Chapter 335: No Longer Real
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com.
In a dimly lit alley, an intense confrontation unfolded with alarming swiftness. It lasted only a few minutes, from the moment two mysterious cultists emerged from the shadows to the bitter conclusion of their skirmish. Vanna, a key participant, was certain that the commotion would have been loud enough to rouse the nocturnal guardians of Frost.
Despite this, she harbored no fear of these night-time protectors. Her social status and exceptional skills far surpassed those of the average city guardian. However, she was cautious not to further complicate an already tangled situation.
As she contemplated the best way to inform Duncan about the clash, a sudden noise emanated from the folklorist’s home. The front door burst open, revealing Duncan and Morris stepping out under the moon’s silvery glow.
Duncan, moving with purpose, approached Vanna and Alice, who were waiting in the alley, while Morris secured the door behind them, tracing intricate, ancient symbols in the air as if invoking a blessing from the deity of wisdom.
“I was drawn by the commotion outside,” Duncan said as he reached Vanna and Alice. He quickly surveyed the alley, his features tightening with concern. “What happened here?”
“We detected cultist surveillance at this location, confirmed by Alice,” Vanna responded promptly. “A brief but fierce fight ensued. We’ve neutralized the heretics and ensured none escaped. However, the noise from our fight might have alerted the night patrols, who are probably on their way.”
Duncan turned to Alice, the doll standing beside him, surprised to hear she had detected the cultists. He also sensed a subtle oddity in Vanna’s demeanor, realizing the situation might be more complex than he initially thought. Despite this, he chose not to delve deeper, nodding simply. “Now is not the time for detailed explanations. We must act swiftly.”
Morris, having completed his task, added, “I have erased all traces of our actions here. When Garloni wakes, she will have no memory of the past day’s events. Even a skilled mental health professional would struggle to reconstruct what happened.”
Duncan showed a hint of relief. “That’s reassuring.” Though he was never overly concerned about covering their tracks, he knew that minimizing disturbances early in their mission would be beneficial.
He raised his hand and gestured into the night. Suddenly, the quiet was broken by the sound of flapping wings. A dove, previously perched on a nearby rooftop, took flight swiftly, disappearing into the darkness. A brief green light flashed in the alley before tranquility returned, disrupted only by the faint echo of the dove’s retreating wings.
Soon after, the distant sound of hastened steps and the rhythmic flicker of lantern lights signaled the approach of the anticipated night patrol.
…
Meanwhile, Ai, the dove released earlier, had not ventured far. It landed near an abandoned factory, settling inside a decrepit tin shack just a block away.
This modest shack, located near the large factory, had a significant gap in one of its windows. Ai slipped through this opening, and as the bird’s spirit flame intensified, the silhouettes of Duncan and his companions materialized within the cramped, rusty space of the shack.
Vanna’s eyes scanned the grimy, dust-laden interior of their makeshift refuge. A stark wooden bed was tucked away in one corner, accompanied by a rudimentary table and a set of chairs. The opposite side of the room was cluttered with various miscellaneous items. Outside, a cold wind whistled, making the broken window sing an eerie, desolate tune.
“This place was originally intended to provide temporary shelter for the pump room maintenance crew. Typically, it remains vacant unless maintenance is underway. We don’t know when the next maintenance is scheduled, but for tonight, this place will serve as our sanctuary,” Vanna said, focusing on the window. Through the 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 hum of 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 occur nearby, the factory’s alert status will surely increase.”
“That’s not a concern. We just need to avoid lighting any lamps. They won’t detect our presence here,” Duncan replied calmly. “We’ll stay put until dawn, then move on. Is everyone okay with this plan?”
He glanced at his companions. Alice was a doll cursed by unknown forces, Vanna a skilled young warrior, and Morris, though frail-looking, was a remarkable person endowed with divine abilities. Duncan trusted their combined strength but was concerned about how the bone-chilling winter nights of the northern city might affect the elderly Morris.
“Don’t worry,” Morris said, seemingly attuned to Duncan’s concern. A gentle smile crossed his face as he traced the sacred symbol of Lahem, the god of wisdom, on his chest. “Until a few years ago, I frequently explored ancient ruins and cursed wastelands on perilous coastlines. The challenges there were far more daunting than what we face now. The path of a scholar has never been easy, especially when it involves unraveling the complex threads of history.”
Duncan nodded, agreeing with Morris’s words. In their world, the roles of historians and folklorists were indeed demanding and perilous. Even those working from the relative safety of their homes needed exceptional skills to confront their research subjects. Whether dealing with cursed manuscripts or possessed relics that refused to rest quietly in display cases, their profession was not for the faint-hearted.
As for Morris, a seasoned scholar who traversed all disciplines, Duncan speculated that he had likely honed his combat and survival skills before delving into history.
“We could also consider contacting Captain Tyrian’s informants in the city,” Vanna suggested. “They could help us secure accommodations and provide valuable intelligence.”
“I’ll reach out to them, but not right away,” Duncan replied, waving his hand dismissively, his expression serious. “From now on, we must be cautious with everyone we interact with in Frost, including Tyrian’s so-called ‘informants’.”
Vanna, taken aback, quickly understood his implication. “Are you suggesting that ‘Scott Brown’…”
“He was a deep sea replica and self-destructed before we could reach him. We were a step too late and recovered only a few clues he left behind,” Duncan reported, shaking his head regretfully. “But we anticipated this possibility. We also found a female apprentice in that house, suffering from cognitive disorientation and memory loss. She was an ordinary person.”
Vanna’s expression grew stern.
“That was Brown’s student, Garloni. She has no memory of her tutor’s shipwreck incident,” Morris added. “Based on our assessment, this incident might not be isolated in Frost.”
“Tyrian started receiving strange, inconsistent reports more than two weeks ago. Sometimes these reports included accounts of ‘the dead returning’ in Frost. Other times, they dismissed such incidents as mere rumors, claiming that the so-called deceased were actually long-time residents of Frost. Occasionally, we would even receive conflicting reports from the same source,” Duncan explained. “Initially, Tyrian suspected that Frost authorities were controlling the information flow and that the Death Church was trying to downplay the impact of these odd incidents on its residents. But now, it seems… it’s more likely a result of cognitive distortion.”
“Are you suggesting that this cognitive and memory corruption has spread throughout the entire city-state?!” Vanna exclaimed, grasping the gravity of the situation. “So, in this city-state right now…”
“It’s hard 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, pausing briefly 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 dealing with them.”
Vanna acknowledged Duncan’s words with a solemn nod, but a spark of excitement ignited in her eyes.
This enigmatic northern city-state, now a nexus of replacement and suspicion, had become exceptionally dangerous and foreboding. Their former spies were now unreliable, and even ordinary folks were not free from mental distortions.
Vanna found this situation compelling, as it aligned with her professional expertise – eradicating heresy and purifying corruption.
She began to understand why Pope Helena had sent her to join the Vanished.
Despite the tranquil appearance of Pland’s nightscape, her mission 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 quickly redirected his attention to a different matter.
His gaze 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?