Chapter 339: Agatha’s Investigation
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com
The unexpected visitor had left as swiftly as they had appeared, their departure just as abrupt and unanticipated as their arrival.
The seasoned caretaker of the old cemetery stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the spot where the spectral flames had dissipated into thin air. His mind was a whirlpool of thoughts, struggling to process the torrent of information that the brief encounter had unleashed. He stood there, ensnared by the mystery of the event, until a gentle tug on his sleeve drew him back to reality.
Looking down, he saw young Annie gazing up at him with a troubled expression. Her eyes were filled with uncertainty, anxiety, and deep confusion.
Despite having come to terms with the harsh realities of life and death at such a tender age, the bizarre events that had just transpired were beyond her comprehension.
The old caretaker crouched down, the winter cold seeping into his aged joints, causing a mild, familiar ache. He gently brushed the falling snowflakes from Annie’s shoulder and reassured her, “Annie, there’s no need to be scared; nothing untoward has happened.”
“Grandpa Caretaker…” Annie began, her lips moving as she struggled to articulate her confusion, “That person just now…”
“Sweetheart, don’t ask too many questions, don’t overthink. Just like we’re taught in school, some knowledge is beyond the understanding of us mere mortals. All you need to know is that the visitor meant no harm, and now that they’ve gone, our connection with them ends.”
“What about my father…”
“Your father might have achieved something truly supernatural, something beyond our understanding,” the caretaker replied gently, patting her head. “Don’t worry, Annie; your father is not lost at sea anymore. He’s moved on to a better place. Go home and share this news with your mother; she has been anxiously waiting.”
Hesitant, Annie pressed her lips together before softly whispering, “Is it real this time?”
“Yes, Annie, it’s real,” the caretaker smiled, “You’re not a little girl anymore.”
Annie nodded in understanding, bidding the old caretaker farewell. She turned and began her journey towards the neighborhood, following the clear tire tracks on the snow-laden path, gradually making her way home and disappearing into the silver-white expanse of the city.
The caretaker stood at the cemetery entrance, watching her recede until her silhouette was swallowed by the intersection.
“The young girl hadn’t stumbled on her way this time,” he sighed with relief and reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against a letter that lay within.
The enigmatic visitor had left behind an innocuous-looking piece of paper, but the caretaker sensed that it contained knowledge and mysteries beyond comprehension. What was the significance of this letter?
His gaze turned serious as he walked back into the somber confines of the cemetery. As he left, he waved a hand behind him, and with a dull creak, the heavy iron gate swung shut.
The gates of the cemetery would remain closed for the rest of the day.
Agatha stared intently at the fragmented remains scattered across the ground. Her long hair danced in the persistent icy wind that whistled through the narrow alley. The biting cold air seeped into the crevices of her clothing and her bandages, seemingly cementing the terror and despair that marked the final moments of the two defeated cultists.
Several guards dressed in black were busy nearby. The first response team that had arrived had swiftly cordoned off the alley entrance, and now, personnel were meticulously combing through the adjacent alleyways, searching for clues. The evidence collection process was systematic, yet Agatha’s heart remained riddled with perplexity.
What kind of formidable force had the power to shatter a person into fragments, akin to a delicate porcelain doll meeting an untimely end?
Up to this point, no known divine or heretical incantations were known to cause such a peculiar effect. Even the most nefarious curses wielded by the enigmatic demons hadn’t shown signs of inducing such bizarre phenomena.
A young gatekeeper used his staff’s metallic end to prod one of the fragments. The ceramic-like, pallid piece teetered and flipped, creating a sharp, distinct sound as it struck the ground.
Once flipped, it revealed a partial face – lips, the bridge of the nose, and a single eye.
Although incomplete, it portrayed the last moments of the cultist with chilling clarity, an explicit expression of terror etched onto his features at the time of death.
And was that… a trace of a peculiar smile?
Agatha knitted her brows together, her attention drawn to the uncanny upward curve on the porcelain-like fragment’s lips. It appeared as if a tranquil smile was in the process of forming, yet it had been abruptly halted. This ambiguous curve, juxtaposed with the fearful eye, rendered the facial fragment exceedingly eerie and unnerving.
After a moment of contemplation, Agatha shook off her thoughts and proceeded further down the alley to another grim “scene.”
A heap of charred debris lay strewn across the alley, the surrounding area showing signs of a fierce battle and explosions. The extent of the damage was vast, yet it was clear that the fight had been heavily lopsided – the combat style distinctly different from the one that had resulted in the fragments at the alley’s entrance.
A priest, who had been examining the scene, rose to his feet beside the pile of remains. He removed his gloves and inclined his head towards Agatha, “This is the work of a fully cleansed Annihilation Priest. Judging by the degree of his flesh mutation, he was a formidable adversary. In theory, he should have been able to hold his own against a fully manned twelve-person guard squad, possibly even managing to escape. Yet, he was swiftly neutralized, and there’s scarcely any evidence of a counter-attack.”
