This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com
Agatha quickly pulled back her hand, her eyes fixed on her fingertips. Normally calm and composed, her face now showed a trace of unease.
Unfortunately, a nearby nun in their group had witnessed the event. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Gatekeeper, what just happened with your hand?”
Agatha furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of this strange occurrence. A guardian from their group stepped forward cautiously, holding a battle staff. He struck the seemingly ordinary stone wall with the staff.
The metallic sound reverberated throughout the tunnel, but the wall remained unscathed and unmoved.
The guardian turned around and nodded at Agatha before summoning the courage to touch the stone wall himself.
Nothing happened. The wall stayed solid and rigid.
“It’s just a wall,” the guardian muttered with a frown. “But just a few moments ago…”
Without a word, Agatha moved forward purposefully. Once again, she extended her hand and placed it on the wall. This time, her hand effortlessly disappeared into the surface.
There was no resistance, no obstruction. It felt as though her hand was passing through a delicate illusion.
“It seems only you can pass through it,” the accompanying priest stuttered in shock. “But… why? Why would such a wall be hidden deep within this metal ore mine? There’s no record of anything like this happening before…”
While the priest voiced his confusion, Agatha remained silent, her focus unwavering on the hand that was now phasing through the stone wall. She began to notice subtle changes occurring only when her fingertips brushed against the rock.
For a moment, it seemed as if her fingers and the wall were blending together, like warm butter melting into toast. The color and texture mirrored that of black mud. This was how she was able to “penetrate” a wall that appeared invincible.
After what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence, her voice quiet yet firm. “I can’t make sense of why this is happening, but it’s evident… the path forward must be taken by me alone.”
“Gatekeeper?” The accompanying priest reacted hastily. “You plan to go forward alone!? Hold on, this is extremely dangerous. There’s something deeply unusual about this wall, and it’s quite possible…”
“Our city-state is being consumed by the advancing mist, and the grotesque creatures within it show no mercy. The sinister force controlling them won’t wait for us to figure things out,” Agatha countered calmly. “Governor Winston’s squad met their end here, but his body isn’t among the deceased. It appears these guards sacrificed themselves to buy time… My guess is they were buying time for Governor Winston to breach this wall.”
The priest was momentarily speechless. After a brief pause, he protested, “But venturing into the unknown alone is incredibly risky. We should at least report this to the cathedral…”
“Time is not on our side; we can’t afford to lose another second,” Agatha replied, shaking her head. As she spoke, she felt a cold, eerie sensation enveloping her, chilling her to the bone. It was as if her life force was waning, the vibrant energy within her fading away. Though this unsettling sensation was brief, it strengthened her determination. “I’m committed to uncovering the mysteries hidden within this mine. It might be our only hope in the shrinking window of time we have…”
She paused, lost in thought, then made a conscious effort to regain her composure. She fixed her intense gaze on her companions.
“I will go through this wall. You all know the power of a gatekeeper—there’s no need to worry about me. Each of you has a role to play. Once I’ve crossed over, return to the previous intersection. The first and second squads should proceed to the mining area as planned, assessing the condition of the metal ore mine. The third and fourth squads should return to the surface, relay the events here to the cathedral, and then…”
She paused again, lost in thought, then waved her hand dismissively. “That’s all. Whatever follows should be decided by Bishop Ivan.”
The guardians, priests, and nuns exchanged glances, their expressions reflecting disbelief. They had never seen the gatekeeper like this before. They were taken aback, yet under Agatha’s stern gaze, and with years of rigorous training and discipline, their instinct was to comply.
“We understand your instructions,” the lead priest nodded solemnly, tracing a triangular emblem on his chest, a symbol of Bartok. But he couldn’t resist asking, “When should we rendezvous to provide assistance?”
“…No assistance is needed—but rest assured, I will return. No matter what happens, ‘I’ will certainly come back.”
The priest stepped back, the slight emphasis on her last “I” going unnoticed.
Agatha took a deep breath and approached the enigmatic wall.
Just as she was about to touch it, she whispered in a barely audible voice, as if speaking to some unseen entity, or perhaps to herself, “To be honest… I’ve grown rather fond of this world…”
Without hesitation, she stepped forward, her form merging effortlessly with the “stone wall,” much like a spirit melding into a mirage.
A transient ripple emerged on the stone’s surface as Agatha passed through, yet it vanished so swiftly that it escaped everyone’s notice.
Agatha was immediately engulfed by a disorienting sensation of darkness, cold, isolation, and a scrambled sense of direction, followed by a sudden numbing of all her senses. This sensory blackout was replaced by a slow, alien process of reawakening. This was the experience she endured as she crossed the threshold of the wall.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally “opened her eyes” amidst a sea of overwhelming darkness, only to be met with a stark, featureless landscape.
