Chapter 138 “Two Descendants”
This Translation is hosted on bcatranslation.com
In the faintly lit chamber of fortune-telling, a lone candle’s flame was the only source of light, casting an eerie glow over the surroundings. Lucretia, seated in an ornate chair adorned with plush velvet cushioning, found her gaze fixed on the gleaming crystal ball before her. Yet, her mind wasn’t on the present. It was transported back to a distant afternoon a hundred years prior.
A figure, now a fading silhouette in her memories, stood confidently on a ship’s deck. The setting sun painted the sky with hues of amber and gold, making his tall frame resemble flickering flames. As he spoke to Lucretia, his voice was unfamiliar – deeper, more restrained than she remembered. “Our world,” he whispered, “is but dying embers in the vastness of existence.”
It was only later that she realized the terrifying truth: her father had been on the brink of madness when he spoke those words. Eventually, he would surrender his very humanity, opting instead for the elusive allure of subspace. Now, years later, Lucretia pondered: had she delved deeper into her father’s cryptic words that day, sought clarity on his visions of the world’s edge, might the course of their lives be changed?
Maybe her father’s tragic fate was preordained, or the emergence of the ‘Vanished’ was a cosmic inevitability. Yet, she yearned for understanding – the narrative behind it all. Now, she was trapped in her endless quest, helming a ship with a dark legacy, navigating through realms even the church’s most intrepid enforcers feared to tread.
“Lucretia? Are you with me?”
Snapped back to reality by Tyrian’s voice emanating from the crystal ball, Lucretia shook off the remnants of her reverie.
She regarded her elder brother’s reflection in the ball with a grave expression, “Tyrian, can you recall the last words Father shared before embarking on that fateful voyage to the world’s boundary? He was insistent that we remain behind.”
Tyrian’s nod was deliberate, “I remember every word. He claimed he had unearthed a lead on Anomaly 000 and intended to ‘heal our world’. Not only did he dissuade both of us from accompanying him, but he also turned away multiple escort ships. When he returned, bearing the ‘Vanished’, both he and the ship were… transformed. Every sailor, officer, and navigator aboard had been rendered mute, their voices stolen away. However, Father was an exception. While he could still articulate his thoughts, they were fraught with mystery. He confirmed that his quest for the elusive Anomaly 000 had been fruitless. Furthermore, he postulated that even if Anomaly 000 were real, it wasn’t the root cause of the world’s distortions. What was believed to be a potential cure had been an illusion all along. From that time onwards, leading up to his haunting proclamation about the world’s dwindling state on that sunset-lit deck, he remained tight-lipped about his border expedition.”
In the shimmering reflection of the crystal ball, Tyrian seemed lost in contemplation, a silence stretching between the two siblings. It was Lucretia who finally ventured forth, “Post his return, I reached out to the border-patrolling fleets of the church, including the esteemed Flame Bearers, the learned minds of the Truth Academy, and even the shadowed acolytes of Death. I sought any information on Anomaly 000, yet all echoed the same sentiment – an anomaly or vision labeled ‘000’ was inconceivable.”
Tyrian nodded gravely, “I, too, sought answers. And like you, I was met with similar revelations. It’s not just that Anomaly 000 hasn’t been discovered yet. It’s that there isn’t even a designated place for it. The classification list, rumored to have originated from the Tomb of the Nameless King, leaves no stone unturned. Each anomaly or vision, whether existing or yet to be realized, has its specific code. Even those that have morphed over time, like the curious mushroom urn or the mythical fungal island, were assigned their designated slots. Yet, at the list’s commencement, a slot for ‘000’ is conspicuously absent. Given Father’s knowledge and stature, it seems improbable that he wasn’t aware of this.”
After a brief pause, Tyrian, with a weighty gaze, addressed Lucretia directly, “It’s been decades since we last touched upon this subject. Why now? What’s your intent?”
Lucretia, often a fortress of stoicism, surprisingly revealed a hint of a smile, “Rest easy, Tyrian. I won’t recklessly venture into the mysterious mist wall like Father did. My intent is solely to unearth the fragments of truth he left in his wake without retracing his doomed steps.”
A sigh of relief escaped Tyrian, and he replied, “That’s reassuring.”
An ensuing silence enveloped the two, each preoccupied with their thoughts and worries, intensified by the century-long physical distance between them. The stillness was only broken by a distant, muffled sound of a steam whistle from the Sea Mist emanating from the crystal ball. Catching this, Lucretia queried, “Are you en route to Pland, heeding the governor’s summons?”
With a gravity evident in his tone, Tyrian addressed the matter at hand, “The mere fact of an invitation isn’t my concern. The security affairs of that particular city-state hardly hold any importance for me. But the crux of the issue, as laid out by the governor in his correspondence, is the resurfacing of the ‘Vanished’ in our realm. Nearly fifty years have gone by without a trace of that ship. Its sudden re-emergence is cause for alarm.”
Reflecting briefly, Lucretia sought clarity, “Tyrian, I recall from stories past that you once crossed paths with the ‘Vanished’, and this was in Frost. Was the ship you glimpsed truly the ‘Vanished’?”
