Chapter 237

Chapter 237: The Sleepless

The flames in the mirror faded, and the solemn figure slowly vanished into the darkness, but the mysterious symbol Captain Duncan had shown him still stayed clearly in Morris’s mind.

Morris left the storage room. He glanced at his sleeping wife, then went to the writing desk under the window. He took out paper and pen. By the cold glow of the night outside the window, while his memory was still sharp, he sketched that mysterious, strange symbol.

Then the well-read Old Scholar frowned at the pattern on the paper and sank into brief thought.

Even a scholar who had passed the harshest exams at Truth Academy was completely puzzled when he saw this symbol. There was only one thing he could be sure of: this thing was definitely not a mark used by any city-state, Church, or official group, and it did not fit any rune rules used in occult studies symbolism.

According to the captain, this was the badge carried by a few ascetics who had visited the Vanished a hundred years ago, and now, he had suddenly become interested in that badge.

As the captain’s retainer, Morris did not plan to pry into the captain’s secrets, but he was very curious about those mysterious ascetics. What kind of “people” would carry such a strange charm amulet, and could suddenly draw Captain Duncan’s attention after a hundred years?

After thinking for a long time, Morris let out a slow breath. He folded the paper carefully, put it into the drawer of the writing desk, and locked it with care.

He planned to wait until the Sun rose tomorrow, then go to the study and look through the books on ancient city-states and secret societies. The God of Wisdom had given His believers exceptional memory, but even the best memory had gaps. Maybe there was a record of this symbol somewhere in his collection.

If he could not find clues in his own books, then he would go search the big city libraries and the archives at the Upper City university. He had left his university post many years ago, but his old network and influence were still there. Borrowing a few rare volumes would not be a problem.

If all of Pland still had no record of it, then he could only write letters and send telegrams to old friends in places like Lunsa. A few of his old friends were quite knowledgeable in history and occult studies. Maybe they could help. Even if they could not, the universities and research institutes behind them could.

One way or another, this was the first task the captain had given him. The captain had granted the sacred miracle of True Resurrection, and now he finally had a chance to be of some help.

As Morris made these plans in his heart, the restless mood caused by his insomnia quietly faded away. He felt as if he had returned to his first days at the academy, full of energy and fighting spirit for a clear goal. And along with that fighting spirit…

Came the long-lost drowsiness.

…

Tyrian had been tossing and turning in bed for hours and still felt no trace of sleepiness.

He could no longer remember how many years it had been since he last had such serious insomnia. As the commander of the Sea Mist Fleet and the captain of the Sea Mist, he had always had strong self-control and a good routine. He could fall asleep and wake up with machine-like precision—except for today.

All kinds of thoughts and scenes rose and fell in his mind. Mixed among them were countless yellowed, trivial memories: flames burning in a mirror, his gloomy and solemn father, the expedition ship that had once set sail amid cheers and praise, the silhouette of a warship returning from Subspace…

There was even that clash near Frostholm between the Sea Mist and the Vanished, and the words the Frostholm Queen had said to him at the start of the Abyssal Trench Project—

“There are horrors beneath the Deep Sea, but there must also be every answer beneath the Deep Sea.”

Tyrian turned over and sat up in bed.

He looked toward the nearby wall. The mirror that had hung there had already been taken down and now lay face-down on the table, still and quiet. A lighter oval mark was left on the wall. The suitcase that held the scrying crystal and set of lenses sat at the foot of the bed, locked again. Every place in the room that had a mirror or a smooth, reflective surface had been covered with cloth.

But those white sheets over the mirrors only made the room feel even gloomier and stranger. Under the cold glow of the World’s Wound, the room looked like a place where wraiths gathered.

But Tyrian was not afraid of ghosts. He had an entire ship of living dead sailors, a living warship under the curse, and several secret bases that produced eerie visions all year round. Compared to his father, ghosts were nothing to be afraid of.

He paced back and forth in the quiet, eerie room for a few minutes. Then his eyes fell on the suitcase at the foot of the bed. After a little hesitation, he picked it up.

Polly had already flown back to the ship to report that everything was fine. As a captain, he could not very well run next door to wake up a subordinate to play cards with him. He might as well see what Lucretia was doing.

Maybe she was suffering from insomnia, too.

He turned on the electric light and set the case on the table. When he opened the lid, the scrying crystal, wrapped by a complex lens array and a set of curved connecting arms, appeared before him. Tyrian reached out, but before he could even activate the lenses, the device began to hum. The scrying crystal at its center lit up at once.

