Chapter 153: “Time and Space Lock”

This translation is hosted on bcatranslation.com

In the deep shadows of a hidden underground sanctuary, the statue of the Storm Goddess Gomona stands in silent majesty. Her face, veiled, seems to cast a watchful gaze over the realm of mortals.

Strictly adhering to religious teachings, the deity represented here is a different aspect of Gomona, more aptly called the “Maiden of Tranquility.”

Duncan, staring intently at the chilling stone depiction, felt certain he had just heard a voice—a soft whisper reminiscent of a distant dream—emanating directly from the statue.

Yet, both Shirley and Dog, nearby, showed no signs of noticing anything unusual. It seemed only Duncan had been privy to this mysterious voice.

“Mr. Duncan?” Shirley, observing Duncan’s peculiar demeanor, voiced her concern. Her eyes widened with a hint of worry as she instinctively moved closer to Dog for reassurance. “Did something catch your attention?”

“Did either of you hear a voice just now?” Duncan, while extinguishing the small flame at his fingertips, carefully stepped toward the statue of the Maiden of Tranquility to inspect it closely.

“A voice?” Both Shirley and Dog exchanged puzzled glances before simultaneously shaking their heads. “No, nothing.”

The statue remained unmoved and silent, offering no reaction to Duncan’s proximity, nor did it produce any further sounds.

A creeping realization made Duncan question his earlier impulsiveness.

He had believed the link between the Storm Goddess and this sacred place was long broken. Previous events, like Dog’s summoning and the burning of the church door, hadn’t caused any disturbances, lulling him into a sense of security. However, he hadn’t considered that his recent use of fire might have caught the attention of the presumed deity—if indeed the voice belonged to Gomona.

This unexpected turn of events prompted introspection in Duncan. He resolved to act with more caution in the future, especially in such unpredictable circumstances.

As he pondered, another thought nagged at him: Observing the condition of the church, it was evident that it had been deserted and neglected for some time before their arrival. The spiritual bond between the Storm Goddess Gomona and this sanctuary had clearly been broken. His fiery act should have been perceived as an intrusion, potentially leading to further weakening of the church’s divine shield. But, perplexingly, it seemed that his flame had temporarily restored the connection with the goddess.

Why had his flame, which should theoretically disrupt divine order, seemingly revitalized the goddess’s presence?

Duncan’s thoughts spiraled into deeper confusion. However, he didn’t allow himself to be lost in contemplation for too long. The pressing issue was discerning the mysteries of this peculiar church and deciding on their next course of action.

Following the mysterious whisper, the underground sanctuary sank back into an eerie silence. Duncan knew little about the typical behavior of deities, but it seemed the Storm Goddess Gomona had shifted her attention away from this place. The rest of the cavernous chamber remained unchanged from when they first entered, and the flames he had conjured earlier failed to unveil any hidden secrets as they had in the dilapidated factory.

Moreover, Duncan found himself unable to sense what lay beyond the mysterious “veil.” Even the flame he had embedded within the bisected body of the umbrella creature seemed out of his reach. While he was certain the flame persisted and perhaps even spread, he was unable to interact with the dimension where it was located.

It became evident that the church was a significant focal point connected to the veil. However, given the combined powers of himself and Shirley, it appeared unlikely they could penetrate this enigmatic barrier.

Considering his current physical state and the vast distance separating the Vanished from the Pland city-state, summoning a larger, more potent flame seemed implausible. It would be challenging to cause a significant disturbance under these constraints.

Quickly assessing the situation, a notion began to crystallize in Duncan’s mind.

Perhaps it was time for Duncan to don his guise of the “benevolent savior” once more.

This hidden church had remained concealed for untold years, shielded by some unseen force that barred outsiders from discovering its secrets. But what if he took the initiative to remove this shroud?

Duncan was intrigued by how the Storm Church in the Pland city-state might respond. Moreover, he was keenly interested in the potential actions of the Storm Goddess. If he couldn’t directly breach the veil, why not thrust the church into the spotlight, making it front-page news?

Merely relaying this discovery to a few nighttime guards wouldn’t suffice, as that might jeopardize the first respondents’ safety. He needed to devise a more strategic and efficient method to broadcast this revelation.

Lost in his thoughts, a sly grin crept onto Duncan’s face, the smirk of someone about to indulge in a grand spectacle. This mischievous expression, however, unnerved Shirley and Dog. The latter, particularly alarmed, instinctively pulled his tail closer, stuttering, “Du… Dun… Mr. Duncan, what are you plotting?”

