Chapter 627: The Remaining “Sample”
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation
A frightening phenomenon known as the “deep sleep,” coupled with a series of mysterious disappearances, was sweeping across the world. Reports of disturbing events came from every known city-state, spanning from the icy northern waters to the warm southern seas, and from the mist-covered eastern territories to the islands of the west. Elves everywhere were inexplicably falling into a profound, impenetrable sleep, and as they did, there were alarming reports of others vanishing without a trace.
In a surprising twist, a message emerged from the Dream of the Nameless One, spoken by the very elves caught in this baffling sleep. This message was linked to a figure named Ted Lir.
Bells tolled solemnly from church steeples across various landscapes, signaling a world in distress. High-speed telegrams raced across channels, and psychic mediums, stretched to their limits, served as communication links between city-states. The ruling elite, including officials and archbishops, were busy exchanging urgent updates about the crisis. A state-of-the-art surveillance and defense system, recently set up by the Four Divine Churches, was swiftly activated. Ironically, it was initially thought to monitor mysterious deep-sea activities, yet the first real threat it confronted came from a dream so powerful it defied containment.
A captivating spectacle unfolded as a whirlwind of colorful paper scraps whirled gracefully through vines and over rooftops, finally gathering in the governor’s office.
In the midst of an intense meeting with city officials, Governor Sara Mel was suddenly captivated by the figure emerging from the fluttering paper fragments.
Lucretia, known as the “Sea Witch,” approached the ornate desk, remarking, “I thought I’d assess the situation here at city hall. It seems you’re overwhelmed.”
Sara Mel motioned for privacy from the surrounding officials. “To say we are overwhelmed is an understatement, lady,” he responded, his voice conveying gratitude. “Your support has been invaluable to our stretched-thin forces. Thank you.”
“And the current status?” Lucretia inquired.
Sara Mel paused, collecting his thoughts, “The city is in unprecedented chaos. Sixteen blocks are eerily quiet, sealed by sudden thick vegetation. We’ve lost contact with many residents, and our law enforcement and guardian teams can’t penetrate the barriers. Our steam-powered hubs are idle, and we’ve had to cut off the gas supply as a safety measure. Fortunately, just in time. The approaching night brings unknown dangers.” He caught his breath, then added, “As for external city matters, you’re probably better informed, given the constant stream of updates. My focus has been on our immediate challenges.”
Lucretia nodded thoughtfully. “What about the message from Ted Lir? Are you familiar with its contents?”
Sara Mel nodded solemnly. “Yes. About two hours ago, we heard from the team that Taran El was part of. After detaching from the dream world, the Truth Keeper disappeared from our reality. The latest information we received just half an hour ago suggests that the Keeper is trapped in the deepest part of the Dream of the Nameless One.”
He took a deep breath, pausing as his face revealed a complex mix of deep-seated emotions. “Elves have long been the guardians of a rich, unbroken history,” he began, each word laden with emotion, “We’ve always believed our ancient myths and legends to be more than just tales; they are the true events that shaped our civilization. But now, it seems these revered stories have come alive again, with a dark purpose to destroy us.”
Lucretia watched the distressed governor intently, allowing a moment for the gravity of his words to settle. After a brief pause, she spoke with deliberate clarity, “Until last night, everything we knew suggested that Atlantis aimed to protect elfkind. Despite the recent turmoil, I still believe there’s a protective intent, though it has now manifested in a dangerously unpredictable way.”
A brief shadow of pain crossed Sara Mel’s face as he whispered, “…It’s because Atlantis, in its twisted ways, has lost its sanity.”
With a steady voice, Lucretia replied, “I need to meet Taran El and the other truth guardians who went into the Dream of the Nameless One with him. My search at the city university came up empty.”
“They’ve been isolated in a special facility for close observation and rigorous questioning,” Sara Mel answered, his voice urgent. “I’ll let you know its location soon…”
…
Atop the highest peak of Pland stood the magnificent Storm Cathedral, an architectural wonder that dominated the skyline with its soaring spires and towers, challenging the heavens and symbolizing its religious significance. The sprawling plaza in front of the grand building was always bustling with life and fervor. Every day, when the cathedral opened its doors, a flood of devotees, tourists, and the curious filled the space—some entering to pray devoutly, others seeking blessings or healing from the annexes, and many just to appreciate the cathedral’s majestic beauty and spiritual atmosphere.
Dressed in a simple brown coat and sharp black trousers, Duncan merged with the crowd. Silently following a group of tourists, he entered through the cathedral’s grand archway. Guided by mental instructions from Vanna, he confidently navigated the complex corridors. He bypassed the main hall typically used by casual visitors, threaded through paths reserved for the more devout, and discreetly avoided the corridor leading to the sacred podium. Unknown to the regular attendees, Duncan was on a path known to few.
