Chapter 335 No Longer Real
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com
A confrontation of fierce intensity took place within the dim and somber space of a narrow alley. It was swift, though, lasting only for a few fleeting minutes. From the moment two clandestine members of a mysterious cult unveiled themselves from the shadows to the end of their bitter dispute, time passed quickly. Vanna, one of the involved parties, was entirely certain that the noise generated by the ensuing brawl would have been loud enough to awaken the nocturnal guardians of Frost.
Yet, she was not afraid of these night-time guardians of the city. Her social standing and exceptional abilities greatly surpassed those of the typical city protector. However, she was not looking to unnecessarily complicate the already tangled situation further.
As she was considering the most effective method to reach out to Duncan and inform him about the fight, a sudden disturbance emanated from the abode of the folklorist. The front door burst open suddenly, revealing the figures of Duncan and Morris stepping out under the silvery light of the moon.
Moving briskly and determinedly, Duncan headed towards Vanna and Alice, who were waiting in the alley, while Morris secured the door behind them. As he did so, he traced intricate, archaic symbols in the air as if he was calling upon the deity of wisdom for a potent blessing.
“I was drawn by the commotion outside,” Duncan stated as he reached Vanna and Alice. He cast a swift, assessing look around the alley, his features creasing slightly with worry. “What happened here?”
“We found cultist surveillance on this location, which Alice confirmed. A brief but intense fight broke out,” Vanna answered promptly, “We’ve neutralized the heretics and ensured none escaped. However, the tumult caused by our fight could have alerted the night patrols, who are likely on their way.”
Duncan turned towards Alice, the doll standing next to him, with a surprised expression upon hearing that Alice had detected the cultists. He also perceived a certain oddity in Vanna’s demeanor, realizing that the situation might be more complicated than he had initially surmised. Despite this, he chose not to press for more details, responding with a simple nod. “Now is not the time for further explanations. We must act quickly.”
At that point, Morris, having completed his task, added, “I have effectively wiped clean any traces of our actions here. Upon awakening, Garloni will have no memory of the past day’s events. Even a highly skilled mental health professional would struggle to reconstruct what transpired.”
Duncan replied, showing a hint of relief, “That’s comforting to know.” Although he had never been overly worried about covering their tracks, he knew that fewer disturbances at the beginning of their mission would undoubtedly be advantageous.
He lifted his hand and gestured into the night. Suddenly, the quiet was pierced by the sound of wings flapping. A dove, previously resting on a nearby rooftop, took flight swiftly and vanished into the night’s darkness. A brief flash of green light bathed the alley before the tranquility returned, disrupted only by the faint echo of the dove’s receding wings.
A short while later, the echoing clatter of hastened steps and the rhythmic dance of lantern lights in the distance heralded the arrival of the expected night patrol.
…
Meanwhile, Ai, the dove that had been released earlier, hadn’t ventured far. It landed near an abandoned factory, settling inside a worn and decrepit tin shack just a block away.
This modest shack, situated near the large factory, had a considerable gap in one of its windows. Using this, Ai slipped through this opening, and as the bird’s spirit flame intensified, the silhouettes of Duncan and his companions emerged within the confined, rusty space of the shack.
Vanna’s eyes scanned the grubby, dust-laden interior of their makeshift haven. There was a stark, wooden bed tucked away in one corner, accompanied by a rudimentary table and a set of chairs. The opposite side of the room was crammed with an assortment of miscellaneous objects. A frigid wind whistled outside, making the broken window sing an eerie, desolate tune.
“This place was originally meant to provide temporary shelter for the pump room maintenance crew. Typically, it stays vacant unless maintenance is ongoing. We’re not sure when the next maintenance schedule is due, but for tonight, this place will serve as our sanctuary,” Vanna stated, her focus shifting to the window. Through the film of grime on the glass, she could discern the dark outline of the old factory in the distance. Its lights were brightly aglow, and the constant drone of the machinery could be heard, even from their secluded location. “The factory is still operational, and there’s undoubtedly a priest keeping watch around the clock. If any supernatural disturbances arise in the vicinity, the factory’s alert status will inevitably increase.”
“That’s a non-issue. We just need to make sure not to ignite any lamps. They won’t be able to detect our presence here,” Duncan replied, seemingly unperturbed. “We’ll stay put until dawn, then move on. Is everyone alright with this plan?”
His gaze roved over his fellow companions. Alice was a doll cursed by unknown forces, Vanna a skilled young warrior, and Morris, albeit frail-looking, was a remarkable person imbued with divine abilities. Duncan had faith in their combined strength, but he held concerns about how the bone-numbing winter nights of the northern city might affect the elderly Morris.