Waving away the concern with a casual flick of his hand, Duncan replied, “Nothing too grand, just contemplating ways to uphold the peace and order of the city-state.”

Dog emitted a nervous sound, as if scoffing internally. He suspected that even the fiercest demons lurking in the ocean’s depths would find Duncan’s assertion dubious. His recent grin seemed more in line with the gleeful anticipation of a mischief-maker who had just devised a grand plan.

But Duncan remained nonchalant, disregarding the wary glances from his companions. Casting one last significant look at the statue of Gomona, he declared, “We’ve seen all there is to see here,” before decisively making his way toward the exit. “It’s best we don’t linger.”

As the trio made haste toward the exit, Shirley hesitated momentarily, her voice tinged with concern. “Mr. Duncan, what are we going to do about the deceased nun?”

Duncan paused, his gaze falling upon the young woman who had tragically met her end in battle. Despite her tender age, which made her demise even more lamentable, she had faced her adversary with sword in hand amidst the shadows of this underground church. This observation prompted Duncan to a perplexing realization.

Why was a nun, typically devoted to spiritual duties, acting as the protector of this church? Ordinarily, wouldn’t there be a group of specially trained guardians ensuring its safety?

Duncan’s mind wandered back to the chilling tableau he had witnessed earlier in the church’s main hall. The guardians, presumably tasked with defending the church’s underground chambers, were seen lifelessly sprawled across the benches as if they had perished mid-prayer. No signs of a struggle or combat marred the scene.

Why were the designated protectors found in the main hall, where they appeared to have met an inexplicable end? Conversely, why had the young nun, who should have been in the main hall, met her end alone in the crypt below? If the intruder hailed from subspace and left no traces post-battle, how did the church end up sealed and seemingly forgotten? The eerie semblance of the nun was spotted in the main hall, perpetually engaged in her prayer routines…

Shaking off these unsettling musings, Duncan’s focus snapped back to the present. He cast a contemplative gaze at the nun, murmuring, “I apologize, but I can’t provide you with a proper burial here. Please rest, and perhaps, in time, someone will unravel the mysteries of that fateful day.”

Such an investigation, Duncan mused, would best be left to seasoned experts.

Rising to his feet, Duncan continued his path to the main hall’s entrance. As he walked, Shirley’s voice echoed hesitantly, “Are we really just leaving her like this?”

“Preserving the crime scene,” Duncan responded without turning, his voice firm. “Let’s move on. Our part here may be done, but the broader investigation is just beginning.”

Shirley responded with a vague nod of acknowledgment and, alongside Dog, fell in step behind Duncan. As they moved toward the main hall upstairs after coming out of the underground sanctuary, a soft yet distinct knocking noise suddenly broke the silence behind them.

Duncan’s stride faltered, and he quickly pivoted to face the source of the sound in the rear – an imposing wooden door adorned with steel reinforcements and intricate holy inscriptions had reappeared.

Shirley’s gaze darted toward the door, her eyes widening in astonishment and fear. Swiveling her head to Duncan, she met his deep, inscrutable gaze. His countenance, usually calm and collected, now bore an intense gravity.

Fumbling for words, all Shirley could stammer out was, “Do… do… door…” Her voice trailed off, the chilling realization rendering her momentarily speechless.

“I’ve noticed.” Duncan’s voice cut through Shirley’s hesitation as he approached the entrance to the sanctuary. Giving the foreboding door a measured once-over, he gently applied some force to push it.

Although the door wasn’t locked, it felt as if something—or someone—was obstructing it from the other side.

Duncan paused, retracting his hand and musing silently for a few moments. The fleeting urge to set the door ablaze was promptly quashed.

Duncan could almost envision what awaited them beyond the door. The peculiarities of this place made him dismiss the notion of continuously attempting a forced entry.

“This place… The fabric of time and space here is twisted, almost to the breaking point,” he murmured.

Meanwhile, several miles away in the heart of the city, nestled in the grandeur of the Storm Cathedral, the tranquil Vanna concluded her daily prayers. Having delegated the day’s responsibilities to her aides, she graciously dismissed her retinue. With a solemn demeanor, she then ventured alone into the cathedral’s most secluded and revered section.

The archives, situated deep within the cathedral, held a wealth of knowledge that few had access to. Under the watchful gaze of the statues of the goddess, the archives chronicled countless tales of the supernatural and other accounts deemed too sensitive for the public eye.

In many ways, these archives were the heart and soul of the Pland city-state. They encapsulated the church’s collective memory, preserving an intricate tapestry of its storied history and myriad secrets.

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