Chapter 655: “Invasion”
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.
On a brisk and chilly afternoon, it was nearly time for the mistress to appear in the otherwise silent room, where the only sound was the gentle scratching of a pencil on paper. Lines of various shades moved across the page as if alive, dynamically growing under the artist’s hand. Richard, the artist, was fully engrossed in his drawing, a unique method of “welcoming” someone. A blend of calm and eager anticipation gradually filled his thoughts.
Unaware, Richard did not notice the chill in the room dissipating. The strange void that had plagued him lately had vanished, and a smile slowly formed on his face. His mind was completely absorbed by the thought of the mistress’s imminent arrival.
This mistress, whom he had never met personally, held a place of deep respect and anticipation in his heart. He pondered whether she would like this place. Would she appreciate his efforts in preparing everything for her visit? Would she smile and commend the dedication of what he considered himself to be—a “rag doll”?
As he sketched, it seemed the mistress’s kind gaze emerged from the drawing, smiling directly at him.
Richard’s heart fluttered with excitement, yet his hands moved with unprecedented steadiness and speed. He had not realized when he had become so adept at drawing, able to produce such beautiful lines so quickly. He even began using his left hand, both hands moving in a blur.
Suddenly, loud and urgent footsteps in the corridor broke his concentration. They echoed like a racing heartbeat, an unwelcome interruption.
A soft voice in his mind whispered, “They are coming for you, dear rag doll…”
It was a faint whisper, like a distant noise on the wind.
The familiar, unpleasant sensation of cold returned. Richard felt a surge of annoyance. Someone was coming to disrupt his long-awaited meeting with the mistress. They were almost at his door, and he hadn’t finished his drawing yet.
He quickened his pace, his hands flying over the paper. However, the disturbing footsteps reached him faster than he had anticipated.
They halted right outside his door, followed by a knock. It started gently but quickly became more insistent.
“Richard, are you in there?” A voice from outside called, tense and awkwardly polite, “The Saint has called a meeting; everyone is to gather in the hall.”
“Don’t go; it’s a trap.”
Richard heard a warning inside his head, but he couldn’t discern if it was Rabbi’s voice or his own thought. He ignored the voice at the door, concentrating even more intensely on his drawing.
The quiet of the room was shattered by more forceful knocking as they raised their voices, “Richard, we know you’re in there. This meeting is important; you can’t still be sleeping!”
“Just a little longer,” he thought, “Just a bit more.”
Richard’s brow furrowed deeply, his arms shaking as if in a spasm. From the black and white sketch, the mistress’s eyes seemed to come alive within the drawing.
But still, Richard’s artwork was incomplete; he had just a few crucial strokes left to add…
Suddenly, the persistent knocking ceased, only to be replaced by a loud, violent crash.
“Bang—clang!”
The weak wooden door was forcefully burst open. Richard was momentarily frozen in shock. In that fleeting moment, someone burst into the room, and a large, shadow-like hound leaped out of nowhere, pinning him to the ground with its formidable weight.
Had he managed to place the last stroke correctly?
Struggling to look up, Richard found himself overpowered by the hound’s strength. He attempted to push himself up with his arms, but all he could muster were hoarse, strange grunts and growls. His mind was awash with frustration and anger.
He harbored a deep loathing for these shadowy hounds, despising their rude and violent nature.
Someone grabbed his arm, quickly binding it with a rope. Another person gagged him, silencing him to prevent the use of any magical abilities. The intruders then dragged Richard up, seizing his pencil, and pulled him roughly towards the door.
As Richard was led out of the room, he stopped resisting. His mind seemed to shut down, overwhelmed by a muffled, cotton-like fuzziness. He was escorted by his “brethren,” who moved in silence, showing no signs of life or resistance, through the corridor.
“Wait,” one of the suppressors escorting Richard paused, turning to another, “What was he doing when we entered the room?”
“He appeared to be drawing,” the other replied, frowning slightly, “There was a large sheet of paper on the bed, but I didn’t see what was on it.”
“That’s strange. I’ll go back and check.”
The first suppressor swiftly returned to the recently vacated room. He stepped over the remains of the broken door and approached Richard’s bed, examining the large piece of paper lying there.
It was a completely blank sheet.
The suppressor’s brow furrowed, a sense of unease settling in. Driven by this feeling, he searched the room but found nothing out of the ordinary.
