Chapter 596: The Family’s Inherited Fishing Talent

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Shirley found herself once more on a quest towards the mythical “Silent Wall,” accompanied by Lucretia and guided by an elf girl named Shireen.

Their journey led them through a dense forest where light and shadow danced together. The path was marked by dead branches and autumnal leaves, and they navigated through thick underbrush. The occasional chirps and calls of unnamed creatures echoed through the forest, amplifying the sense of isolation and the chill that seemed to seep into everything. Watching Shireen navigate the terrain, Shirley felt a fleeting sense of déjà vu, as if time was folding upon itself, transporting her back to a previous journey through these woods under Shireen’s guidance.

It all felt eerily unchanged—the forest’s immutable presence, the familiar chorus of sounds, even Shireen herself, identical in appearance to her memory.

However, the presence of the witch, Lucretia, who would occasionally dissolve into a flurry of colorful paper scraps to accelerate their progress, served as a stark reminder to Shirley that circumstances had indeed evolved.

Unbeknownst to Shireen, Shirley had confided their past adventures to Lucretia, sharing the narrative with all who were ensnared in the same dreamlike reality, including the captain who remained active outside this dreamscape. Duncan’s foresight in harnessing the power of his ghost fire had fortified their connection, proving more invaluable than Shirley could have anticipated.

Lucretia’s perception of Shireen was now tinged with curiosity and concern, knowing the fate of another Shireen who had transformed into a tree, seemingly desperate to impart a final message to Shirley.

This raised unsettling questions: Could this Shireen also succumb to a similar fate? Were Nina and Morris’s guide, another Shireen, destined for the same end?

The enigma surrounding these manifestations of Shireen within the dream world of the nameless deepened. Initially dismissed by Lucretia as mere figments of dream-induced chaos, emerging evidence suggested Shireen’s profound and intricate connection to not only the forest but the entire dream world itself, transcending the simple separation of dream and psyche.

Her transformation into a tree seemed to symbolize this profound connection.

Noticing their lagging pace, the elf guide paused, turning to beckon Shirley and Lucretia with a vigorous wave, urging, “Hurry up, the forest grows dangerous—we’ll rest upon reaching the Silent Wall.”

Exchanging a glance with Shirley and Dog, Lucretia hastened her steps.

As Shirley raced to catch up, she pondered aloud about the reliability of their unlikely ally in tracking down elusive cultists, “Can that large, stuffed doll truly lead us to them? It’s rather doubtful…”

“Rabbi often lacks honesty, but she remains effective,” Lucretia shared quietly, “Her specialty lies in hunting within the dreams. It’s adept at tracking its prey into the reality beyond, ensuring we uncover the cultists’ hideouts.”

Dog, puzzled, pondered aloud, “But what nature does Rabbi hold?” He confessed, “It carries the scent of a human. It transcends mere magical constructs, typical spirits, or demonic beings. And it’s not alone; similar auras permeate your vessel. To me, that’s odd.”

Catching the mention of a human scent, Lucretia glanced at Dog, a knowing smile crossing her face, “Indeed, you’ve hit the mark. It’s no surprise, given your lineage as a dark hound. Your keen senses have discerned correctly… Yes, it carries a ‘human scent,’ a fragment of my soul.”

Dog, caught off-guard, could only respond with a puzzled, “Ah?”

Lucretia continued, undisturbed, “It’s quite the tale. When Rabbi first encountered me, it gnawed off a piece of my soul. Unbeknownst to it, that act would bind it to me indefinitely—a fate shared by many aboard the Bright Star. Originating from the fringes or the spirit realm, these beings once presumed themselves the hunters, viewing me as prey… Such irony serves my purposes well.”

She explained with a serene smile.

“My soul serves as a lure, drawing servants from the fringes of our world. Souls tarnished by subspace act as both poison and tether. Those who once deemed themselves predators are now eternally linked by my soul, integrated into the fabric of the Bright Star—transformed into textiles, encapsulated within bottles, or etched into wood. This legion of servants proves indispensable in my frontier expeditions, where human companionship often succumbs to mortality.”

With these words, Lucretia regarded Dog, “Your insights are precise; the ship does indeed harbor ‘human scents.’ Yet, there’s no cause for alarm.”

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Dog and Shirley, momentarily taken aback by Lucretia’s revelations, fell silent, absorbing the gravity of her words.

Lucretia, content with their speechless reaction, simply smiled and resumed following Shireen.

As they continued, Shirley, still linked to Dog through their mental connection, whispered, albeit needlessly, “Dog, is this the strategy the captain referred to? What’s the term… baiting? Is she using herself as bait?”

“It appears so,” Dog replied softly, also through their mental connection, “The captain had briefed me on such tactics when explaining fishing methods.”