There was no hesitation in Tyrian’s reply, though his voice took on a deeper, more solemn tone, “Without a shadow of a doubt. The unique placement of its masts, the intricate arrangement of its ropes — they’re unmistakably those of the ‘Vanished’.”
Cautiously, Lucretia continued, “The figure you spotted on the ship back then, could it have been… ‘Father’?”
Averting his gaze, Tyrian’s face became momentarily obscured in the dim light of the ball, “It was him. Much as I wish to deny it, it was unmistakably our father.”
A palpable tension built between the siblings conveyed even through the confines of the crystal ball. Taking a breath, Lucretia’s voice softened, “You need to tread with the utmost caution, Tyrian. If it indeed turns out to be father, your proximity places you in peril.”
Tyrian released a subdued sigh, acknowledging the gravity of the situation, “I’m well aware. He’s become a deranged specter, his essence warped by the clutches of subspace. I will not underestimate him.”
In her characteristic deadpan manner, Lucretia interjected, “What I actually meant was: should Father get wind of how you’ve turned the Sea Mist into this behemoth of steel, he might deliver a blow fiercer than the one you endured five decades past.”
Tyrian’s countenance revealed his shock. “What are you implying? My modifications are the epitome of modernization! What’s the harm in integrating steam boilers and cutting-edge artillery? Besides, considering your own alterations, how can you even point fingers? At least I’ve preserved facets of the original blueprint. Can you point to even a single unchanged deck on your ‘Bright Star’…”
Before he could finish, the crystal ball’s image abruptly faded to black.
A sigh escaped Lucretia as she stood, comforted by the knowledge that her brother’s spirited nature remained undiminished. His vigor, provoked by even the slightest jest and his evident passion for modern marvels, was heartening.
For those bestowed with immortality, the true curse lay in the waning of their spirit, the gradual atrophy of the soul.
Emerging from the room’s shadows, the soft patter of footsteps, punctuated by the rhythmic whirring of gears, broke the silence. Lucretia’s gaze settled on a clockwork automaton, its design reminiscent of her own visage. Yet, the construct’s metallic joints, riveted frame, and maid-like attire sculpted from steel and ceramics lent it an unsettling, almost macabre aesthetic.
With each step it took, the automaton’s internal gears clicked softly in tandem. Presenting Lucretia with a cup of tea, its mechanized mouth emitted a somewhat cold, mechanized female voice, “Mistress, your tea is served.”
“Thank you,” Lucretia responded gracefully, cradling the cup in her hand. As the warm aroma from the tea wafted up to her nostrils, she turned her gaze to Luni and inquired, “Luni, can you tell me our current location?”
The mechanical being, known as Luni, responded in her precise and modulated tone, “We, aboard the Bright Star, have recently navigated past ‘Foghorn Island’. Currently, our trajectory has placed us skirting the fringes of the unknowable region known as the ‘Eternal Veil’. Might you wish to take in the scenic views enveloping us?”
Lucretia, savoring a sip of her tea, set the cup back onto the tray held by Luni, “Open the dome. With dawn breaking, it’s an opportune time to bask in the early rays of sunlight.”
“Your wishes are paramount, Mistress.”
Acknowledging with a respectful bow, Luni began to retreat.
A cacophony of mechanical sounds enveloped the room as soon as her words were finished: the thrumming of intricate devices, the symphonic harmony of colossal springs working in tandem with magical units, and the rhythmic dance of gears and sliders. Animatedly, the walls of this sacred space began to retract and expand, morphing in form and function. What was once a dimly lit chamber of reflection was now awash with golden sunlight. Slowly, the entire room underwent a metamorphosis, unfurling like a mechanized flower until it finally reached its zenith, a stage that stood tall and majestic.
This impressive spectacle was situated on the uppermost deck of the Bright Star. Lucretia’s personal sanctuary, where many knew her as the “Witch of the Sea,” was now transformed into a grandiose observation point. From this vantage point, one could glean the entire expanse of the Bright Star, revealing a ship of dual identities.
The fore section of the ship bore the markings of intense transformation. It was embellished with myriad runes and enchanted artifacts strewn meticulously across its formidable hull. This section barely resembled a traditional ship; instead, it was reminiscent of an immense magical construct. The deck was intricately designed using eclectic materials sourced from the world’s fringes and the ocean’s mysterious depths. Everywhere the eye wandered, it met with otherworldly and mesmerizing hues, as though the very essence of magic was constantly weaving its tapestry amidst the vast array of crystals and arcane patterns.
Contrastingly, the aft of the Bright Star presented a visual dichotomy. The ship’s stern was almost ethereal, with sections appearing translucent and shrouded in a mystical veil. Within this shimmering facade, illuminated by ghostly luminescence, one could discern traces of the ship’s original design. A majestic warship, crafted over a century ago, bore design elements that seemed eerily reminiscent of the fabled “Vanished”.
Thanks for the chapter. I wonder what they’ll think of Duncan once they meet him again.
What if vision 000 is Zhou Ming, as his identity itself is a taboo, a remnant of the old world. If his identity is taboo itself then the Scarlet King would surely lie as it doesn’t even know Zhou Ming existence.
Hmmm.. things would get spicy then.
What misery says sounds better than what I thought
I lowkey thought it to be like a spark of hope and he becomes op like kratos like he embodies that spark the spark is him