Chapter 376: Lurking
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com
The persistent hum of machinery echoed through the vast factory, a labyrinth of pipes and industrial equipment. The relentless rush of water pulsed through the pipes, creating a mechanical symphony that filled the cavernous space. The air was thick with the pungent scent of harsh chemical reagents, a noxious odor that churned the stomach with a single whiff.
Agatha, the young gatekeeper, stood rigidly by the protective railing, her eyes narrowing as she examined the buffer pool beneath her. The opaque liquid within swirled and foamed violently, with occasional bubbles breaking the surface to release oddly-colored fumes. The reservoir resembled the digestive juices of some gargantuan, otherworldly creature.
Nearby, a factory manager, clad in a light brown coat and showing signs of age with thinning hair, stood a step behind Agatha. His anxiety was evident, his hand restlessly fidgeting with the button on his chest.
“The sewage from Oak Street and the vicinity of Cemetery No. 4 converges here,” the manager explained carefully, his eyes flicking between the buffer pool and Agatha’s stoic profile. “Following your orders, we severed the pipe connections in the area and examined the alarm systems of each buffer pool. We found no indications of supernatural contamination…”
Agatha listened in silence before asking abruptly, “What’s the standard procedure for sewage treatment here?”
The manager was momentarily caught off guard but recovered swiftly. “The treatment starts with high-pressure steam purification to eliminate potential contamination. The wastewater, having interacted with humans and traveled through shadowy pipelines, often becomes a host to certain undesirables. After steam purification, the water goes through sedimentation and filtration. The pool below us is the sedimentation pool. Another steam purification follows, and then some of the treated water is recirculated into the factory’s system, while the rest is released into the sea.”
Agatha nodded subtly, then asked, “What is the approximate transit time for sewage from North Oak Street to this location?”
“Depending on circumstances, it generally doesn’t exceed two hours,” the manager replied.
“And the duration of sewage retention here?”
“Water in the sedimentation pool is replaced every seventy-two hours,” the manager explained, his anxiety escalating as he wiped sweat from his furrowed brow. “Our purification and inspection procedures are strictly regulated and can’t be shortened.”
Nodding again, Agatha appeared lost in thought, aligning the information with the timeline of the “counterfeit incident” at the residential building and the sewage treatment schedule. She mused aloud, “If the entity escaped via the sewage system, it should still be contained here…”
The manager, now visibly unsettled, couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Gatekeeper,” he implored, mopping his gleaming forehead, “What… what exactly transpired? Is there some form of contamination in our sewage network?”
“We can’t entirely dismiss that possibility,” Agatha responded, casting a sidelong glance at the shaken manager before turning her attention to the guards, garbed in uniform black attire. They were methodically collecting samples and inspecting equipment. “However, based on our tests so far, the conditions here seem normal.”
“Yes,” the manager squeezed out a smile, the tension in his features not entirely masked. “Every corner of this place is monitored by an alarm system designed to detect sacrilegious contamination. We also have three resident priests who regularly perform tests on the water samples…”
“Resident priests?” Agatha interjected, recalling something crucial. She turned to the manager. “Did you say there were three resident priests here?”
“Three… yes, three,” the manager stuttered, unnerved by Agatha’s sudden change in demeanor. “Is… is there an issue?”
“There should only be two priests assigned here. The number of resident priests at municipal facilities is strictly regulated. Where did this third priest come from?”
The manager’s face hardened instantly, cold sweat breaking out as dread filled his eyes.
Observing his reaction, Agatha swiftly lifted her staff and placed it on his shoulder, a reassuring force suppressing the waves of fear threatening to overwhelm him. She commanded in a stern voice, “Listen, it’s crucial that you maintain your composure. Gather all the resident priests and bring them here. Inform them that the gatekeeper requires further insights. Do not betray any signs of distress. Do you understand?”
The manager nodded hurriedly. “Yes, I understand… I’ll proceed immediately.”
Agatha nodded approvingly and retracted her staff. Just as the manager was about to leave, she added, “Hold on a moment. Not only the resident priests. I want everyone present here.”
The manager turned in surprise. “Everyone?”
“Everyone,” Agatha reiterated, her tone laden with a hint of unease. “Since yesterday, has anyone left this treatment center?”
“No,” the manager replied promptly. “The order arrived just fifteen minutes before the shift change. All personnel on duty remained stationed here.”
“Good. Gather all of them here. Explain it as a mandatory inspection. Keep the atmosphere light, and avoid causing suspicion. Now, proceed.”
