Chapter 393: Inside and Outside the Mirror
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com
Without warning, Agatha came to a sudden stop, her gaze transfixed by an unusual sight that abruptly interrupted her thoughts at the junction of the narrow alleyway.
In a shadowed corner, a disturbing spectacle unfolded. A slew of abhorrent, black, ooze-like substances began to surge and bubble ominously. They emanated from the alley’s stone walls and ground, reminiscent of an overflowing sewer pipe disgorging foul and viscous filth. The repugnant, squelching noises added to the nauseating scene as the mounds of substance rapidly morphed into crude human forms, their hostile glares fixed solely on Agatha.
“Persistent monsters…” Agatha muttered to herself, a hint of annoyance seeping into her voice. Her determined resolve, however, did not waver. Even before these monstrous, muddy forms could fully solidify, she brandished her staff assertively, directing it towards the figure nearest to her.
A brilliant, white-hot flame suddenly erupted from seemingly nowhere, instantly engulfing the writhing abomination, the so-called “primal element.” The heat of incineration reduced it instantly to nothing but fine ash. The next second, a swirling vortex of grey wind surged through the alley, barreling through the freshly formed humanoid creatures rising one after another. This wind, imbued with an unstoppable force of consumption and erosion, transformed them into desiccated, crumbling dust.
Yet, the relentless ooze continued to emerge from the walls and ground, spawning more humanoid monstrosities at the alley’s intersection, effectively hindering Agatha’s movements.
As the dust-laden wind swept by, Agatha’s figure momentarily appeared from within it. Her face bore additional lines of fatigue, and her eyes, sensing an uncanny presence within the ooze, narrowed into a hardened stare.
She turned to face this new disturbance, just as another “forgery” composed of the primal elements began to writhe and mutate rapidly. In a matter of seconds, it took on the form of a young man, golden-haired and grinning, clad in a pristine white shirt and a black vest.
“Miss Gatekeeper, you are impressively resilient,” the faux young man said, acknowledging her with a slight nod, his voice smooth and polite. “Are you finding our little game here enjoyable?”
“If you think you can exhaust me in this drawn-out battle, you’re sorely mistaken,” Agatha retorted sharply, her cold gaze locked onto this new avatar of the young man as she steadied her breathing. “Death is of no consequence to me. I can fight even beyond death. The spirit of a gatekeeper never tires, and rest assured, one day, I will find you.”
“Of course, of course, bringing down a saint of Bartok is no simple task,” the young man laughed in response, his bright smile unwavering. “I’ve never aimed to kill you. I simply aim to detain you here for as long as possible. These empty husks that you slaughter so easily? They are nothing more than a mere distraction, a source of entertainment for your apparent boredom.”
“Your perverse form of hospitality is certainly unique,” Agatha retorted, well aware that her opponent was employing various tactics to stall her. However, for the moment, she was content to engage in this verbal sparring, buying time to recuperate her strength. “I can’t help but wonder, is your true form as complacent as this? I can sense it—with each monster under your control that I vanquish, I’m getting closer to your concealed refuge. How many more hiding places do you have left?”
A fleeting flicker of hesitation passed over the blond young man’s face, but it vanished almost instantly, replaced by a gleaming, cheerful smile. “Ah, it seems I underestimated the acute senses of Bartok’s guardians. How about we make a wager?” He extended his hand in a mock gesture of invitation.
“The bet is whether you’ll find my real body first or Frost becomes the first mortal nation to greet the arrival of a god. The stakes are your soul and the lives of all the people in Frost…”
Before he could finish his words, a pale, ferocious flame erupted, engulfing the area where the young man stood. The next instant, Agatha had transformed into a screaming grey wind, a furious tempest that pummeled the connection where the forgeries were congregating. Despite their attempts to halt the storm, they were obliterated under its relentless, lethal force. In the blink of an eye, the gust of wind also assaulted the blond young man, who was now entangled in the fierce flames, launching him directly onto a low wall at the far end of the alleyway.
After a thunderous crash, the flame scattered, and Agatha emerged from the grey wind. She gripped her staff in her right hand, the pointed end piercing the young man’s chest, pinning him securely to the wall.
“Apologies, but I won’t be placing any bets,” Agatha stared unblinkingly into his eyes, her own gaze calm and resolute. “The clergy are expressly forbidden from gambling.”
“Fascinating…” The heretic, skewered on the staff, curled his lips in a twisted smile. Despite his rapidly deteriorating form, he appeared unaffected by fear or pain, even as he bled a viscous black sludge. “I do hope your cool demeanor and confidence endure a little longer…”
As the life force ebbed away from him, the young man’s figure rapidly crumbled and melted, transmuting into a pool of black ooze that dripped down and quickly solidified upon hitting the ground. The remaining forgeries under his control also became still, reverting back into inert “primal elements.”
Agatha retrieved her staff from the crumbling wall. With an expression of mild revulsion, she flicked off the grimy residue that clung to it. She then lifted her gaze, scanning the direction of the city’s upper district with a calculating eye.
Another proxy had been obliterated, and in the process of its disintegration, the bond between Agatha, the gatekeeper, and the elusive heretic in the shadows, had grown even stronger.
She felt… closer.
“Quite the confidence I have here, humph! I always did trust myself…” Agatha muttered under her breath. She drew a few deep, calming breaths, leaned on her staff for support, and slowly advanced towards the direction she had identified.
Unbeknownst to Agatha, behind her, a green flame had ignited within a puddle’s reflective surface, casting an eerie light onto the shadowed alleyway.
…
In the heart of the Silent Cathedral, candles cast a warm, inviting glow. The rhythmic sound of a staff and shoe heels echoing against the stone flooring punctuated the otherwise serene atmosphere. A tall figure, cloaked in black, traversed the darkened entrance and approached a platform on which rested a black “sarcophagus.”
