Chapter 95 “Infiltration”

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Vanna ascended the stone stairs from the dimly lit underground prison cells, which lay beneath the church’s sanctuary. As she entered the more comfortably furnished lounge on the upper level, she saw the regional bishop waiting for her. The man was slight and fragile-looking, his face lined with age and responsibility.

“Inquisitor Vanna,” he greeted, lowering his head in a respectful bow. “May the waves protect your soul.”

Returning the bow, Vanna responded, “May the waves protect your soul as well.” Exhausted, she moved slowly to sit in one of the plush chairs that adorned the room. “Is this the second group of Suntists we’ve apprehended and placed in the prison cells near the port?”

The regional bishop nodded, his gaze clouded with concern. “Yes, it is. Just three days ago, we caught over a dozen of them. They were plotting to kill one of our citizens but were fortunately intercepted in time. This second group was discovered in the middle of performing some sort of dark ritual in an apartment building, thanks to an observant citizen who reported it.”

He paused, shaking his head softly. “It’s unsettling how many of these cult members have managed to infiltrate our city. We’re fortunate we discovered them when we did, or who knows what damage their rituals might have done?”

Vanna nodded in agreement. “Pland has been a significant port city for years, and the last four have been relatively peaceful. That’s lulled people into a sense of complacency, but we can’t be sure whether we discovered these infiltrators early or late. There could be others who’ve been working in the shadows, only choosing now to reveal themselves.”

The bishop hesitated momentarily, choosing his words carefully before he asked, “I understand that other regions have also been experiencing similar infiltrations?”

“Yes, you’re correct,” Vanna replied, not mincing her words. “At this point, nearly every church in the city-state has its underground prison filling up with captured Suntists. Some churches only have a few; others are holding dozens. Most are low-level operatives collecting data around the city. They’re poorly trained and easily exposed. However, their high-ranking priests are still at large.”

As she uttered the last sentence, Vanna’s voice took on a graver tone, and her facial expression revealed a flicker of unease.

Ever since the discovery of the heretical cultists’ quest for so-called “sun fragments,” both the government of Pland and the Storm Church had taken immediate, sweeping action. A massive undercover operation was initiated across the city, and the general public was encouraged to report anything suspicious. The initiative was undeniably successful.

Within an astonishingly brief span of time, a significant number of cultists caught off guard and unable to react were exposed and captured. The underground detention facilities across various churches were now almost at capacity, a situation unheard of in recent years. The number of captured Suntists was nearly equal to the total found throughout the entire city-state over the last four years.

Up until now, the individuals they had managed to apprehend were essentially low-level foot soldiers acting haphazardly. The most they had caught were a few minor priests carrying mass-produced “holy relics” that had recently been consecrated. The truly dangerous figures, those who wielded formidable powers and likely orchestrated the actions of these henchmen, still lurked in the shadows, remaining elusive.

This ceaseless cycle of capturing only the underlings was beginning to wear on Vanna, leaving her feeling increasingly restless and filled with unease.

“Day in and day out, we manage to capture their foot soldiers and minor figures, but the core leadership remains untouched. It’s as though the real threat is continuing to grow, unseen but ever-present,” Vanna voiced her concerns to the regional bishop who sat across from her. “Given the sheer number of these cultists we’re finding, it’s likely there is a high-ranking individual pulling the strings, orchestrating their moves from behind the curtain. And yet, this mastermind has not shown their face.”

The regional bishop, furrowing his brow, took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding, “From the interrogations conducted so far, it appears that these lower-level members are taking orders from ’emissaries.’ These emissaries are essentially lower-ranking priests claiming to communicate with the Sun Heir through their counterfeit sun masks. Is it conceivable that such a Sun Heir has managed to infiltrate our city?”

Vanna’s eyebrows knit together at the suggestion. “An offspring of the Black Sun dwelling unnoticed in a populated city like ours? Highly unlikely. While they wield incredible powers, they also carry with them a potent, foul aura that is extremely hard to conceal. Our city is replete with churches and patrolling guardians; theoretically, there should be no place where they could effectively hide.”

The regional bishop shook his head, dismissing his own theory. “I agree; the notion that a Sun Offspring could evade detection in our well-guarded city is rather far-fetched. However, the fact remains that these emissaries are carrying sun masks. Even if they’re not in direct communication with a Sun Heir, there must be some level of contact. Otherwise, the allocation of these mass-produced holy relics, as minor as they are, wouldn’t make sense. The cult has to consider the cost and utility of their actions; they wouldn’t distribute these relics without reason.”