In just a moment, Lucretia’s figure appeared in the scrying crystal.

The “sea witch” in a gauzy dress, with black hair falling over her shoulders and an air of mystery around her, now only looked at her elder brother with a tired face.

“Brother, I can’t sleep.”

“If you can’t sleep, you can pass the time with your dolls, or go work on your magic experiments,” Tyrian said with a straight face, still trying to sound serious. “I’m working on the Sea Mist Fleet’s future development plans…”

“But your hair looks like you’ve been rolling on the pillow for four hours,” Lucretia said quietly. “Is that a new pose for drawing up plans?”

“…”

Tyrian was silent for a few seconds, his face full of fatigue: “Do you have any good ideas for treating insomnia? Use your clever witch’s mind… Forget it, pretend I didn’t ask.”

The two siblings fell into an awkward silence for a moment. Then they chatted idly about a few things, both of them purposely avoiding something important. But little by little, the topic still began to drift toward a certain direction.

“…I just made a few ‘adjustments’ to Lunie,” Lucretia said. “I strengthened the protection on her joints, and I added a small container for storing holy oil and some protective charm script next to the sphere that holds her ‘soul’.”

“You think that can block Father from contacting you through ‘Nilu’ next time?”

“No. But it might keep Lunie from freezing up completely next time,” Lucretia said with a hint of helplessness. “She was actually scared by that last freeze. We just had a serious talk about it.”

Tyrian was a little curious: “Talk? What did you and your doll talk about?”

“She told me not to be nervous. I told her to take it easy.”

Tyrian: “…”

They fell silent again, but this time it did not last long before Tyrian suddenly said: “Actually, I was just thinking about something.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Do you still remember what Father said at the end today?” Tyrian said slowly. “He said he had found Lunie’s sister, ‘Nilu’. He also mentioned that doll had never been sold…”

Lucretia’s eyes changed a little: “You mean…”

“It means that shop is still there. Do you still remember where that doll shop was?” Tyrian’s face grew serious. “All I remember is that it was somewhere inside Pland.”

Lucretia frowned slightly and fell into memory. Tyrian went on, slowly: “If Father really ‘bought’ Nilu from that doll shop, then that reveals a key piece of information: before he met the historical corruption in Pland, he had already set foot in this city-state in some way, and had even been moving around here in the open…”

“Have you thought that this might be a clue Father revealed to us on purpose?” Lucretia suddenly said. “Now you’ve thought of all this, but maybe this is exactly what Father wants you to investigate.”

Tyrian was quiet for a few seconds before he spoke: “I have considered that. But even so, you know I won’t let this clue go.”

“…I only vaguely remember where the shop was,” Lucretia said. “It should be at the edge of the Upper City, near a crossroads by the southern subordinate district. The shopkeeper was an elven lady… When I saw her a century ago, she already seemed quite old. But given an elf’s lifespan, the owner of that shop is probably still her.”

Tyrian gave a small nod and quietly memorized the information Lucretia gave him.

…

The sea had picked up a little. The Vanished rocked gently in the waves. Duncan sat at the chart table, studying the mist-covered enchanted sea chart in front of him out of sheer boredom.

His body in the city-state of Pland had already gone to sleep, but this “true body” on the Vanished barely needed rest. As a result, the night voyage had become a very boring stretch of time. On top of that, night was not suitable for reading, and the sea was not suitable for reading either, so he could not even bring over the light reading he had bought in Pland to pass the time. The boredom only grew.

After all, he could not treat exploring the ship as a fun game every day. No matter how big the Vanished was, exploration had an end.

“I’m almost tempted to walk the Spirit Realm knocking on glass, and call Vanna and Tyrian up to play cards,” Duncan sighed in his boredom. He lifted his eyelids and looked at Goathead. “Vanna is another matter, but Tyrian is most likely not sleeping tonight…”

“If you really do that, he won’t sleep tomorrow night either,” Goathead said at once. “But honestly, your idea is very attractive. It has both full horror value and great entertainment value. Who are you planning to knock on first?”

“I’m just talking,” Duncan shot Goathead a glance. His eyes passed over the enchanted sea chart again. Then, all of a sudden, he seemed to remember something and jerked his head up. “How long until sunrise?”

“…About three hours,” Goathead estimated. “If it rises on time today.”