The scene before her was one of unending chaos—amorphous, barely discernible clumps of darkness, sluggishly writhing against an even darker backdrop. They resembled a nauseating, viscous fluid or grotesquely crawling, indefinable creatures.
“Why is it so dark? Didn’t I bring a lantern?”
Such a question sparked in Agatha’s mind, and almost as if on cue, a tiny, twinkling spark of light appeared before her eyes.
The soft illumination gently lit up the surroundings, revealing an abyss of inky fog with countless shadowy forms squirming and undulating around her in eerie silence.
Agatha watched this eerie spectacle in serene contemplation before shifting her gaze downwards.
She saw her own body—first her torso, then her limbs, followed by the battle staff that had been her constant companion over countless years.
“Ah… you’ve made it here too…” Agatha murmured softly, slowly raising the staff in her hand, her gaze lingering on the familiar symbols etched on its surface and her own name, meticulously carved by her own hand when she was first inaugurated as a guardian.
“Do you also exist as a shadow, like me?” she whispered to the staff.
The staff, naturally, offered no response to her query. However, in the smothering darkness, the silence was shattered by a sudden noise.
“Bang!”
The sound was the deep echo of a gunshot.
Agatha’s brows knitted instantly, but before she could pivot her gaze to identify the source of the sound, a voice—laden with a hint of anxiety—beat her to it: “Who’s there?!”
In the boundless dark void, Agatha turned her head, and almost instantly, a glimmer of light flickered in the direction of the voice.
A solitary patch of firm ground emerged in the warm glow of an old-fashioned brass lantern. Upon this isolated piece of land, the silhouette of a tree stump could be discerned, beside which sat a middle-aged man clad in a dark blue coat, as still as a statue carved from stone.
As Agatha’s gaze fell upon him, the “sculpture” abruptly sprung to life. He jerked his head upwards, his eyes locking with Agatha’s—an interplay of surprise and apprehension crossing his weathered face, “Who’s there?!”
Agatha detected a faint hint of discordance ripple through her mind, but she swiftly brushed it aside. She advanced towards the illuminated patch of ground, and beneath the lantern’s soft glow, she was able to discern the man’s features clearly.
Just as she had anticipated, it was Mr. Winston, the esteemed governor of Frost.
“It seems you’ve been occupying this space for quite some time, Governor,” Agatha commented in her typically composed tone. “Now it appears that we are the only ones left here.”
“Gatekeeper… Miss Agatha?” Winston slowly raised his head, his movements reminiscent of a damaged automaton on the brink of dysfunction, his speech listless. However, as seconds ticked by, his expressions and words gradually regained their natural rhythm. “You’re here too… but how did you find your way here?”
“I walked through a wall, a hidden wall deep within the metal ore mine,” Agatha elaborated in her usual calm demeanor, aware that there was no longer any need for oblique language or roundabout phrasing. “The guard squad that escorted you was wiped out in the mine. Governor, do their memories still echo within you?”
“The guard squad… Ah, yes, the guard squad that was with me,” Winston furrowed his brows as if he was just beginning to remember, then his voice adopted a melancholic note. “They were all extraordinary men. They gave everything to allow me to activate the Queen’s final key, and I…”
A subtle shift occurred in Agatha’s facial expression: “The Queen’s final key?”
Winston nodded slowly, his eyes darkening with the memory. “The Queen’s final key… a mechanism hidden within the mine to counter the malevolent forces. They sacrificed themselves so I could activate it. But I failed. I ended up here, trapped in this darkness.”
Agatha took a deep breath, absorbing the gravity of Winston’s words. “Then our mission is clear. We must find this key and complete what you started. It’s the only way to save our city-state.”
Winston’s gaze hardened with resolve. “Yes, Gatekeeper. Together, we will find the key and put an end to this nightmare.”
With a shared sense of purpose, Agatha and Winston set off into the darkness, their determination burning brighter than the lantern’s glow.
Huh, the Queen knew about mirror world?
Congrats for reaching funny number release.
I don’t get it what’s the funny number?
The queen’s final key? Maybe the doll needs winding….
So Agatha seems to have, at least to a part, figured out she is not “real”
Also, four twenty funny
Hm, perhaps the governor shot himself in the head earlier and replaced himself with a copy to breach the wall?
“To be honest… I’ve grown rather fond of this world…”
Fake agatha 100% gonna be on the ship now aint no way they say this shit and she dies
Also key?
Alice bouta gain some braincells when her memories return
Hopefully the shadow lives as a crewmate in vanish so they don’t get the original this time