Chapter 182: “A Peaceful Tomorrow Will Still Come”

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.

The atmosphere in the shop had turned unsettlingly quiet after their recent conversation. Morris remained seated, his thoughts a chaotic jumble, echoing confusingly like a broken record. Despite his urge to flee the intensity of the moment, he couldn’t simply leave in the presence of Mr. Duncan. He had to stay until this enigmatic figure, who seemed almost otherworldly, was satisfied with their dialogue.

With an inquisitive tone, Duncan asked, “If something or someone were corrupting the course of history, what would be the remedy?”

Trying to grasp the gravity of Duncan’s words, Morris slowly lifted his head, his expression puzzled, and asked, “Are you suggesting there’s an entity deliberately tampering with our history? To whom are you referring?”

Duncan responded calmly, “It doesn’t matter who or what it is—be it an anomaly in subspace, an organization like the Black Sun, or even some renegade deities. The question is, if history is being tainted, how do we correct it? And how do the Flame Bearers confront such a threat?”

Caught off guard, Morris hesitated before responding, “I… I apologize, but I can’t provide an answer. Such knowledge surpasses what I’m privy to. Perhaps only the most revered and chosen among the Flame Bearers would be aware of these profound secrets. The majority of the Flame Bearers, akin to the guardians of the Storm Church, primarily focus on routine tasks like dispelling heresies and cleansing corruptions. After all, the idea of genuine historical corruption is almost unfathomable…”

Duncan, recognizing the depth of his inquiry, sighed, “I understand. I delved too deep, making it challenging for you to answer. I may have unintentionally overwhelmed you.” He paused before adding, “Let’s conclude our conversation for now.”

Morris felt an immediate wave of relief wash over him. His mind had been overwhelmed, cluttered with jumbled thoughts and a barrage of unanswered questions. Duncan’s decision to halt their discussion felt like a blessing.

As this exchange occurred, the shopkeeper subtly shifted his attention to the window. Even though sunset was hours away, the overcast sky had plunged the surroundings into darkness. The gas street lamps were already lit, casting their glow onto the streets, creating a stark contrast against the looming dark clouds.

Sensing the grim atmosphere, Duncan remarked, “It’s an unfortunate day outside.” He then turned to Morris, his tone softening, “Would you like to stay a bit longer? Nina should have dinner ready soon.”

The realization made Morris’s heart race. He remembered a well-known saying at the Truth Academy used to depict scholars who pursued the wildest and most mythical knowledge. They were described as those who would dive deep into the mysteries of subspace, engage in audacious dialogues in the presence of malevolent deities, observe divine beings in combat, and ultimately share a communal meal, symbolized by the gesture of passing the soup bowl.

Given the situation, if one were to imagine this antique shop as a representation of subspace, and if one were to consider Mr. Duncan’s stature as being on par with that of the gods, then surely this surreal encounter with the shadow from subspace, reminiscent of a confrontation with the God of Wisdom, would mean that Morris had lived out three of the four fantastical experiences mentioned in the saying.

All that remained was the symbolic sharing of the soup bowl.

Gathering his courage, Morris began, “In all honesty…”

Interrupting him, Duncan said, “You wish to depart, am I right?” He didn’t need Morris to complete his thought. Duncan’s perceptiveness was uncanny. “Though I’d suggest you stay due to the inclement weather and perhaps share a bowl of soup with me, I surmise you’d find solace away from the intensity of our encounter?”

Acknowledging this, Morris swiftly stood, replying, “Every moment has been quite intense for me. I don’t mean any disrespect; it’s just that…”

Duncan raised a hand, halting Morris’s explanation. “There’s no need for further clarification. If circumstances were different and our surroundings more relaxed, I’d relish the opportunity to discuss history and the divine with you. My intentions are purely driven by a thirst for knowledge, devoid of any malice. However, this particular setting isn’t conducive to such a conversation.”

“I must admit,” Morris hesitated, “I’ve found myself lost in thought numerous times, nearly drifting from the reality of our discussion. You’ve shown genuine curiosity and camaraderie – the likes of which I’ve rarely encountered.”

He felt a twinge of guilt, wanting to say more to show his appreciation, but words failed him.