Muttering to himself, he carefully picked up the paper, rolled it up, and carried it with him as he rejoined the others in the corridor.
“It’s just a blank paper,” he informed the waiting group, “Let’s move on.”
A blank paper.
Restrained and led by his “brethren,” Richard slowly raised his head. His eyes, clouded with confusion, fixed on the blank scroll in the hands of the vaguely familiar figure. After staring blankly for a moment, a faint smile crept onto his face.
But his smile went unnoticed, and the sound of their footsteps gradually faded down the corridor.
Elsewhere on the ship, more footsteps resonated. The suppressors, acting on the Saint’s orders, had commenced their operation. Armed with a newly compiled list, these priests moved swiftly through the long, dimly lit corridors. They knocked on doors with haste, systematically removing every “brethren” who might’ve succumbed to outside influences.
A palpable tension began to spread throughout the ship. Some of the passengers and crew sensed an unusual shift, while others noted that the ship had ceased its movement. Those who had not been taken away huddled in their rooms, engaging in hushed, nervous conversations, trying to piece together the unfolding events. Meanwhile, those who had been escorted away were gradually converging in the assembly hall.
The Saint, standing on the central platform of the hall, momentarily lapsed into a state of dazed fatigue. Exhaustion from his prolonged observation of fate had set in. He found himself longing for the past, for the days when he inhabited a human body. Despite its weakness and vulnerability, he reminisced about the comfort of lying in a bed, free from the incessant, muddled whispers and the tumultuous roars that now plagued his mind…
Lost in this daze, his memories wove into a nebulous veil, within which a sense of eternal peace seemed to beckon to him. That “peace” took the form of a tall shadow, aglow with pale green flames.
Abruptly, the Saint was jolted from this premonition of fate, his every nerve and blood vessel pulsing with intense pain.
“Your Holiness,” a voice interrupted, belonging to a high-ranking priest. The priest was delivering a report: “Everyone you requested has been brought here.”
The Saint raised his eyestalks, surveying the assembled followers in the hall. The crowd was a mix of fear and bewilderment that had been engulfed within an impenetrable shadow.
“Intruders have boarded the ship!”
…
After the hall had emptied, a subtle shift in the air occurred in Richard’s room. This was followed by the sudden appearance of a figure beside the bed.
The emergence of this figure, Lucretia, was almost like an image transitioning from a flat surface to a three-dimensional form. It was as if she had “flipped” and “stood up” from being a mere image.
Lucretia had been incredibly close to the suppressor during the earlier encounter, at times just half a meter away, but she was positioned sideways.
A flat picture lacks depth, making it invisible to eyes in three-dimensional space when viewed parallelly.
Lucretia let out a soft exhale, examining her hands. She casually picked up a pencil that had been tossed aside and drew a few lines on her palm.
Then, with a simple gesture, her “flat” figure transformed back into a normal, solid form.
She glanced at the empty floor and spoke: “Rabbi, I know you’re in the room.”
Almost immediately after her words, a sharp, childlike voice rang out in the room: “Eee! Mistress is here! Rabbi is coming out!”
Accompanying this high-pitched, almost playful voice, countless white, fluffy substances suddenly materialized.
The shadows in the corners, the gaps between the pieces of furniture, small openings in the ceiling, and even the tiny cracks in the floor became sources of an unusual phenomenon. These spaces, potential hiding places for “fibers,” suddenly erupted with countless cotton fluffs. It was as though the room itself was actively expelling these foreign objects. In just a moment, the fluffs swarmed into Lucretia’s field of view, rapidly converging in the center of the room. There, they began to merge, gradually taking on the form of a rabbit made entirely of cotton, yet curiously missing its “outer skin.”
Then, this makeshift cotton rabbit began a peculiar transformation, almost “inverting” itself from the inside out. Colorful fabric pieces emerged from within its core, swiftly enveloping its cotton body. The transformation resulted in a large rabbit doll designed with an unsettling, eerie aesthetic.
This bizarre doll wobbled unsteadily, then joyfully lunged toward Lucretia, exclaiming with enthusiasm: “Rabbi’s here, Rabbi’s here! Welcome, welcome, we…”
“Quiet,” Lucretia interrupted sharply, her tone frosty as she effortlessly caught the rabbit doll in mid-leap. “Stay quiet,” she commanded, imposing silence upon the lively doll.
Eh? Is Lucretia actually quite powerful?
I feel that if this rabbit and the goat head start a conversation, it will never end.