Chapter 322: Revisiting the Old Place by Opening the Mystery Box Again
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com.
As Agatha voiced her clear disdain for the Annihilators, the old caretaker’s expression remained largely unaffected. His attention was riveted on the latest intelligence concerning the samples taken from the cemetery. These samples, now in the laboratory, exhibited properties similar to the “primal essence” mentioned by the heretical cultists.
Despite the heretics’ madness and twisted theories that defied morality, the old caretaker, as a member of the Orthodox Church, had to understand their information, fanatical doctrines, and their highly tainted knowledge system. Central to the Annihilators’ entire heretical framework was the shadowy Nether Lord and the various “miracles” attributed to him.
The Annihilators believed that the world, though blessed by the gods, was not a “peaceful paradise” but rather a deeply corrupted and distorted “land of exiles.” They thought that the apparent prosperity of the real world was an illusion crafted by the gods and that the true destination of human souls and the “untarnished real world” lay not here but in the depths of the world—the Abyss Realm.
According to this belief, the Nether Lord and the demons represented the purest, most primal, and uncontaminated state of the world. They believed that humans could only return to the Abyss Realm and regain their original purity by cleansing their tainted flesh.
However, the mortal world was sealed by the gods, creating a barrier between the “distorted real world” and the “true real world” (the Abyss deep sea). The flesh and blood of mortals constituted this barrier. As long as human souls remained trapped in their bodies, subjected to continuous contamination throughout their lives, they could not return to the Abyss Realm.
Thus, the Nether Lord would bestow a miracle known as the “primal essence.” The heretics believed this sacred substance was the foundation of everything at the world’s beginning. The blueprint for the “real world” was concealed within the microscopic scale of the “primal essence.” Only the “primal essence” could counteract the curse in mortal flesh and blood, restoring them to the “pure state of their birth.”
The Annihilators described the “primal essence” as follows:
“… it will exhibit all the characteristics of everything in the world and will always be in a constant cycle of evolution. It represents all the plans and blueprints of the Nether Lord when shaping reality. Shortsighted mortals can never accurately measure the nature of the primal essence…”
The old caretaker suddenly looked up, staring into Agatha’s eyes. “So that is the ‘primal essence’?”
Agatha responded without hesitation, “The primal essence is just nonsense from those heretics. It’s likely just a new substance we can’t explain with our current knowledge. Its changing properties may be a natural vision or some supernatural power, but it can’t be a ‘miracle’ bestowed by the Nether Lord.”
Despite this explanation, the old caretaker’s expression remained unchanged, still gazing into the gatekeeper’s eyes. “But do you believe that is the ‘primal essence’?”
Confronted with the question again, Agatha was silent for a moment. After two or three seconds, she sighed gently. “I must admit, in terms of properties… the samples we brought back do match the heretics’ description.”
The old caretaker looked towards the distant morgue. The fine snow had grown heavier after nightfall, with snowflakes steadily descending from the dark sky. Lanterns on staves illuminated the scattered snowflakes, casting a hazy glow over everything.
His gaze pierced through the drifting snowflakes and lights, settling on an empty autopsy table nearby. A unique corpse had once rested there.
“Those samples… were once a person, or at least looked like one,” the old caretaker said, seemingly talking to himself. “You personally led the team to bring him here. You should still remember.”
“Of course I remember,” Agatha replied softly. “Few corpses require the ‘Gatekeeper’ to transport personally, and that body was found in the deepest part of the mine—the deepest place in the entire city-state. The deceased brought out from there… were very special.”
“But his uniqueness exceeded everyone’s expectations,” the old caretaker turned to the young gatekeeper. “You found the actual victim of the fall the next day, so that corpse was clearly just a ‘copy’ of the real victim… A copy made of ‘primordial matter,’ no wonder it caught the Annihilation heretics’ attention.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t that it attracted their attention, but rather the whole incident was their doing,” Agatha shook her head. “We suspect the fall accident was the work of the cultists, aiming to use the victims to create ‘copies’ in the mine’s depths, like some sacrificial ritual. However, their plan obviously went awry, leading to the accidental discovery of the copy, which was even sent to your cemetery.”