Seeing Morris’s struggle, Duncan chuckled, “If the words elude you, don’t fret. Just promise not to report our meeting after you leave, alright?”

“Oh, absolutely not!” Morris exclaimed, shaking his head vehemently, “After all, you did save Heidi’s life, regardless of the circumstances, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me. I have no inclination, let alone a reason, to report this encounter. Moreover…”

The elderly historian paused, his expression turning into a rueful smile as he opened his palms, “Given your demeanor and bearing, I doubt you have much to fear from anyone reporting on you.”

Duncan replied with a laid-back attitude, “It would be an inconvenience for me, but likely not a significant issue.”

He then shifted his gaze towards the second floor of the building and mused, “Assuming the weather clears up tomorrow, Nina will resume her schooling.”

“Nina…” The name caught Morris’s attention and stirred memories of the brilliant, fiery arc he had witnessed earlier. Piecing together the bits of information, he ventured with some trepidation, “Is Nina… associated with what the Suntists revere?”

Before he could finish his inquiry, Duncan began shaking his head, silencing him. “Nina is just Nina,” Duncan stated gently, “There’s no need for you to delve into the mysteries surrounding her. Treat her as you always have, and all will remain unchanged.”

“Understood,” Morris replied, a weight visibly lifting from his shoulders. “I believe it’s time for me to depart. Kindly convey my farewells to Nina. Given my current state, I think it best not to ‘encounter’ her once more.”

Acknowledging the sentiment, Duncan rose, adhering to traditional courtesies, and walked with Morris to the shop’s entrance.

Outside, the streets were nearly deserted, save for the ambient glow of street lamps that punctuated the overcast city. An increasing chill carried with it hints of impending rain.

Bracing against the cold, Morris pulled his coat tighter and adjusted his top hat. As he approached his car, he paused to glance back at Duncan. The shopkeeper stood there, still exuding a calm and reassuring aura, and notably, the streets and surroundings had ceased their earlier unsettling distortions.

“Mr. Duncan,” Morris suddenly remarked, “you genuinely cherish this place, don’t you?”

With a heartfelt chuckle, Duncan replied, “Indeed, I have grown quite fond of it.” He then raised his hand in a farewell gesture, “Safe travels home. Rest assured, Pland will remain peaceful tomorrow and for many days to come.”

In a gesture of gratitude and respect, Morris tipped his hat before slipping into his car parked by the curb.

Instead of immediately returning indoors, Duncan lingered outside, watching Morris’s car until it disappeared from view. Deep in thought, he contemplated the implications of their unexpected encounter.

Among his many musings, one particular question loomed large: Would Morris, upon reflection, decide to report him?

Upon reflection, Duncan believed that the likelihood of Morris reporting him was incredibly slim. Had Duncan come across as a mere follower of a forbidden cult or perhaps even a higher-ranking priest of the Suntists, Morris would almost certainly have relayed their encounter to the authorities. However, Duncan’s demeanor during their interaction hadn’t portrayed him as an ancient deity but rather as a benevolent figure, a shadow, who merely desired to coexist peacefully within the city. This perception substantially reduced the probability of Morris taking any action.

Furthermore, Duncan’s reasoning was grounded in practicality. To deal with mere cultists or a priest, one only needed a squad of guardians. But who could possibly challenge a malevolent deity from subspace? The bishop residing in the central cathedral of this city? It was a laughable thought!

Indeed, Morris might have a better chance seeking guidance from his revered God of Wisdom than from any terrestrial institution.

Setting aside these speculations, the truth was that Duncan wasn’t particularly bothered by the prospect of being reported. From his vantage point, even Vanna, the formidable inquisitor and the pinnacle of the Storm Church’s guardians paled in strength and significance.

However, an issue of genuine concern for Duncan was Nina’s current condition.

A blazing trail, continually spewing flames… That was the “truth” Morris perceived when he observed Nina, aided by the True Eye, a gift from the God of Wisdom.

Duncan pondered deeply, murmuring to himself, “Fragments of the sun…” He lifted his gaze to the night sky, cloaked in darkness, and mused, “What is the true nature of the sun in this realm?”

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