Vanna leaned back in her chair, her fingers curling thoughtfully around her chin. “Yesterday, I reviewed the transcripts from our recent interrogations. These cultists are primarily focused on inquiring about the supernatural event that occurred in the city eleven years ago. Do they believe that this event is somehow connected to these sun fragments they’re so obsessed with?”

The bishop nodded gravely, “It would seem so. Although we don’t yet know how they’re making the connection, they appear to be convinced that the sun fragments were somehow involved in the chemical plant incident that rocked Pland over a decade ago. I remember you were also—”

He stopped abruptly, his eyes momentarily fixating on the pronounced scar near Vanna’s left eye before he looked away. “I apologize, that was thoughtless of me.”

Almost reflexively, Vanna’s hand rose to touch the scar, a lingering memento of a past upheaval. She shook her head gently and managed a light smile, “It’s alright. It’s merely a scar—a part of my history. You’re right; I was a witness to that unsettling event. Nothing about it should remain unspoken or hidden.”

“In the uprising that occurred eleven years ago, a significant number of those arrested were indeed affiliated with this Sun Cult—upwards of a hundred,” the regional bishop declared solemnly. “Yet, these new cultists we’ve apprehended are inquiring into the details of that very same event. It’s as if they’re completely in the dark about what transpired back then. Don’t you find that puzzling?”

Taking a moment to reflect, Vanna finally responded, “There are a few possibilities. The first is that the Suntists in Pland who were involved eleven years ago acted independently, and thus their counterparts in other city-states are unaware of the specifics. The second possibility is that the appearance of the sun fragments in Pland was either accidental or orchestrated by some third party. The people involved in those riots might have been unwitting pawns in a larger game.” She elaborated, “If we revisit the interrogation records from that time, you’ll recall that those arrested were in a highly altered mental state. Their frenzied, chaotic behavior didn’t appear to be of their own volition; rather, they seemed to be under some external influence.”

“Imagine being ensnared by mysterious artifacts, driven to madness by their arcane power, utilized as the catalyst for widespread chaos, and then abandoned like flotsam,” the regional bishop sighed heavily. “It’s a woefully tragic existence.”

Vanna said nothing for a moment. She rose silently and meandered to the window overlooking the lounge.

Through the glass, her eyes swept over the port. Most of the dock was once again bustling with activity as the comprehensive lockdown had been lifted. However, Dock One remained under maximum security protocols. Anchored at the far end of the pier was the elegant, newly-built steamship “White Oak,” now under round-the-clock surveillance and undergoing daily purification rituals as scheduled.

The crew members of the White Oak had been transferred to the Storm Cathedral and were under the strictest level of monitoring. Given their close interaction with the mysterious ship, they were subjects of intense scrutiny.

Between the heretical followers of the Black Sun confined in the dungeons of the Storm Cathedral, the scrutinized steamship docked at the port, and a crew who had direct interactions with the enigmatic Captain Duncan now residing within the cathedral, the intricacies of the situation were indeed headache-inducing.

As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, though not yet ushering in twilight, the regional bishop ignited several oil lamps scattered throughout the room. The dancing flames projected their glow onto the windowpane.

Finally, Vanna redirected her attention away from the port scene. “I understand that the reports concerning Anomaly 099’s loss of control have been forwarded to this port area?”

“Yes, the files were delivered just this afternoon,” the regional bishop confirmed, reaching over to pull out a stack of meticulously organized papers from a satchel beside him. “Oddly enough, they arrived a bit later than we had anticipated. Would you like to review them?”

“Certainly, let me have a look,” Vanna said, extending her hand to accept the thick stack of files. As she skimmed through the documents, the dimming light from the setting sun filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over the papers. “The delay in the arrival of these files is not surprising, given the exceptional circumstances surrounding Anomaly 099’s breach of containment. It lost control while in direct contact with that legendary vessel, the so-called ‘ghost ship.’ Because of the implications, I assume that bishops from multiple city-states took great care in crafting the language used in these notification files. They must have been cautious not to establish too many ‘direct associations’ in the document, especially since it’s destined for distribution across all maritime routes. The ironic risk is that a document intended to help ship captains steer clear of hazards might inadvertently connect them to the legendary Vanished.”

Just as Vanna pronounced the ship’s name, the nearest oil lamp to her flickered unpredictably. The flame sputtered and let out a soft crackle as if responding to the gravity of the word she had just uttered. The momentary disturbance added a subtle layer of tension to the already weighty atmosphere of the room.

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