The manager, slightly disheveled, nodded and swiftly moved away, visibly attempting to regain his composure. Agatha stood by the buffer pool, her gaze fixed on his retreating silhouette until he disappeared behind a distant door. Then she signaled to the nearby guardians, who had already detected the developing tension.
The guardians, cloaked in black attire, sprang into action. They began to arrange concealed runes around the open ground adjacent to the buffer pool, interspersing the network of pipes with essential oils and crushed incense powder. Once their preparatory work was complete, they took up strategic positions, disguising their vigilance under the guise of continued facility checks.
As the guards dispersed to their tasks, Agatha hoisted her staff aloft and traced an equilateral triangle around her, each side extending roughly two meters. She positioned herself in the center of this figure, leaning against her staff, embodying tranquil anticipation.
The rhythmic patter of footfalls resonated from the direction of the primary entry point. The manager returned, leading a diverse group to the buffer pool.
Among them were three conspicuous figures, ordained members of the Church of Death, garbed in church robes and bearing sacred insignia.
Under the manager’s direction, about a dozen employees of the treatment center assembled before Agatha, nervously extending greetings. The trio of resident priests bowed to Agatha according to church norms.
Agatha instructed the priests to disperse and then scanned the faces before her, sensing an anomaly.
Although she saw no overtly suspicious expressions or movements, the divine blessing of Bartok validated the existence of an inconsistency. It was concealed in their breaths, heartbeats, and shadows.
Agatha blinked, reassessing her surroundings, and then realized the truth.
Indeed, cognitive interference existed, even in her presence, the formidable “Gatekeeper of Frost.”
Was this defiance? Ignorance of the gatekeeper’s powers? Or was this interference uncontrollable? Agatha’s gaze shifted to the priests.
One among these three priests was undeniably an imposter. But who?
“Utter the name of Bartok,” Agatha instructed in a low, steady voice. “May the Lord of Death keep vigil over us, illuminating the veil of deceit in this ephemeral world.”
“In the name of the Lord of Death, Bartok,” one priest initiated without hesitation. “May He remain our sentinel…”
The remaining two priests promptly followed suit. “In the name of the Lord of Death, Bartok…”
The triad of voices echoed in a sequential chorus, eliciting a frown from Agatha.
The ability to pronounce the deity’s name confirmed they were neither constructs of mud nor adherents of a discordant faith. If they were, the intense dichotomy of faith would shred their sanity.
But how could this be? Could all three priests be authentic? Agatha’s mind whirled with conjecture, yet she maintained outward serenity. Nodding to the priests, she declared, “Next, I shall conduct essential examinations. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
Simultaneously, her hand gravitated towards her left eye. The eyeball, astonishingly lively, disembarked from its cavity, landing in her outstretched palm.
Holding the detached eyeball, Agatha directed its gaze at the priests.
The first priest’s image materialized in her vision — an emaciated elder garbed in a linen robe, a chain as dark as obsidian protruding from beneath his ribcage. A brooding hound, chained at the end, tilted its head towards her, its maw coalescing into an abomination of polluted energy.
“Heretic! To think he would brazenly stand here!”
Agatha’s expression subtly shifted, but she was prepared. As the hound flung open its jaws, she sidestepped, her staff poised, its tip ablaze with pallid flames.
Just as she was about to incinerate the heretic, another incantation permeated the air.
The eyeball jolted, revealing a straw-haired young man with a pronounced nose, his hands extended towards her. A nebulous jellyfish, seemingly conjured from a miasma, hovered behind him.
The second priest.
A bout of vertigo struck her, and as Agatha struggled to regain equilibrium, a third incantation resounded.
A woman with a ghastly pallor extended her hand towards Agatha. A feline entity, assembled from skeletal fragments and black miasma, hunched next to the woman.
The third priest.
All the priests were imposters, and the chaos of combat filled the air.
The heretical acolytes initiated their assault, and the guardians sprang into action, attempting to intervene. They encountered formidable adversaries.
The dozen “employees” erupted into violent conflict with the guardians.
In Agatha’s peripheral vision, she observed the “employees” rupture upon impact, spewing a sludge-like substance.
The manager, his hairline receding, darted towards a pipe, emitting strident screams of terror.
In the wastewater treatment center… there was but a single “human.”
Well shit has hit the fan.
Hello, I am having trouble making a payment.
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Okay thank you. I wasn’t aware of that. Now I know.
Damn, none of them were real people except the poor manager
Damn, this is getting even more creepy. How did those heretics even able to recite Bartok’s name?