Chapter 167 “High Standard Report”

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To put it plainly, the moment the words left Duncan’s mouth, he was immediately filled with remorse. He was genuinely worried that Vanna, known for her blunt and straightforward nature, might act rashly and harm her own eyes right then and there.

This young inquisitor’s reaction was completely unforeseen. Duncan had always thought that revealing his identity as the chief adversary would undoubtedly provoke Vanna’s fierce animosity. But what he hadn’t counted on was her reacting so promptly and decisively. In just a heartbeat, she had discerned the vital signs of the dream invasion technique he had used, as well as its connection with the mirror medium, and had responded accordingly. Her reaction was markedly different from how Shirley had reacted when he had previously trespassed into her dreams.

Throughout their confrontation, Vanna was deliberate in ensuring she didn’t engage in any form of communication with Duncan, the one who had intruded into her dream space. This method of consciously avoiding interaction is often employed in dreams as a safeguard to stop the spread of mental infiltration.

This entire episode underscored the immense gap between a highly skilled inquisitor like Vanna and a supernatural entity like Duncan, who had been nurtured in a rather crude and unrefined manner. If not for Duncan’s unique abilities, and the fact that his invasion was anchored deeply within Vanna’s psyche, any lesser adversary would likely have been easily and swiftly neutralized by the inquisitor.

However, as the situation unfolded, Vanna had regained her composure and now just fixed her gaze on the ethereal figure of the captain that emerged in her line of sight. She had restrained herself from taking any drastic steps, like damaging her own eyes, probably realizing that the dream was thoroughly compromised and typical expulsion techniques would be futile.

She finally shut her eyes. When she opened them again, Duncan remained there, enshrouded in shadows, his figure shifting slightly, backlit by the eerie glow of a phantom fire.

Breaking the silence, Vanna’s voice, sharp and icy, cut through the atmosphere, “What is it that you want from me? How did you breach the barriers of my dream?”

Though she exuded hostility, Duncan couldn’t help but be entertained. The sharp contrast between her current aggressive demeanor and her previously composed and courteous behavior at the antique store intrigued him. He mused on how she would react if she ever discovered the store’s true nature.

Without any prevarication, Duncan replied, “I have a message for you. If you genuinely have the city’s safety at heart, you need to go to the Sixth District. Investigate the small church there.”

He then fell silent, maintaining his posture amidst the flames, radiating an aura of enigma and dominance.

Vanna, upon hearing the ghost captain’s words, seemed visibly shocked.

For a fleeting moment, it was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a concealed part of her consciousness. The terms “Sixth District” and “small church” resonated deeply within her, leaving her momentarily stunned and disoriented.

Yet what overwhelmed Vanna more than the momentary confusion was the unsettling truth that her dream sanctuary had been defiled by this infamous captain. Seeking solace, she turned inwards, attempting to reach out to the protective goddess enshrined within her heart. However, the goddess’s energy seemed unable to pierce through the dense shroud enveloping this dream. Vanna fixed her gaze on the “captain,” but his silhouette was so shrouded in darkness that it was impossible to discern any emotional reaction.

A few tense moments passed before Vanna, with gritted teeth and making every effort to appear composed, questioned him, “Do you seriously think it’s acceptable to intrude upon an inquisitor’s dream for… merely this piece of advice?”

“You’re free to draw your own conclusions,” Duncan responded with a tone of detached indifference, “I’m merely curious to see what you’ll uncover when you visit.”

Duncan felt a shifting, a tremor in the fabric of the dream, indicating that his grip on this reality was loosening.

He discerned that there was a whirlwind of resistance beneath Vanna’s seemingly composed exterior. Throughout their conversation, she was fiercely combating his presence using her formidable willpower. Her determination to eject him was so fervent that she was close to awakening from the dream simply by sheer force of will!

This realization pressed Duncan to expedite the conversation. Once he had relayed the critical information, he intended to retreat gracefully, leaving Vanna with an aura of mystery to ponder.

He wasn’t keen on elaborating, nor did he aspire to clarify his motives or build any semblance of trust. The inherent animosity between the roles of “Captain Duncan” and a “City Inquisitor” was unlikely to be bridged with mere words. Overexplaining would just risk rendering him suspicious and might divert Vanna’s focus.

The dreamlike flames surrounding him gradually dimmed, and his presence in Vanna’s dream began to fade.

However, just before their link was completely severed, Vanna impulsively shouted, “What are you planning to do with Pland?!”

In the engulfing darkness, Duncan’s face tilted upward, and a playful spark flickered in his eyes.

With a cocky grin accentuated by the dim, ghostly green luminescence, Vanna heard his whimsically baffling response.

“Order some fries.”

The dream realm crumbled in an instant, cutting their connection entirely.

In the vast and tumultuous void that followed, Duncan stepped back slightly, fixing his gaze on a shimmering point of light before him.

A skeletal dove, named Ai, emerged from the shadows, gliding effortlessly before coming to rest on Duncan’s shoulder.

