Chapter 192 “The Promised Ark”
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation
In the heart of the ship’s navigation chamber, time seemed to stand still. The eternal sunlight of the Boundless Sea, a vast expanse of water with no visible end, poured in through the round portholes. This golden light bathed the room, casting its warm hue over everything. The room itself was adorned with historical relics, artifacts that have stood the test of time for over a century. Their age only added to their brilliance, causing them to shine even brighter under the light.
Tucked into a corner of the navigation desk was an unusual artifact: a finely crafted sculpture of a black goat’s head. This wasn’t just a piece of art but a sentient object with a critical function. It was responsible for guiding the ship’s direction. Beside it on the desk lay an ancient nautical map, now veiled with a layer of enchanting mist. Through the ethereal fog, shipping routes etched on the map seemed almost alive, flowing and bending towards a predestined location.
The final destination marked on the map was the city-state of Pland. Through the soft haze, the gleaming signal of the city slowly emerged, getting closer to the ship, which bore the name “Vanished”. However, its approach was so gradual that one could easily miss it without paying close attention.
Without warning, the door to the chamber creaked open, casting a long shadow on the floor. Duncan, the ship’s captain, stood framed in the doorway.
The instant he entered, the goat head sculpture sprang into action. The wood of its neck groaned, and it swiveled its head to face Duncan. In a tone both respectful and playful, it greeted, “Ah, Captain Duncan! Your humble servant is honored by your visit. How fare you today? It seems you’ve had quite the eventful day since we last spoke. And how do you find the weather on this fine…”
Duncan, familiar with the sculpture’s verbose nature, raised a hand to cut it short, “That’s enough. I don’t need the same elaborate greetings every day.” Still, he cast a lingering, thoughtful look at the enigmatic goat head.
Its appearance remained constant, a fixed and expressionless visage. However, its deep obsidian eyes gave off an unsettling aura. They had an uncanny, almost supernatural quality to them. Despite this, Duncan never felt threatened by the creature. It was as if its primary purpose was to serve him and ensure the ship sailed smoothly.
With a voice dripping with feigned concern, the goat head inquired, “My dear captain, you seem burdened with thoughts today. I noticed you had some unexpected guests on board earlier. But now, they seem to be missing?”
With a sigh, Duncan settled into his chair, “They were gone by dawn. They were Enders.”
The goat head, always eager to share its wealth of knowledge, began, “Ah, the Ender Missionaries… Quite the elusive lot. While they’re notorious for their sudden appearances and just as swift disappearances, they usually keep to themselves. Not as overt as the Sun Worshippers or as aggressive as the Annihilators. How, might I ask, did you cross paths with such rare beings?”
Duncan leaned back, stretching his fingers thoughtfully. “They targeted a human I had under surveillance, so I took the liberty of detaining them. It was more of an impulsive decision to see how Alice would react,” he admitted with a hint of nonchalance, all the while scrutinizing the goat head for any change in its demeanor. “During their capture, they babbled about something regarding ‘subspace.’ How well do you know these zealots?”
The goat head, its obsidian eyes unwavering, answered promptly, “I’d suggest not dwelling too much on their delusional beliefs.” It shifted slightly, emphasizing, “Even the mere mention of ‘subspace’ can draw unwanted and perilous attention. Engaging with those who are manically devoted to it is inviting trouble. While a formidable entity like you might be immune to their antics, indulging their ramblings could be more harmful than beneficial.”
Taking a moment to gather its thoughts, it elaborated, “In all honesty, my understanding of these fanatics is rather basic. The world at large remains mostly in the dark about them. Of all the cults that exist, the Enders stand out as particularly odd. Their ability to materialize and vanish without a trace, their disjointed way of thinking, and the fact that they don’t have the same vast base of everyday followers like other cults makes them an enigma. They’re mostly isolated and don’t seem to engage with outsiders.”
The goat head then went into a more detailed exposition. From its discourse, Duncan was able to piece together a clearer picture of the Enders.
Compared to the well-known cult factions, the Sun-worshippers (or Suntists) and the Annihilators, the Enders’ numbers were distinctly small. Reports and observed activities suggested that there might only be a few hundred to a thousand of them.
Where other cult organizations typically have an extensive foundation of regular individuals who lead rather mundane lives aside from their altered beliefs, the Enders lacked this underpinning. Instead, their most potent members often represented them.
The puzzling nature of their existence was evident: How could such a group sustain itself without grassroots support? Similarly, the inner workings of the Suntists and Annihilators, particularly how they ensnared everyday people, remained a mystery.
Furthermore, even with “Missionaries” in their name, the Enders seemed inept at propagating their beliefs. Their rationality was evidently compromised, with their speech and reasoning straying far from conventional thought. While they consistently professed alleged “truths” about ‘subspace’, no rational individual would ever be swayed by their arguments. Those weak of mind would find themselves ensnared by the allure of subspace, transforming into grotesque creatures before the Enders could even make their pitch.
This suggested a perplexing truth: the Enders seemed virtually incapable of bolstering their ranks through traditional indoctrination.
Adding to their mysterious nature was their evanescent quality, seeming more phantom than reality in their sudden appearances and equally abrupt exits.
Having encountered the mysterious nature of the Enders firsthand, Duncan was no stranger to their uncanny abilities.
Although the goat head had downplayed its awareness of the Enders, the depth and richness of the information it provided betrayed a more intricate understanding.
Duncan leaned back, eyes narrowing in thought. “Enders who are too erratic to propagate their beliefs… Where did the original members originate?” he pondered aloud.
