Chasing Time

“Next, we have the most noble recipient of the Order of the Garter, the Grand Cross of Saint Michael and Saint George, the Grand Cross of the Bath, the Victoria Cross and the lower grades of Knighthood, the leader of the anti-colonial movement, the bell-ringer of the East India Company, the hero of the Crimean War, a Fellow of the Royal Society, a lifelong dear friend of literary giants such as Dickens and Great Dumas, a steadfast supporter of scientific luminaries like Faraday and Darwin, having served as assistant under-secretary, deputy under-secretary, and permanent under-secretary in departments of the Home Office and the Navy Department of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, the inaugural Cabinet Secretary and head of the civil service, the first graduate and most distinguished alumnus of our school. Please welcome Sir Arthur Hastings to deliver a speech on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the University of London.”
Arthur's gaze swept across the crowd before him, looking at the young faces and murmured, “Agares, what do you think I should say?”
The Red Devil's wraith hovered behind him, saliva almost dribbling from the corner of his mouth, “Look at these ignorant souls; they still worship you as a hero. Why not say something they'd like to hear?”
Arthur took a deep breath and let out a deafening roar, “Oxford is a bunch of whores' bastards!”
“Oh!!!!”
The audience erupted into thunderous applause.
“Cambridge is the same!” he added immediately.
The applause grew even more fervent...
(The protagonist, possessed by a devil, travels through 19th-century Britain in a world without magic)

The Shadow of Great Britain

London's persistent drizzle had continued for two days, and Arthur sat at the desk in his bedroom, with droplets of water clinging to the exterior window glass, behind which a thin layer of mist veiled the interior window.


He reached out to wipe the condensation from the window, and only then could he faintly make out the maple leaves fluttering in the wind in the nearby Hyde Park through the water beads.


In Agares's hand was a crystal-clear goblet, and judging from the radiant fresh red liquid in the glass, the wine must have been quite expensive.


The Red Devil resembled a finicky medieval nobleman as he first brought his nose to the rim of the glass to gently sniff the fragrant aroma of the wine, then delicately sipped the sweet aftertaste, and finally poured the wine slowly into his throat, only after feeling the burning heat rising in his belly did he contently close his eyes and exhale with satisfaction.


Chapter 116 The Philosophy of the Devil