“Up ahead is a dark, unassuming door,” Vanna’s voice echoed in his mind. “Once you go through, turn right immediately. About twenty meters ahead, the corridor will split. Take the left; it leads to a secluded inner courtyard. Cross it entirely to find a hidden entrance to the inner chapel. Archbishop Valentine is waiting for you there. Your path has been cleared; no one will stop you, and the cathedral’s guards won’t know your true identity. Only the Archbishop knows why we’re meeting. If you return, this secret path is yours to use. My old quarters are next to the chapel, though I don’t expect you’ll need to visit them…”
With Vanna’s guidance still ringing in his ears, Duncan looked up to see the entrance to the inner chapel—a space usually restricted to high clergy. A dark door adorned with ancient, glowing runes marked it. Flanking the door stood two formidable guards in dark uniforms, their stares fixed ahead, oblivious to Duncan’s presence as if he were invisible. They had clearly been instructed:
Today, a unique visitor enters our sacred halls.
Hear not, see not, question not, ponder not.
Acknowledging their silent vigil with a nod, Duncan pushed open the mystical door. The sound of crashing waves briefly met his ears, accompanied by a fleeting chill from the depths of the sea, quickly fading as he entered a brightly lit, expansive chamber.
At the center stood Archbishop Valentine, the revered spiritual leader of the Pland city-state. The elderly figure, with his thinning snowy white hair, was clad in a black priestly robe adorned with subtle golden patterns. He stood in silent reverence, his back to the entrance, focused on a majestic statue of the Storm Goddess. The statue exuded an otherworldly sanctity, infusing the chamber with a palpable holiness. Engrossed in deep prayer or communion, the elder turned slowly at the creak of the door, prepared to greet his unusual guest.
Upon closer inspection, it was evident that beneath his calm demeanor, Archbishop Valentine was experiencing a flutter of nervous anticipation. He tried to conceal it, but minor tells betrayed his unease.
“Good day, Archbishop Valentine. It’s been some time,” Duncan greeted warmly, his lips forming a slight smirk as he confidently approached the elder. “Though, I suspect this is our first meeting with me in this particular ‘guise’.”
Archbishop Valentine paused to assess the person walking toward him. At first glance, ‘Duncan’ appeared ordinary—of average height and dressed in a nondescript, worn coat, blending in with many others in the city-state. However, a sharp intuition warned Valentine not to focus too intently on this seemingly mundane appearance.
“I’m aware of this ‘avatar’ you use to mingle among our people; Vanna was quite open about it,” Valentine remarked, deliberately looking away. “She has also briefed me on the current situation. Rest assured, everything you requested is prepared.”
He nodded toward a grand, ornately carved wooden chest next to the goddess statue.
Inside the chest were legendary blueprints dating back a hundred years to the creation of the Vanished, and crucially, a unique “sample.”
The chest was encircled by several candelabras casting a peculiar glow, their intermittent flickering hinting at a special blessing for protection. Beside the chest was an array of protective artifacts, including stone seals and iron bindings, clearly part of a detailed security system.
The extensive security measures around the chest emphasized its importance. Even after being moved from its original sanctified vault, it was considered vital enough to be kept in this sacred chapel under the constant vigil of the goddess. The presence of Archbishop Valentine himself underscored the volatility of the chest’s contents.
Observing the array of protective measures, Duncan asked as he approached the chest, “Is what’s inside really that dangerous? Are these containment measures sufficient?”
Valentine sighed softly, “To be honest, no, because nothing in this chest has shown any abnormal behavior so far.”
Surprised, Duncan responded, “Then this elaborate setup is…?”
“For our collective peace of mind,” Valentine explained calmly. “Although the contents are dormant, the community is aware of their mysterious link to the Vanished. Therefore, we’ve implemented every possible protective protocol, and what you see here is just a smaller version. The original chamber that housed this chest featured even more comprehensive and sophisticated security measures.”
Taking a deep breath and pausing to collect his thoughts, Duncan momentarily closed his eyes, pushing aside the slightly tense atmosphere. Composing himself, he then carefully lifted the lid of the grand wooden chest.
Interestingly, the chest was not locked, indicating any locking mechanism had been removed prior to its placement in this revered space.
“The Vanished once had a much more detailed and extensive collection of documents—meticulous blueprints detailing its design, technical schematics of its engineering, and comprehensive logs of its construction phases,” Valentine narrated, his voice tinged with nostalgia and reverence. The Archbishop, with a serious expression, moved closer to Duncan, both men peering intently into the chest. “Unfortunately, many of these invaluable records were lost in a shipyard fire years ago. What you see are the few precious remnants that survived the flames, now preserved in this chest.”
He paused briefly, then added, “Yet, I suspect that your main interest is not just these ancient blueprints. You’re searching for something much more… fundamental.”
He gestured toward the centerpiece of the chest, stating, “Following old shipbuilding traditions, we’ve preserved a fragment of the ship’s very foundation.”
Duncan’s attention sharply focused on a mysterious grayish-black wooden block resting on a plush black silk cushion. This was no ordinary piece of wood; it was a sacred “sample” carefully taken from the keel of the legendary Vanished.