“No matter what she deduces from this encounter,” Duncan remarked, his words more for his own reflection than for Ai, “The Sixth District and the small church have inevitably attracted the attention of Pland’s Storm Cathedral… Their motives might be varied, but they’ll undeniably probe deeper into those locations.”

Duncan’s plan was rather straightforward but astoundingly efficient. The crux of his scheme revolved around unveiling the mysteries hidden in the modest chapel located in the Sixth District, subsequently steering the ever-watchful eyes of the Storm Church in its direction. Whatever conjectures or deductions Vanna and the clergy backing her might formulate were not of Duncan’s immediate interest.

The enormity of what had transpired couldn’t be understated. Here was the Boundless Sea’s mightiest mobile calamity, taking the audacious step of directly communicating with an inquisitor through a dream. His accusations hinted at potential blasphemy and corruption festering within the city-state’s underbelly. Such a bold maneuver was bound to keep the high-ranking clergy preoccupied for an extended period. And during this time of rapt attention, they would, without a doubt, direct all their investigative prowess towards the aforementioned chapel. By the time their investigations conclude, any and all secrets cloaked within the chapel would see the light of day.

Duncan also acknowledged that Vanna might be momentarily distracted by the Vanished during her inquiries. But in the grand scale of things, he viewed these as mere footnotes.

Reflecting on his impromptu statement made just as their dream connection was severed, a playful smirk played on Duncan’s lips.

“‘Order some fries’?” The skeletal avian being named Ai, comfortably resting on his shoulder, turned its head curiously towards him, “Are you referring to the sliced tubers, fried to perfection?”

Duncan’s brows knitted momentarily, “You seem to be mixing your phrases again,” he responded with mild amusement, “But having fries as a morning treat does sound appealing. Plus, it’d be an excellent chance to teach Alice to prepare something a bit more commonplace.”

…

Vanna was jolted awake.

Her surroundings were shrouded in darkness, save for the soft, ethereal glow from the World’s Creation seeping through the window. It painted abstract patterns on the room’s decor.

She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and her head felt as if it was in a vice, squeezed from all sides. The mental fatigue, compounded by the stress of her recent dream, manifested as a stabbing pain in her temples. Her night attire was drenched, sticking to her skin, making her feel clammy and uncomfortable.

But all these physical discomforts paled in comparison to the violation she felt from the invasive dream she had just emerged from.

Slowly rising from her resting place, Vanna’s eyes darted around her room. She blinked multiple times, each time half-expecting and fearing the spectral form of Captain Duncan to materialize in front of her.

Only when she was fully convinced that she had truly escaped the ghostly captain’s grasp and that she was securely anchored in the tangible world did she allow herself a deep, relieving exhale.

In her tenure as an inquisitor, such intense sensations of trepidation had been few and far between.

Walking over to her vanity, she was greeted by her own reflection.

She meticulously studied her own image as if expecting some minute discrepancy. After a few moments, Vanna reached into a drawer, retrieving a petite dagger intricately decorated with runes that represented the forces of storm and tide.

Clasping the venerated relic firmly in her grasp, she deliberately drew its sharp edge over her wrist, permitting her own warm lifeblood to soak the intricate runes carved into its surface. As each drop seeped into the sacred carvings, Vanna began to utter her devout prayers to the Storm Goddess, seeking her guidance and protection.

As she chanted, the faint but unmistakable melody of ocean waves gently caressed her ears. The ethereal sound was reminiscent of the vast, undulating seas, offering a familiar comfort. It was the Storm Goddess’s gentle embrace, always ready to shield and console her agitated spirit during tumultuous times.

Feeling renewed and reconnected to her deity, a wave of calm and reassurance washed over Vanna. Without wasting another moment, she discarded her sweat-soaked night attire, swiftly replacing it with her customary inquisitorial garb. Picking up the hefty blade that rested against her bedside, its polished surface gleaming softly, she made her way out of the room.

Soon after, the relative stillness of the affluent city district was interrupted by the soft chugging sound of a personal steam-powered vehicle. Under the luminescent glow of the gas streetlights, Vanna steered the machine towards the towering silhouette of the city’s cathedral.

An overriding sense of urgency compelled her. She needed to relay everything to Bishop Valentine – not only about the bewildering dream encounter with Captain Duncan but also concerning the inconsistent findings she had stumbled upon in the archival chambers. The sheer magnitude of the unraveling mystery was staggering. It had grown beyond what a solitary inquisitor could handle.

The magnitude of the unfolding events might even necessitate involving the Grand Storm Cathedral that vigilantly patrolled the expansive ocean waters.

With a resolute look in her eyes, Vanna’s breaths remained even and her mind focused, unwavering in her mission.

Yet, amidst her determination, a nagging thought refused to be dismissed. A seemingly incongruous detail from the dream gnawed at her mind.

That offhand remark about “ordering some fries”… What could such an odd statement signify?

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