Secret World of Occultists-Chapter 61: Sensory Augmentation

Sergei, the Ruskovian with dark brown hair and blue eyes, was standing with his back resting against the wall and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette when Abel called out to him.

"Mr. Petrov, you don’t look so well."

The Ruskovian young man flinched, dropping the cigarette from his hand. He then cast an annoying look at Abel and grumbled in his thick accent, "What do you want?"

He then looked at the cigarette lying on the dirty footpath. Then, he unwillingly stomped on it while clicking his tongue in frustration.

Abel’s lips twitched and he thought to himself, What a grumpy little fucker!

He forced a smile and said, "You look unwell, Mr. Petrov. Is everything alright?"

"None of your business," Sergei coldly replied.

"...Okay then." Abel was slightly taken aback, not knowing what he had done to receive such harsh treatment from his neighbor.

"Well, you have a good day, Mr. Petrov." He walked past him, hands in his pocket. He was not going to let the Ruskovian ruin his mood any further.

It was a bright and sunny day. A perfect day for a walk. He wouldn’t let a grumpy Ruskovian get in the way.

Sergei gazed at Abel’s departing back with conflicting emotions flickering in his eyes. In the end, he called out to him, "Mr. Bishop!"

"Hmm?" Abel stopped and turned around. "What is it?"

Sergei sighed and walked towards him. "I apologize for my behavior. The last few days have been... hectic."

You don’t say, Abel mused, gazing at the man’s haggard and unkempt appearance.

It reminded him of the time after he had just transmigrated to this world. His situation back then was quite similar to Sergei’s. Except, Abel didn’t know what problems the man was going through.

He revealed a faint smile and asked, "Wanna go for a walk?" freewebnøvel.com

Sergei arched an eyebrow, asking in confusion, "A walk? What for?"

"Stoicism encourages walking as a means of contemplation, discipline, and connection with nature," said Abel with a light chuckle. "Walking is good for both physical and mental well-being."

"Stoicism?" Sergei was even more confused.

"...Yes, it’s an ancient school of philosophy," Abel answered awkwardly. "Anyways, let’s go for a walk. We can grab coffee and you can tell me all about your problems."

"Why shall I tell you about my problems?" Sergei frowned.

"Happiness shared is doubled, and sorrow shared is halved." Abel laughed. "Alright, let’s go."

With that said, he started walking. Sergei gazed at him in a daze for a moment or two before following behind him. "You are a strange man, Mr. Bishop."

"So I’ve been told."

The pair walked along the cobbled footpaths silently for the first few minutes. While Abel was enjoying his walk under the sun, he noticed that his neighbor was looking over his shoulders every now and then.

It was almost as if he was being followed... like he was hiding from someone.

When Abel realized this, his eyes narrowed and he couldn’t help but think to himself, What’s his deal? Is he schizophrenic or something?

"You expecting someone?" He asked suddenly, his voice slow and deliberate.

Sergei flinched again, quickly denying. "No, I am not!"

He paused for a moment before calmly adding, "These passersby give me strange looks. Newport does not seem to be kind to foreigners."

Abel rolled his eyes at that stupid excuse. "As long as you don’t open your mouth, no one will know you’re a foreigner."

The pair took a right turn, walking around the block, heading towards the heart of the city. Abel observed him silently, trying to figure out his neighbor.

At the same time, he was also practicing sensory augmentation.

His pupils are dilated, despite being bright outside. Perhaps the influence of a stimulant? He wondered to himself.

Unkempt hair, dark circles under the eyes, sunken cheeks, wrinkled clothes. Unknown white substance under the nails, his fingers bear faint yellowish stains, but not from tobacco...

Drugs! Is it the residue of opium? Or perhaps, morphine. His hands are slightly unsteady. Yes, this looks like drug withdrawals.

His coat is frayed at the cuffs, neglected. Yet, they seemed to be expensive once.

Sergei, you were a man of means, but your priorities have shifted, haven’t they?

He stepped a little closer to the Ruskovian without trying to alert him.

A faint chemical scent lingers, he mused.

Could it really be morphine? No, stronger... something more direct. And your shoes...

Abel’s gaze was drawn to the man’s leather boots.

Mud from the Garston district. Hmm, very likely. That is the place where the less reputable apothecaries do their trade.

You visited one not long ago.

Desperation? Or just habit?

After making his observation, he let the spirit energy inside of him rest. His lips parted and he spoke in a cryptic manner, "A mind such as yours should not be dulled by such excess."

"What do you mean, Mr. Bishop?" Sergei frowned.

Abel ignored his question. "You said you came here for higher studies, yes? That means you must be from a wealthy household?"

Sergei averted his gaze as he answered, "Yes. After my parents passed away, I chose to travel here. And I will probably settle down here."

Thinking of the future to come, the Ruskovian revealed a smile as his eyes flashed with anticipation, "My life will soon change for the better, Mr. Bishop! And then... I shall move to Winchester. I have great things planned for the future. Great things, I say!"

Ah, he probably received his parents’ inheritance, Abel thought. But suddenly, he thought of another thing.

"Your life will change for the better?" Abel was puzzled. "How so?"

He thought of something and asked, "Do you mean that you’ll finish your studies soon?"

"...Yes." Sergei nodded, gazing at the youth with a deadpan expression. "Yes, that is what I meant."

Abel nodded in understanding. "Ah, yes. It’s good to have an educational background in this rapidly modernizing world. You’ll have far more career options."

His lips then curled into an amused smirk and he asked, "Did you happen to visit the Garston district anytime soon?"

Sergei’s eyes narrowed and he asked coldly, "Mr. Bishop... were you following me?"

Abel shook his head, smiling. He gestured at the man’s shoes. "Garston mud. Quite distinctive."

The Ruskovian turned his gaze towards his muddy shoes then back at Abel, his frown deepening. "What do you mean?"

"A blend of industrial soot, river silt, and the debris of well-trafficked docklands. Notice the dark, almost greasy quality?" Abel asked.

Without waiting for Sergei’s response, he continued, "That comes from the coal dust and waste common in that district. And the texture... clay-heavy, slightly sticky... Hmm, that suggests proximity to the Nimbus at low tide."

Abel put on a pondering expression. "It rained slightly last night, yet the mud on your shoes is still damp. That means you acquired it this morning. Very early in the morning, considering it’s not even 10:00 am right now."

Seeing the dumbfounded expression on Sergei’s face, Abel couldn’t help but feel a little smug.

"Now, Garston is not a place you’d visit for a casual stroll, especially not someone of your standing. No, you went there with a purpose. An apothecary, yes? A rather shady supplier."

Abel leaned in closer, his lips forming a smirk. "Yes, I think we both know why you were there."

The youth strode forward, leaving behind Sergei standing in stunned silence.

After a few steps, Able arrived at the entrance of a coffee shop. He turned towards his frozen neighbor and smiled like a gentleman.

"Mr. Petrov, would you like some coffee?"