Chapter 297: “Investigation of the Cemetery”
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com
Mary, Morris’s wife, stared at the envelope for a long time before carefully using an opener to slit it open.
A thin, folded piece of paper slipped out. Before unfolding it, Mary noticed uneven indentations on its back, indicating forceful handwriting, suggesting the writer was highly emotional.
Sitting by the fireplace, the elderly woman adjusted her position, placing the previously read letter on a nearby small round table. She glanced at the date stamp on the envelope from Frost. It was sent on December 5th, just three days after the initial letter. The late “Scott Brown” had written this second one.
As Mary unfolded the note, she saw several lines of untidy, rushed handwriting, starkly different from the elegant script of the folklorist in the earlier letter. The lines conveyed immense anxiety and fear:
“My friend, something is… wrong. I can’t explain it to you. I’m very confused right now, finding it hard to think. Something is disturbing my mind, my memory… don’t come to Frost! Never come to Frost under any circumstances! Even if you receive other letters or invitations from me, never come to Frost!
“There is a massive conspiracy.
“Don’t come to Frost!”
The note lacked a signature, and even the envelope’s stamp was askew.
Mary stared at the hastily penned words, imagining a folklorist, his mental state in turmoil from overwhelming cognitive dissonance, using his last bit of sanity to write these sentences. She envisioned him struggling through Frost’s icy wind to deliver the letter to the post office.
She quietly refolded the paper and returned it to the envelope.
The letter was unsettling, exuding a sinister aura. Ordinarily, it would have been enough to make the recipient seek sanctuary in a church.
However, Mary’s eyes scanned the small round table next to her, examining the letter from the Vanished:
“…The deep sea offspring do have a distinct taste, more delectable than common fish. The captain has honed special cooking techniques, and Anomaly 099—Miss Alice, has mastered it. Perhaps I should attempt it as well…”
The elderly woman silently tossed the letter from Frost into the nearby fireplace, watching it quickly burn to ash in the bright flames.
“They’ve already left…” she whispered before rising and gathering ink, a pen, and writing paper from a nearby shelf, preparing to write a letter—this one to be sent to the antique shop in the lower city district.
……
Church personnel in black coats moved around the cemetery, examining every path, coffin, and street lamp, marking and sampling them to reconstruct the events of the previous night.
“Gatekeeper” Agatha remained in the caretaker’s hut, with the gloomy, hunchbacked old caretaker sitting across from her.
After some time, the young woman, mostly wrapped in bandages, looked up at the sky outside the window, seeing the sun gradually sinking and a faint reddish glow spreading across the city.
Evening was approaching. Her guards had been busy in the cemetery for several hours, and the old caretaker in front of her had been silent the entire time.
Strictly speaking, the old caretaker wasn’t just silent—he was in a state of near mental closure, not moving, speaking, or reacting to external stimuli. Since the church guards received the report and came here, he had been sitting quietly in that chair, like a breathing flesh sculpture.
A black-clad guard pushed open the wooden door of the caretaker’s hut, approached Agatha, bent down, and whispered something to her. She nodded slightly: “I understand. Send the samples to the cathedral first, and leave the scene as it is. Tonight might be crucial; we need someone on watch.”
The black-clad guard nodded and left, but not before glancing at the old man sitting motionlessly in the chair. The young guard’s face showed apparent unease at seeing the old man’s stagnant, murky eyes: “How long… will he stay like this? Is it really okay?”
“Protective mental closure. He’s using this method to fight and cleanse the contamination he’s been exposed to, possibly protecting us as well,” Agatha whispered. “The gravekeeper must have encountered something unimaginable last night; he seems to have struggled back from the brink of madness… But don’t worry, he’s an experienced warrior and has successfully stabilized his condition. He’ll be fine.”
Agatha paused and added, “As for how long this state will last… that’s hard to say. It might end in the next second, or it might not be until this time tomorrow. It depends on how long he was exposed to that terrible contamination.”
The black-clad guard thought for a moment, looked up at the window, and through the slightly dirty glass, saw the bustling church personnel outside.
Then he turned his gaze back to the two bodies in the hut—two intruders confirmed as followers of Annihilation, apparently killed by the old caretaker. Due to the unclear situation and to preserve the scene, the bodies remained in place.
They couldn’t be the cause of the old caretaker’s mental closure; even the demons behind them wouldn’t cause this level of disturbance.
What could it be? A more powerful shadow demon? A high priest of the Annihilation Cult? Or something else entirely?
The black-clad guard voiced his doubts, but Agatha shook her head, “No, it should be an even more dangerous and mysterious situation.”
“Why are you so sure?” the black-clad guard asked.
“Because there were only traces left by a few heretical believers and a pile of Annihilator remains without any supernatural reactions,” Agatha said calmly. “The absence of any observable traces means…”
“It means the visitor last night did nothing; their mere presence in this cemetery was enough to push my mind to the brink,” the old man’s voice suddenly sounded, interrupting the exchange. Agatha immediately looked in his direction, a faint smile appearing on her expressionless face: “You’re back, that’s good.”
“Not completely,” the old caretaker said slowly, stabilizing his perceptions after reopening his mind. He looked into Agatha’s eyes, consciously blocking out the jumping afterimages behind her, “But I can now distinguish between reality and madness.”
“That’s enough,” Agatha nodded. “What happened yesterday?”
“The corpse you sent became agitated, talking like a living person. Then four followers of Annihilation entered the cemetery, wanting to take the agitator away. They used shadow demons’ power to disguise themselves, hiding their identities as experienced summoners. They deceived my eyes but not my intuition.
“I lured two here and killed them—these two on the floor. As I prepared to go to the cemetery to kill the other two, something unexpected happened.”
The old caretaker looked toward the door.
“An indescribable… visitor came. I stared at it for a while, or maybe just a few seconds; my sense of time was off, so I can’t be sure.”
“An indescribable visitor?” Agatha frowned. “Can you be more specific?”
The old caretaker tried to recall. He only remembered chaotic lights, shadows, and overwhelming noise. The hasty mental closure had removed the contamination but also erased some memories.
“I can’t. I only remember chaotic lights, shadows, and noise,” he shook his head. “Even if I could describe it, it wouldn’t make sense. What I saw may not have been real, and even if it was, it may not be the same reality others see. Our human perception is too limited.”
“Alright, that’s the whole answer,” Agatha nodded. “An indescribable visitor came to the cemetery but didn’t cause destruction… Are you sure you want to use the word ‘visit’ in the report? It’s neutral, even friendly.”
“Yes,” the old caretaker said calmly. “I had a conversation with it, though we hardly communicated. The visitor tried to communicate, which is a neutral or friendly signal.”
“Understood, I’ve recorded it,” Agatha nodded. “What happened next? Anything else?”
“After the visitor left, I vaguely saw something… on the path at the entrance,” the old caretaker said. “But I couldn’t see it clearly; my vision was damaged, and my cognition was affected, so I’m not sure…”
“If you mean a pile of remains burned by shadow demons’ backlash, we found it,” Agatha calmly interrupted. “If that’s correct, it seems to be the visitor’s… ‘vessel’.”
Fyck