“Have no worries,” Morris responded, seemingly tuned into Duncan’s apprehension. A gentle smile adorned his face as he traced the sacred symbol of Lahem, the god of wisdom, on his chest. “Up until a couple of years ago, I was frequently venturing into ancient ruins and cursed wastelands located on perilous coastlines. The trials and tribulations there were far more formidable than what we face now. The path of a scholar has never been an easy one, especially when it involves unraveling the complex threads of history.”
As Duncan pondered Morris’s words, he found himself nodding in agreement. In their world, the roles of historians and folklorists were indeed demanding and perilous. Even those who worked from the relative safety of their homes required exceptional skills to confront the subjects of their research. Whether dealing with cursed manuscripts or possessed relics that refused to rest quietly within display cases, their profession was not for the faint-hearted.
Regarding Morris, a seasoned scholar who traversed all disciplines, Duncan surmised that he had likely honed his skills in combat and survival before venturing into the annals of history.
“We could also consider contacting Captain Tyrian’s informants positioned within the city,” Vanna proposed. “They could potentially assist us in securing accommodations and provide us with valuable intelligence.”
“I will initiate contact with them, but not immediately,” Duncan responded, brushing his hand dismissively in the air, his face adopting a serious expression. “From now on, we must exercise caution with everyone we interact with in Frost, and this includes Tyrian’s so-called ‘informants’.”
Caught off guard, Vanna quickly deciphered his implication, “Are you confirming that ‘Scott Brown’…”
“He was a deep sea replica, and he self-destructed before we could get to him. We were a step too late and managed to recover only a sparse amount of clues he left behind,” Duncan reported, shaking his head in regret. “However, we did anticipate this possibility. Additionally, we discovered a female apprentice in that house, suffering from cognitive disorientation and memory loss. She was an ordinary individual.”
Vanna’s expression grew stern upon hearing this.
“That was Brown’s student, Garloni. She has absolutely no memory of her tutor’s shipwreck incident,” Morris supplemented. “Based on our evaluation, this incident might not be an isolated occurrence in Frost.”
“Tyrian began receiving peculiar, inconsistent reports more than two weeks ago. Sometimes these reports included accounts of ‘the dead returning’ in Frost. At other times, they dismissed such incidents as mere rumors, asserting that the so-called deceased were actually long-time residents of Frost. We would even receive conflicting reports from the same source on occasion,” Duncan elaborated. “Initially, Tyrian suspected that Frost authorities were controlling the information flow and that the Death Church was working to downplay the impact of these odd incidents on its residents. But now, it seems… it’s more likely a consequence of cognitive distortion.”
“You’re suggesting that this cognitive and memory corruption has permeated the entire city-state?!” Vanna exclaimed, realizing the seriousness of the situation. “So, in this city-state right now…”
“It’s difficult to determine the ratio of replicas to originals. But that’s a secondary concern, as I can quickly identify the replicas upon meeting them. The primary issue is that the ordinary people are no longer… ordinary,” Duncan responded, taking a brief pause before shaking his head. “Regardless, Tyrian’s informants in this city can no longer be trusted. Some may have been replaced, some might be suffering from cognitive distortion, and some could even be spies for the Cult of Annihilation… We need to tread carefully while interacting with them.”
Vanna acknowledged Duncan’s words with a solemn nod, but within the depths of her eyes, a spark of excitement began to kindle.
This cryptic northern city-state, now a breeding ground for a web of replacement and suspicion, has become exceptionally dangerous and foreboding. In addition, their former spies are now deemed unreliable, with even ordinary folks unable to be free of mental distortions.
Vanna found this situation compelling, as it aligned with her professional proficiency – eradicating heresy and purifying corruption.
She began to understand why Pope Helena had sent her to join the Vanished.
Despite the serene appearance of Pland’s nightscape, her purpose would remain vital as long as she stayed with the Vanished.
Duncan studied Vanna with an intrigued expression.
“Am I imagining things, or did your mood just brighten considerably?”
“Ah, I was merely reflecting on the continuation of our battle against heresy, and such thoughts invigorate me,” she confessed.
Duncan was momentarily taken aback, unsure how to interpret the young inquisitor’s fervor. However, he swiftly redirected his focus to a different matter.
His eyes fell on the doll, who seemed lost in a daydream nearby.
“Now that Morris and I have shared our updates, it’s your turn to inform us about your observations and findings.”
Cult of obliteration? Is it a new cult or its the annihilation cult?
Haha… the crew having no problem staying in the dark with no light whatsoever. They’re getting bolder the longer they stay with Duncan lol.
Mr. Morris!!! It never occured to me that his line of work is actually very dangerous in this world, perhaps equal to that of Sailors. Can’t wait to see him in action!
Lmao they are standing with one of the most dangerous existence in the world, why have they scare about anything?