Agatha’s brow furrowed deeper, “Can you discern who or what he was up against?”
The priest shook his head, “It seems to be the most straightforward and brutal mode of attack – raw physical force. This makes it challenging to identify the adversary. However, we did find a peculiar residue of condensed water vapor in the vicinity, which may be our only lead.”
“Condensed water vapor… Just that as a clue?” Agatha murmured, glancing back towards the entrance of the alley, “Two drastically contrasting styles of combat.”
“Indeed, one is basic yet ferocious, and the other is peculiar and treacherous. However, both methods display one commonality: their formidable power. Cleric-level heretics didn’t stand a chance,” the priest agreed, “The only sliver of good news is that these unknown entities appear to be adversaries of the annihilation cult.”
“An enemy of our enemy doesn’t necessarily translate to our friend,” Agatha responded, shaking her head, “Especially when they seem intent on concealing their activities – their reticence to reveal themselves is troubling.”
She paused briefly before asking, “What have we learned from interrogating the surrounding residents?”
“The local residents heard the commotion of the battle but were largely too terrified to investigate. Their accounts help us ascertain the time and duration of the altercation – it commenced after 1 AM and presumably lasted less than three minutes.”
“Is that the extent of our information? Isn’t there anything else?”
“For now, there’s no more to share,” the priest gestured expansively. “I’ve dispatched teams to conduct door-to-door inquiries, including probing the more distant alleyways, for any accounts of unfamiliar faces lurking around. However, considering the vast expanse of Fireplace Street, it’s unlikely we’ll uncover anything substantial in the short term.”
Their discussion was suddenly interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from the adjacent street.
A guardian with a mop of short brown hair quickly made his way into the alley, delivering his report to the priest.
“In the building?” The priest furrowed his brow as he listened to the subordinate’s account, glancing up at the building that stood diagonally across the alley.
Witnessing this, Agatha inquired immediately, “What’s the matter?”
“In house number 42,” the priest responded, “an orc woman was found assaulted by an unearthly power, leaving her in an unconscious state. Moreover, a room on the second floor was discovered, tainted by an unidentified object.”
Meanwhile, within the cemetery’s guardhouse, the elderly caretaker methodically secured the door. With a grave expression, he made his way over to the desk in a corner.
He had instructed the guardians stationed outside to remain vigilant in the vicinity of the guardhouse. Meanwhile, he had set up protective measures in the surrounding open space but was acutely aware that these defenses might not suffice.
Upon reaching the desk, he drew out various items from a drawer: incense, essential oils, candles, and a collection of herbal powders, and began to meticulously construct a potent spiritual altar.
He positioned candles at specific points, anointing them with the essential oils and sprinkling them with the herbal powders. Filling the room with the sanctifying aroma of incense, he positioned the incense burner at the core of the circular candle arrangement, symbolizing the creation of a sacred space – he executed each step with precision and skill, each movement an echo of countless repetitions past.
Such was the precision of a seasoned warrior.
Within minutes, the altar stood completed.
The old caretaker took a moment to draw a deep breath, his gaze lingering on the ghostly flames dancing atop the candles, and the thin tendrils of incense smoke twirling upward from the table. He could sense the divine presence of the god of death, Bartok, temporarily inhabiting the guardhouse. The holy essence hovered near the desk, serving to steady the progression of time and space, and in doing so, fortifying his spirit.
No precautions were deemed excessive or over-detailed when dealing with knowledge that defied comprehension.
He eased himself into the chair, silently reciting a prayer. Then, with a grave countenance, he withdrew the letter from his pocket for inspection.
It was an item the mysterious visitor had entrusted him to deliver to Gatekeeper Agatha, yet he had indicated that it would suffice to dispatch the message to the Silent Cathedral – there were no instructions forbidding others from reading the letter.
If his only responsibility were to relay the message, reading the letter himself and then passing on the information would be deemed permissible.
After all, as the cemetery caretaker, he served as the primary line of defense to the cathedral.
The elderly man drew a deep breath, his preparations complete, and picked up the letter opener resting beside him. With utmost care, he breached the seal of the seemingly ordinary envelope, causing a folded piece of parchment to tumble out.
His expression solemn like never before, a resolve akin to that of a martyr glistening in his eyes, the old caretaker gingerly unfurled the paper.
The words “Report Letter” leapt into view, sending the old caretaker into a bewildering pause, “…?”
Good citizen Duncan doing his dutiful work lol.
…….. Zhou Ming, as a teacher, writting a report letter is normal.
Duncan tho………
I feel like the Mc is too OP for this.