing for books. He didn’t know why the sound of rolling dice had echoed in his mind earlier.

He tried mentally communicating with the die, searching for its presence, but got no response. In the end, he decided to enter the shop.

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“Glenfield. You can call me Glen,” Glenfield said nonchalantly. “I’ve got to ask, why are you interested in Silent Era books?”

“I study Silent Era literature,” Silas replied.

He already understood what the book was. It wasn’t an original Silent Era text but a contemporary scholar’s work, introducing several famous Silent Era books—a sort of introductory guide.

It was a bit basic for Silas, but it seemed like a good primer for students taking his course. He mentally added it to the reading list he was compiling for his students.

Then he noticed Glenfield had been silent for too long.

He looked up at Glenfield.

The middle-aged man was staring at him with an inscrutable gaze.

Silas paused, then asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Was there something odd about studying Silent Era literature?

Glenfield stroked his brown beard, muttering to himself, “Silent Era… literature… hmm… no, no, that won’t do…”

Silas glanced at him, then looked back at the book, noting its title: A Brief Discussion on Three Blasphemous Novels of the Silent Era and Their Ideas. He memorized the name.

At that moment, Glenfield made a decision. He pulled open a drawer, took out a business card, and handed it to Silas. “Here.”

Silas took it and glanced down.

“Lafami Historical Society. Vice President, Joseph Morton.”

Glenfield said, “I don’t have what you’re looking for, but this card might help.” His tone carried a hint of suggestion. “It’s a semi-official organization.”

Silas narrowed his eyes, and the sound of rolling dice echoed in his mind again.

[You must make a Knowledge check.]

[Knowledge: 45/80, Failure.]

[You couldn’t glean any information from this ordinary business card. You think you should find the person named on it.]

Another check triggered? What was the mechanism behind these triggers?

In tabletop games, players typically requested checks from the Game Master. In some cases, the Game Master might initiate a check for the players.

But both times Silas encountered these checks, they triggered automatically, like a rigid computer program.

What kind of scenario was he in? Who was conducting these checks for him?

Was he supposed to gain some information from this card? It was just the name of a Historical Society leader—what could that person offer him? Silent Era books? Documents?

Silas thanked Glenfield while pondering.

He felt confused and wary, but the die in his pocket remained still, as if nothing had happened. In the end, Silas left the bookstore with a book title and a business card.

It was nearing nine o’clock, and he hadn’t eaten breakfast. While waiting for the public carriage at Logan Market’s station, he bought a small piece of bread from a nearby bakery and swallowed it with some difficulty.

He mused that, although he’d be leaving West City in a week, how he’d manage this week was still a question.

The original Silas had been an outstanding student, earning scholarships annually, and his mother sent living expenses each semester. But during the jobless period after graduation, rent and living costs had nearly depleted his savings.

The legal currency in the Duchy of Const, where Lafami City was located, was the “Ducat,” a lightweight coin made from precious metals. Comparing it to Earth’s currency, Silas estimated one Ducat was worth about 100 units.

There were also “Marquis Coins” worth about 10 units and “Earl Coins” worth 1 unit.

The world’s currency system mostly used a decimal system: 1 Ducat = 10 Marquis Coins = 100 Earl Coins, making conversions straightforward. For He Jiayin, an Earth native, this was a great relief.

There were also paper notes, though they had larger denominations. Commonly used were 100-Ducat notes and 10-Ducat notes.

Silas currently had three 10-Ducat notes, four Ducats, and some Marquis and Earl Coins, totaling about forty Ducats.

In the simplest terms, forty Ducats could sustain him in Lafami City for forty days—under stable living conditions.

But with his upcoming job, he’d need to buy textbooks, professor’s attire, daily necessities, and prepare for academic writing. Even if some expenses could be reimbursed by the university, forty Ducats might not suffice.

After all, his first paycheck—fifty Ducats a month—wouldn’t come until the end of the month after the semester started.

Silas sighed softly in his mind, swallowing the last bite of bread worth one Earl Coin. Just then, the public carriage rolled up along its fixed track, pulling two compartments behind it.

Silas checked his pocket watch—it was exactly nine o’clock. He boarded the carriage with a few other passengers. There were no seats in the compartment, so they had to stand.

The carriage moved along its fixed route at a slow pace, stopping frequently to pick up or drop off passengers. The compartment swayed heavily, and an occasional unpleasant odor wafted through, but the passengers were accustomed to the poor experience.

After about two hours, Silas finally reached his destination—Lafami University.

Lafami University was located in the northeastern corner of the city, near the suburbs. Its main structure resembled a large castle.

It was said that this had once been a noble’s castle, donated when Lafami City was founded and plans for a university were made.

Surrounding the main castle were other buildings, including a greenhouse, sports field, and library. The dormitory Silas would soon move to was in a cluster of low buildings west of the main castle.

Upon entering the campus, a lively and vibrant atmosphere, distinct from the Old City, greeted him.

Some students who had returned early, wearing Lafami University’s uniform robes, passed by Silas with cheerful chatter. Mistaking him for a fellow student, they greeted him.

Silas gave a slight smile and nodded, not correcting the misunderstanding.

The original Silas had been a student here for four years—two as a regular literature student and two as a research scholar. Silas realized many of his future students would likely be his former juniors.

Moments later, he crossed the large lawn in front of the main castle and entered through the main hall. The ancient building, constructed during the Silent Era, exuded a heavy, profound aura, calming Silas the moment he stepped inside.

The office for the professor of literary history was on the fourth floor, a small, private room.

In this world and era, though universities existed, there were no “science” disciplines like on Earth. Most majors were in the humanities—literature, history, philosophy, languages, politics, or geography.

The university’s education system was divided into two parts: basic education and advanced education, totaling four years, roughly similar to Earth’s undergraduate and graduate studies. However, the latter retained an old apprenticeship system.

Within the university, advanced education students were called “apprentices,” while externally they were referred to as “research scholars,” a concept akin to a blend of master’s and doctoral students on Earth, still studying under a mentor.

As a new professor, Silas would have to mentor apprentices, with limited choice in the matter. He’d find out who his students were after the semester began.

…He hoped they’d be easy to work with.

Besides apprentices, Silas would teach two public elective courses and two specialized electives within the Department of Literature and History. Since his appointment was so sudden, he had only gotten a brief overview of his duties after yesterday’s interview.

…Honestly, it made his appointment as a professor even more baffling. How rushed must the previous professor’s departure have been for a freshly graduated apprentice to become a professor in just a week?

With these thoughts, Silas unlocked the office once used by the previous professor.

As soon as the door opened, the smell of old books hit him. Stale air mixed with dust assaulted his nose, making him wince involuntarily.

He looked at the chaotic scene in the office and, after a moment, sighed softly.

Books and papers were strewn about the ten-square-meter room. Ink had spilled, quill feathers were tattered, the desk and chair were toppled, and books and items from the shelves were scattered on the floor.

The sofa was littered with crumpled paper balls and scraps, a picture of disarray.

How hurried and anxious must the previous occupant have been when leaving?

For a moment, Silas wasn’t sure whether to step inside.

“Silas, haha! I knew you’d come today!” An aged but vigorous voice called from the distant staircase down the fourth-floor corridor.

Silas turned his head and smiled. “Professor Bright.”

[Advanced Chapters are on Ko-fi.]