A voice, weathered and slightly raspy, emanated from the confines of the container. “Agatha, you’re back. How fares the second water route?”
“The first group of people has just made it to the western entrance, and it’s going to take a full day just to clear the vertical shaft and transport down the necessary equipment,” Agatha replied, a note of helplessness in her voice. “You need to exercise some patience, Bishop Ivan.”
“Oh…” A pause lingered within the coffin, followed by another query. “And what of the conditions at the western entrance?”
Agatha remained silent for a moment before sighing heavily. “What can you expect from an underground facility that’s been abandoned for half a century? I’ve mustered twelve heavy machine guns, three steam walkers, an abundance of holy oil and fire-blessed bullets, and 150 fully-equipped death priests to dispel the lurking darkness. The silver lining is that we’ve established our first foothold at the junction beneath the vertical shaft, and we’ve managed to restore power and lighting in a few adjoining corridors. If we don’t encounter further cave-ins or gas leaks, the exploration might progress more smoothly than anticipated.”
“Have there been any indications of the heretics?”
“Not so far,” Agatha shook her head in response. “But we’re uncertain about what lies deeper within. The Second Waterway is an expansive maze, and the sections blocked off by cave-ins make navigation tricky. We’ve managed to secure only the first corridor of one such section. However, there is one aspect that is somewhat unsettling…”
A rustling sound of fabric stirred from within the coffin, followed by the dark lid shifting upward from the inside. Bishop Ivan gradually rose up as one would expect of a mummy.
“A troubling development?” The “mummy” inquired, his voice a low rumble, “Do elaborate.”
“We discovered evidence of repair and alterations in some of the old pipeline ends and a few suspicious offshoot pipes that disappear into the shadowy depths,” Agatha confessed, her brows furrowing as she spoke. “We cross-referenced the original blueprints in our archives, verifying that these pipes were not part of the initial design.”
Bishop Ivan remained silent for a moment, digesting the information, before querying, “…What is your interpretation of this?”
“It appears that someone undertook the maintenance and modification of these pipes subsequent to the abandonment of the Second Waterway,” Agatha divulged her thoughts, “This maintenance was sporadic, with various areas falling into disrepair after being serviced for several years. However, it’s plausible that some operational sections persist further within the sewer system.”
Bishop Ivan listened attentively, and after a significant pause, he offered his insight, “The Second Waterway… it’s an enormous underground labyrinth capable of concealing a myriad of secrets. Even if we were to deploy all our guardian forces, it wouldn’t suffice to cover all its passages and intersections. Therefore, don’t overemphasize these minor modification traces. Prioritize the search for the heretics. Leave the remaining matters to City Hall’s discretion.”
Agatha cast a glance at Bishop Ivan, nodding in thoughtful agreement.
“You appear fatigued,” Bishop Ivan observed the weariness etched on the gatekeeper’s face, “The scale of the exploration shouldn’t have depleted your energy this much. Are you unwell? You’ve seemed distracted since your arrival.”
Agatha parted her lips, hesitation briefly flickering across her face before she finally confessed, “I am a bit… unsettled.”
What I think is interesting is that the Author does not make any distinction in how they write about the “Real” Agatha trapped in the Mirror frost and the “Fake” Agatha that took her place in the real world.
Wouldn’t one normally expect for the Author to speak of “the fake Agatha” or “the mirrored Agatha” and “the real Agatha”?
Maybe that is a sign that the two Agathas are not so different as we may think? Maybe the distinction between “real” and “fake” is even more fluid then already shown by the White and Black Oak switching places…
Being so fluid that maybe the two Agathas are not even two separate Agathas but more like… how should I describe it best… like two sides of the same coin and like with a coin, the core is the same, the only difference being that “Real” Agatha knows that “Fake” Agatha is a fake and the “Fake” Agatha lacking some memories that the other has*.
(Don’t quite remember well and also don’t want to check now, but hadn’t the Blond Young Man said that the “Fake” Agatha lacks some of “Real” Agathas abilities as they can’t be replicated or so?)
* Now that the two Agathas are going their seperate ways their Memories will begin to differ and as such also shape their characters differently. Maybe “Real” Agatha will now have a subconcious dislike of Blond Young Men due to the Heretic and “Fake” Agatha will propably experience an existential crisis in the future when learning the truth.
So there should be a point (maybe they already crossed it) where the two can’t simply merge into one and maybe, if the Agathas continue living different lifes, even become seperate Entities?
Only problem with that is that the “Fakes” are unstable and fall appart after some time… maybe the Goal of whoever is behind this all is to make the “Fakes” into “Reals” that can continue to exist?
Maybe the “Fakes” are more stabel if they are in company of many other “Fakes”? (After all, the “Fake” Workers of the Waste Treatment Center must have existed for quite some time already and down there there is propably quite a lot of the “Primal Matter” that the “Fakes” are made from considering it spreads through the sewers)
Or maybe I am just interpreting little things too much…?
Ps: that got way longer then I intended it to be, but the speculations just came flowing 😛
seems like this commenting system replaces emoticons with emojies:
😛 :p 😀 🙂 :b 🙂
Well… The blond heretic has actually already stated to Agatha that there would be virtually no deference between her and the fake Agatha and that her God and Bartok aren’t really that different. What you say is actually not that different from what has already been implied
that’s hard to say. here’s the thing, the author’s writing isn’t actually that great in the grammer department. the rough drafts are usually pretty bad and its the editors that comes in that cleans it up. maybe the editors cut off the brackets or something to seperate the two. who knows
Lately my limbs feel like mud…..I must be quite tired
-Fake Agatha
It’d be mad crazy if Agatha is so op for her or a will so hardcore that she figures out she’s a fake