Do ratmen dream of the sacred tree of spirits?

Chapter 25 Wool

Fafner followed Igor inside and soon saw Hans talking to several night watchmen in uniform in front of a long row of shelves.

"Alright, that's it. I'm going back to guard the gate." Igor left without looking back.

"Here you are," Hans noticed Fafnir's arrival. "Fafnir, activate your spiritual vision and look at the wool on this shelf. What do you see?"

Fafnir activated his spiritual vision towards the wool that covered an entire wall, but he didn't see any fluctuations of spiritual matter.

"I didn't see anything," Fafnir shook his head.

"Indeed, you and I are both only at the preparatory stage," Hans smiled. "Such spiritual fluctuations would require at least a top-tier second-level Enlightened One to see."

"I shouldn't be in the preparatory stage yet," Fafnir replied. "I saw in the introduction to 'Introduction to Spirituality' that only those who have mastered the first-order spells of the five different elements can be considered in the preparatory stage."

"Oh? That's an academic way of speaking. We don't differentiate things that meticulously in our work. Generally speaking, mastering meditation and clairvoyance is considered enough to qualify as a preparatory-stage superhuman."

"This is a big case," Hans said, his tone becoming serious. "Some time ago, we received a very important notification requiring us to conduct extremely rigorous inspections on every shipment that docks."

"Is there something wrong with them?" Fafner asked.

"This shipment just arrived yesterday," Hans said, handing the manifest to Fafnir and pointing inside. "It's all wool, shipped from the Nunns Empire. The customs declaration is 'raw wool,' forty bales in total, and the tariff is calculated by weight."

"Of course, this shipment of wool is a cover. The people who transported it certainly didn't expect that all the oversized items, those whose interiors couldn't be seen, would be personally inspected by Lord Kingsley."

"Even Kingsley, a top enlightener, detected the unusual spiritual energy fluctuations, but almost got fooled by them," Hans replied somewhat excitedly.

A night watchman nearby added angrily, "This wool came from the Nunns Empire! Damn it!"

Our port of Ryan is one of the designated ports of entry for wool from Saint Petersburg, and a large quantity of wool is stored in this designated warehouse for inspection every day.

"If it weren't for the recent bishops' conference demanding a thorough investigation, damn it, we almost made a serious mistake!"

"Alright, everyone, unfold these woolen sheets and carefully search every corner! Let's begin!"

A night watchman brought over a large box and distributed a pair of leather gloves and an iron hook to each person.

At Hans's command, the night watchmen began to move the large, compressed chunks of wool to the ground.

Forty bales of wool were piled in two rows, each wrapped in coarse linen and tied tightly with rope.

These wool bales are taller than a person and bigger than Fafnir himself.

Fafnir took off his brand-new coat and placed it on a clean chair beside him, afraid of getting the new clothes dirty. Anyway, it wouldn't matter if his old robe got dirty, but he just felt a little cold.

Fafnir arrived in front of a large piece of wool, where the night watchman beside him had already used shears and hooks to separate the wool.

The smell of wool hit him—not the clean smell of mutton, but the smell of semi-dried wool mixed with sweat, mud, and animal dung, plus the strange smell that lingered in the warehouse all year round, making his eyes sting.

Fafner put on the gloves—the gloves were too big and the leather was stiff, so he tightened the cuffs and tucked the gloves in.

He imitated the night watchman next to him, sticking his hand into the wool block and forcefully pulling it out.

The wool was compressed very stiffly, and with his eight-year-old strength, it was difficult for him to break apart the raw wool. The oozing lanolin stuck to his gloves, quickly forming a layer.

"Ugh, this is so annoying," the night watchman next to Fafnir complained. "This wool isn't high grade. This kind of low-grade stuff is packed tightly and dirty, making it a pain to turn over. I think the Nunns are up to no good, thinking we won't open it up and examine it closely."

Another night watchman said, "If it's really clean, high-quality stuff, it's actually harder to smuggle it in, because high-quality stuff is loosely packaged and will be exposed as soon as it's turned inside out."

Fafnir listened to the conversation of the night watchmen without stopping his work. He was not strong enough to break the whole piece of wool, so he had to change his method—he first used an iron hook to pry open the gaps in the wool, and then broke it by hand.

"Little fellow, you're too slow," the night watchman glanced at him, pushed aside the wool he had just unwrapped, and squatted down opposite Fafnir. "Here, let me help you break this piece apart, and you can stick the iron hook inside."

"thank you."

The man grabbed the wool block by both sides and pried it apart with force, causing a crack to appear in the originally tight wool block.

Fafnir took the opportunity to stick the hook into the gap and pry it open, then forcefully tore off a wad of wool with his hand.

All afternoon, the only sounds in the warehouse were the muffled thud of burlap being opened, the sound of iron hooks piercing wool and wool being torn, and the occasional mutter of "So dirty."

Fafnir felt his fingers starting to ache, and his knuckles cracked every time he tried to break the wool.

"Take a break." Hans came over and handed him a water pouch.

"Thank you." Fafnir took the water, tilted his head back and drank two mouthfuls; the cool water was very refreshing.

"We haven't found anything yet." Fafnir returned the water bag.

Hans's gaze swept over the dozen or so bales of wool that had already been unpacked: "Almost done."

Fafnir glanced at the piles of wool on the ground, which looked like small mountains. The shredded wool was spread all over the ground, and tiny lint floated in the air.

He glanced down at his old robe. The front was stained with grease, the cuffs were covered in lanolin and bits of grass, and black grime was embedded in his fingernails. Thank goodness he'd taken off his new coat; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to explain himself.

"Continue," Hans patted him on the shoulder.

Fafnir crouched down again and inserted his hand into the center of the wool block.

……

This piece is pressed more tightly than the previous one.

He tried poking at the gap several times with the hook but couldn't pry it open, so he simply stopped using the hook and pried it open with both hands.

The gloves were too slippery, making it difficult to apply force. Fafner hesitated for a moment, then pulled the gloves off and threw them away, trying to pry them open with his bare hands.

The cold lanolin coated the skin on my hands, making them greasy, but it also allowed me to grip things more firmly.

He gritted his teeth and snapped it open with all his might—

A hard ball of wool was torn off.

Then his fingers touched something.

Harder, smoother, like... ceramic or glass.

Fafnir felt nervous. He didn't shout, but first reached in and touched it.

The thing looked like a tube about the thickness of a finger, with a smooth surface, embedded deep within the wool, and firmly wrapped by the surrounding fibers.

"Mr. Hans," Fafnir called out in a low voice.

Hans was squatting a few steps away rummaging through another bag of wool when he heard the sound, so he immediately stood up and walked over quickly.

The other night watchmen also stopped what they were doing and looked over.