Shirley, marveling at the cunning strategy, couldn’t help but remark, “Truly the captain’s daughter… It seems adeptness in fishing runs in the family… But it doesn’t look like Tyrian is really into it, is he?”

“He managed to haul up numerous submersibles from the sea before! Even if he didn’t physically fish them out himself, he played a significant role in their retrieval,” Dog defended.

“Does that really count as fishing, though?” Shirley countered

“It came from the sea, did it not!” Dog barked back.

Silence followed, a reflective pause in their conversation as it became too awkward and weird.

…

Duncan discreetly ceased his monitoring of Shirley and Dog’s exchange.

Positioned in a chair that seemed more a confluence of abstract lines and colors than a piece of furniture, Duncan found himself contemplating the concepts of “baiting” and “fishing” that had inadvertently become the topic of discussion. His attention eventually drifted to a nearby “mirror,” an object similarly sketched from irregular lines, where he shared his thoughts with Agatha, “She struggles to retain crucial knowledge, yet she absorbs other information effortlessly. If only Shirley could channel even a fraction of that focus into her vocabulary studies, she wouldn’t be neck and neck with Alice, the dunderhead, in academic standings.”

Agatha remained silent for a moment, seemingly pondering her response, before finally contributing, “Truthfully, I also admire Miss Lucretia’s adeptness at ‘fishing’…”

Duncan, seemingly unbothered by this tangent, shifted the focus of their conversation, “Let’s not dwell on Shirley and Lucretia for now. Their joining forces likely places them in a safer position than if they were apart. Plus, Rabbi, that peculiar rabbit, might just succeed in tracking down those elusive cultists. What’s presently of utmost importance… is this ship.”

Standing up from his chair, Duncan surveyed his surroundings, his gaze navigating through the mishmash of colors and lines that constituted the room’s interior. Despite the initial chaos, he recognized the shapes of familiar objects—beds, tables, chairs—each located approximately where one would expect them in reality, though the specifics, such as items on a table or wall decorations, were blurred into indistinct color patches.

Duncan deduced that the real-world observer, Goathead, dared not delve into the true essence of the captain’s private quarters. At best, it might have glimpsed the room’s basic layout upon the door being opened, these fleeting impressions now represented by the room’s abstract design.

Beyond this space, the rest of the Vanished was rendered almost flawlessly, a near-perfect replication, save for the captain’s bedroom. This accuracy was due to Goathead’s familiarity with every other part of the Vanished, an understanding that did not extend to the captain’s private sanctuary.

The transformed “Vanished” mirrored its real-world counterpart, not through simple conversion but through the intricate interplay of Goathead’s perception and memory.

It became evident that this ship existed within the dream realm of his “first mate,” unbeknownst to Goathead itself that it was dreaming.

Yet, this domain also intertwined with Atlantis’s dream, suggesting a mysterious connection between this dream-world ship and Atlantis, a link yet to be fully understood.

Duncan extended his hand, summoning a small, flickering flame that hovered in the air before him. This flame undulated like the surface of a pond disturbed by a gentle breeze, rapidly expanding in all directions. Yet, upon reaching the confines of the disorderly room, the flames halted as if encountering an invisible barrier, then retreated, their reflections dancing like water ripples.

This phenomenon was a testament to Duncan’s experimental endeavors within this unique space.

Within the bounds of this room, unseen and unrecognized by Goathead, Duncan found himself able to conjure his flames with impunity, free from the concern of inadvertently awakening Atlantis—as had occurred previously. Beyond these walls, however, his ability to manipulate fire was restricted solely to the flames previously integrated into the ship’s fabric. Any attempt to introduce new flames risked disturbing Atlantis, potentially precipitating the premature conclusion of the dream they navigated.

Contemplating the dilemma, Duncan pondered the possibility of asserting comprehensive control over the ship while simultaneously fostering a deeper rapport with Atlantis. The challenge lay in achieving this without triggering the kind of alarm that had previously provoked Atlantis’s defensive mechanisms.

Lost in thought, Duncan lifted his gaze towards the room’s exit, contemplating the simplicity of the solution that had eluded him.

After a brief pause, he decided to leave Agatha behind in this makeshift sanctuary, stepping beyond the room’s threshold into the broader dreamscape of the ship.

The figure of “Goathead,” lost in its own reverie at the navigation table’s edge, paid him no heed as he passed by. Duncan proceeded, undisturbed, through the chart room, exited the captain’s quarters, and traced a well-remembered path that led him up the stairs behind the captain’s quarters to the ship’s stern deck.

Here, amidst the engulfing darkness and the languidly swirling mist, a shape gradually materialized in Duncan’s field of vision, as though it had been silently awaiting his arrival all this while.

It was the ship’s helm, standing solitary yet inviting on the Vanished’s stern deck.

Duncan resolved then, with a sense of determination, “…It’s time to take the helm again.”

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