The old caretaker shrugged. “It also drew the attention of an indescribable ‘visitor.'”
“…Yes, an indescribable visitor,” Agatha’s typically calm expression finally showed some change, and her tone became cautious. “We still don’t know what its intentions are.”
The old caretaker looked up at the sky and, after a moment of silence, said, “The night is deep.”
The cemetery grew quiet, a creepy and tranquil atmosphere enveloping the paths and platforms, carried by the snow-laden night wind.
Everyone waited—either for an indescribable visitor or a peaceful sunrise.
The silence lasted for an unknown duration. Just as Agatha was about to suggest the old caretaker rest in the cabin, a gentle knocking sound echoed through the darkness.
From a nearby coffin, a clear, low voice emerged:
“Why did you stop talking?”
This unexpected voice in the silent cemetery startled even the well-trained church guardians. Agatha felt the snowflakes in the lamplight seemed to pause for a second or two. In the next moment, all the guardians swiftly gathered around the coffin from which the sound had come, the noise of boots crunching in the snow intensifying.
Agatha almost instantly transformed into a pale shadow, appearing next to the autopsy table in a flash, staring intently at the coffin. After a few deep breaths, she managed to ask calmly, “Are you… the visitor from two days ago?”
“Please excuse my intrusion, I hope I didn’t scare you,” Duncan casually greeted from inside the coffin. “I was here a couple of days ago, but some cultists were causing trouble, so my interaction with the caretaker wasn’t very smooth.”
Footsteps approached, and the old caretaker, his eyes cautious, carefully neared the coffin. He quickly glanced at the dark wooden box and then just as quickly looked away.
Though he was not affected by incense this time, his clairvoyance remained stable, and he had taken a potion to resist spiritual contamination beforehand. Yet, the psychological trauma from the last encounter was severe, making the seasoned old soldier extremely cautious.
“…Did you just arrive?” After calming down a bit, the old caretaker finally broke the silence.
“I’ve been here since you started discussing that essence thing,” Duncan’s voice came from the coffin. “I found the information interesting—but you suddenly stopped talking.”
Agatha looked puzzled and exchanged glances with the old caretaker.
Her lips moved slightly, but her voice was directed into the old caretaker’s mind: “Is this visitor… really so approachable?”
The old caretaker shrugged, also moving his lips slightly: “How would I know?”
The two church officials briefly communicated before Agatha gestured gently to the surroundings, signaling the guardians to step back.
Duncan, inside the coffin, had sensed the atmosphere around him long before. He had been lying there for several minutes, listening patiently and curiously as the old caretaker and the young woman discussed the “essence.” Now, feeling the tension easing, he casually remarked with a smile, “There are quite a few people here tonight.”
“…We mean no offense,” Agatha responded cautiously, as she could not yet determine the origins of this “visitor.” But since he had shown no initial hostility, politeness was crucial in dealing with a superior, non-hostile “god-like” existence. “The arrangements here are to protect our sanity.”
“Oh, I understand. People often start talking to me and suddenly go crazy. Honestly, it’s quite troublesome,” Duncan’s voice carried a hint of amusement. “It’s good that you know how to protect yourselves.”
Agatha furrowed her brow.
She had encountered many supernatural beings before, some extremely malicious or chaotic and dangerous, but this was the first time she had met one engaging her so casually.
“May we know who… you are?” After a moment’s hesitation, she finally mustered the courage to ask.
Duncan pondered seriously inside the coffin.
Then he recalled the Vanished’s glorious achievement of dragging the thirteen islands of Witherland into subspace and the connection between the thirteen islands and the Death Church.
“Just an unnamed traveler. Don’t be curious about my name—it’s better for both of us.”
Spoken like a true lovecraftian horror Duncan.
Bro is messing with them
Duncan’s embarrassing dark history is on a different scale