The goat head, with a playful tilt, answered, “Who knows? Maybe they’re the children of subspace itself…”
Choosing to bypass the creature’s casual quip about subspace, Duncan also kept to himself an unconventional hypothesis he had regarding the Enders. It stood to reason that if a newcomer like him could conceive such an idea, then surely the guardians and bishops, those who had combatted heretical beliefs for ages in various human city-states, would have a more developed understanding of the Enders allegiance to subspace.
The goat head’s voice sliced through his contemplation. “You seem unusually engrossed in this Enders business, Captain. I can’t remember the last time I saw you this pensive.”
Lifting his gaze to meet the unwavering eyes of the sculpture, Duncan posed an unexpected question, “Tell me, if the history of a city-state has been altered, is there hope for its redemption?”
He posed the question with a detached air as if broaching a theoretical conundrum.
Pausing briefly, the goat head deliberated. Its stoic facade betrayed no emotion. “Corrupted history? Sounds like the handiwork of subspace to me.”
“You believe only subspace has the power to rewrite history?” Duncan inquired, an eyebrow arching in curiosity.
The goat head replied, “What else, other than subspace, with its tumultuous melding of time and space, has the ability to tamper with a city-state’s lineage? This world holds no other force capable of such an act… well, except perhaps for that celestial entity in the heavens…”
As the goat head rambled on, a revelation dawned upon Duncan.
Subspace’s temporal and spatial properties are in turmoil?
It was the maiden piece of intel he had acquired that painted a vivid picture of subspace’s nature.
This newfound knowledge dovetailed with a recollection from a prophetic dream where the Frost Queen had implored, “I beseech thee, refrain from tainting history.”
Deep lines of concentration appeared on Duncan’s forehead as he tried to sift through the flood of information that had been thrown at him. Shaking off his contemplation, he refocused on the enigmatic goat head sculpture. Feeling the weight of Duncan’s undivided attention, the creature quickly silenced its rambling. Then sensing the serious tone of their conversation, it ventured, “You seem particularly fixated on the Enders today. Might they have…”
“They may have initiated something… something that’s left me feeling disconcerted,” Duncan admitted, his voice heavy with unease.
For a brief, silent moment, they stared at one another — Duncan’s searching eyes locked onto the cold, emotionless gaze of the goat head. It was as if an invisible connection had been forged between them, allowing a silent understanding to pass without the need for words.
The goat head then began, “City-states have always had their defenders — guardians appointed to protect their essence. Then there are the Flame Bearers, designated to safeguard the flow of history. Regardless of the Enders’ potentially chaotic tendencies, they shouldn’t pose a threat to someone like you. Even if they possess the capacity to distort history, they cannot tarnish you or the Vanished.”
Intrigued, Duncan pressed further, “You believe they’re powerless against me and the Vanished?”
“We emerged from the depths of subspace, Captain,” the goat head articulated with deliberate care. “While many aspects of this world are vulnerable to manipulation and alteration, subspace remains an exception. And we have been… intimately acquainted with its confines.”
Duncan’s expression turned contemplative once more. Echoes of the Enders manic speeches, which he had previously dismissed, now resounded in his thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, he whispered, almost to himself, “The Promised Ark…”
It’s interesting that the transmigration isn’t considered pollution
It’s just a guess, but probably it’s mostly about intention. After the original Duncan uncovered the secrets of the world enough to proclaim its doom, he seemed to be searching for something in subspace, something that can reverse the tide. The transmigration of a foreign soul from a world of order seems to be what he found. In which case, rather than being polluted, he let that soul in.
Duncan himself seems to still exist to some extent, even when possessed. Some of the stuff done on a subconscious level doesn’t seem to come from a mortal mind. Most significantly, it isn’t the protagonist that’s holding the door to subspace shut. The goat head asking his name is probably because invoking the name of Duncan Abnomar would be enough to wake up his remnant soul if he was in a light state of possession, so they wouldn’t dare as long as it still exists. The protagonist, however, has permission. After all, even though he didn’t inherit Duncan’s memories, the name alone was whispered to him from the beginning, like a key.
I actually suspect that the dude rebuilt himself out of subspace piece by piece while fighting to maintain his initial will all the while, which is pretty hardcore. His daughter turned herself into a doll? Pssh, her dad gathered pulled out his bones and replaced them with roughly fashioned driftwood from a sea of madness.
did you just spoil us that his daughter is a doll now or just another rambling?
Thanks for the chapter!
This chapter gives me the chill of some eerie forbidden truth and deeds done in the past but still ongoing
So this is just a guess… but what if Zhou didn’t transmigrate to begin with. He’s in the world he knows but at the same time it’s a different world from what he knows. Maybe the world was just a very big lie, a dream perhaps. Dreaming makes the world continue to function, but if the one who dreams woke up the thin bubble would pop into nothingness
Fyi: rabbles is incorrect, it’s rabble. It pulls double duty as a singular and a plural.
I keep wanting him to go look at his computer. There has to be a reason it still has power. Browse those files! Also, I’m not sure if he still has internet or not. I’d be going bugfuck without my coffee, cigarettes, books, computer, internet, and tv/video games. A world where the only books safe to read are a few religious texts… That’d be hell.
the more it goes on, the more I feel the Vanished is aware of the transmigation, as in it is its whole mission. this plan might be the only way to pierce the veil, to think about what is needed to be done without going insane. fighting is not hard, but how can they fight if they can’t judge what they are up against? being an outside to some extent has its benefits. it might be that goathead understand what MC is going through. his insistence in hearing the name isn’t a protective layer of routine, like in the churches. it is a pre-define inclination, like an echoing whisper, a path for MC acceptance and integration, a balance between knowing and not.
pretty sure it was confirmed when goathead said “Vanished what have you brought”