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, Tower Hamlets, pairs of cavalry boots stamped into the muddy puddles on the early morning streets, their disordered footfalls resounding like the drumbeats of a symphony orchestra.


Clothed in dark blue tailcoats and wearing black top hats, the Scotland Yard officers, all armed and ready, formed a cordon around a small building on the street, securing it tightly. 


Many residents of the East End, still in their dreams, were jolted awake by this sudden tempestuous commotion, and the ladies who slept lightly tumbled out of bed, one by one, in their wrinkled nightgowns to peer out from their windows.


They either gasped with their hands over their mouths or could not help but shake their snoring husbands awake, shouting to them, "My God! Dear, stop sleeping like a donkey, come see what's happening outside!"


It was also quite easy to distinguish the leader among the well-dressed ranks of police officers.


Chapter 210: Old Paris (5K2)