Chapter 322

Chapter 322: Another Blind Box, Same Old Place Again

Listening to the open disgust in Agatha’s voice when she spoke about the Annihilators, the Old Caretaker showed almost no change in expression. Most of his attention still stayed on the latest report.

The “samples” taken from the graveyard had shown properties in the lab that looked very much like what those cultists described as “elements”.

No matter how insane those Heretic cultists were, no matter how twisted and inhuman their doctrines sounded, as a member of the Church of the True Gods, the Old Caretaker still had to study their information. He had to understand their mad teachings and their highly corruptive system of knowledge.

And within the Annihilators’ whole set of Heretic dogma, everything always circled around one core:

The Abyssal Lord, and the many “sacred miracles” created by the Abyssal Lord.

The Annihilators believed that the mortal world blessed by the Gods was not a “peaceful paradise” at all. In truth, it was a land that had already been deeply corroded and completely twisted, a “place of exile”.

They claimed that the light and prosperity of the Mortal Realm were illusions woven by the Gods, and that the true destination of Mortal souls, and the “uncorrupted Mortal Realm”, were not here at all, but in the deep layers of the world – the domain of the Abyssal Deep.

On that basis, they believed the Abyssal Lord and the demons around Him showed the purest, most original, and least corrupted form of this world. They claimed that only by purifying their filthy flesh could Mortals “return” to the Abyssal Deep and go back to the original land.

But the mortal world was sealed by the Gods. There was a barrier between the “twisted Mortal Realm” and the “true Mortal Realm” (that is, the Abyssal Deep Sea). The Mortal body of flesh and blood was the physical form of that barrier.

As long as a Mortal’s soul was trapped in this shell and endured a lifetime of constant corruption, it would be impossible to return to the Abyssal Deep.

So, the Abyssal Lord would send down sacred miracles called “elements”.

The Heretics believed this holy substance was the foundation of all things at the birth of the world. The Lord’s Blueprint for shaping the Mortal Realm was hidden at the microscopic level inside elements.

Only elements, they said, could fight the curse in the flesh of all living beings in this world and let Mortals return to their “pure form at the dawn of creation”.

About this substance called “elements”, the Annihilators described it like this:

“…It will show all the properties of everything in this world and remain in an endless cycle of evolution. It represents all the plans and the Blueprint the Abyssal Lord used when shaping the Mortal Realm, and shortsighted Mortals will never be able to measure any exact property of elements…”

The Old Caretaker suddenly raised his head and stared into Agatha’s eyes: “Do you think that is ‘elements’?”

Agatha answered without a second of doubt: “elements is just nonsense made up by those Heretics. It is very likely just some new substance that our current system of knowledge cannot explain yet. Its changing properties might be some kind of natural phenomenon, or some kind of supernatural power – but it cannot be a ‘sacred miracle’ sent down by the Abyssal Lord.”

But in the face of this answer, the Old Caretaker’s expression still did not change. He just quietly used his gaze to watch the Gatekeeper: “Do you think that is ‘elements’?”

When he asked a second time, Agatha finally fell silent for a short moment. After two or three seconds, she let out a light breath: “But I have to admit, at least in terms of properties… the samples we brought back match those Heretics’ description.”

The Old Caretaker raised his head and looked toward the mortuary not far away.

The light snow that had begun after nightfall was slowly growing heavier. Snowflakes were drifting down from the dark night sky. One gatekeeper’s cane after another stood in the dim graveyard, and the consecrated lanterns on top of each cane lit the falling snow around them, adding a faint, hazy texture to everything.

His gaze passed through the drifting flakes and the lantern light and fell on an empty slab not far away.

There had once been a special corpse placed there.

“Those samples used to be a person – at least they used to look like a person,” the Old Caretaker spoke as if to himself. “You led the team that brought him in. You should remember.”

“Of course I remember,” Agatha said softly. “Very few bodies ever need a Gatekeeper to transport them in person. And that body fell into the deepest part of the mine. That is the deepest place in this whole city-state. Any dead brought up from there… are special.”

“But his level of ‘special’ still went beyond everyone’s expectations,” the Old Caretaker said as he turned his head and looked at the young Gatekeeper. “You found the real man who fell into the shaft the very next day, so that corpse was clearly only a ‘replica’ of the real dead… a replica made from elements. No wonder it drew the attention of those Oblivion Heretics.”

“Maybe it didn’t just draw their attention. Maybe the whole thing was their doing from the start,” Agatha shook her head. “We suspect that mine accident was caused by the cultists. Their goal was to use a sacrifice in the depths of the mine to make a ‘replica’, like some kind of sacrificial ritual. But clearly, something went wrong with their plan. That was why the replica was accidentally found, and even carried here to your cemetery.”

The Old Caretaker shrugged: “And it also drew the notice of an indescribable ‘visitor’.”

“…Yes, an indescribable visitor,” a flicker finally passed over Agatha’s always-calm face, and her tone became careful. “To this day we still do not know what He wants.”

The Old Caretaker looked up at the sky. After a moment of silence, he spoke: “It is late.”

The graveyard fell silent for a time. An unspeakable strangeness and quiet hung over the paths and platforms, soaked into the night wind that carried the swirling snow.

Everyone was waiting – waiting for an indescribable visitor, or for a safe and uneventful sunrise.

No one knew how long that silence lasted. Just as Agatha was about to urge the Old Caretaker to go back to his hut and rest, a series of light tapping sounds suddenly broke the night.

A clear, low voice came from one of the nearby coffins:

“Why did you stop talking?”

The sudden voice in the quiet graveyard startled even the well-trained Church guards for a moment. Agatha even felt as if the snowflakes drifting in the lantern light froze in place for two seconds. The next second, all the Guardians quickly moved to surround the coffin that had just spoken. Their boots thudded densely on the snow.

Agatha almost turned into a pale blur in an instant. She moved as if she had teleported to the side of the slab and stared hard at the coffin that had made the sound. Only after taking two deep breaths did she manage to keep her voice as calm as possible: “Are you… the visitor from the other day?”

“Sorry for dropping in. I hope I did not frighten you,” Duncan said from inside the coffin. He thought for a moment, then greeted them in a casual tone. “I did come once two days ago, but some cultists made trouble at the time, so my contact with the warden did not go very smoothly.”

Footsteps came from the side. The Old Caretaker, eyes dark and wary, carefully approached the coffin. He swept the dark wood with the corner of his eye in a quick glance, then pulled his gaze back at once.

Even though he had not fallen into runaway spirit sight this time because of the incense, and even though he had taken a potion beforehand to resist mental corruption, the psychological shadow from their last “contact” was too heavy. Even as a battle-hardened veteran, he looked very cautious at this moment.

“…Have you been here this whole time?” After calming down a little, the Old Caretaker finally broke the silence.

“Since you started talking about that ‘elements’,” Duncan’s voice came from the coffin. “I felt like I was hearing some very interesting news – but you suddenly stopped.”

Agatha lifted her head and exchanged a shocked look with the Old Caretaker.

Her lips moved slightly, but her voice went straight into the Old Caretaker’s mind: “Is this visitor… always this easygoing?”

The Old Caretaker shrugged and also moved his lips slightly: “How would I know?”

The two Church priests finished their short exchange. Then Agatha waved her hand lightly to the people around them.

The black-clad guards who had gathered around the coffin quietly stepped back a little. They did it to avoid letting their overly cautious reaction look like a challenge in the eyes of the “visitor” who had descended into this corpse.

Duncan, lying in the coffin, had already sensed all the auras around him. He had been lying in there for more than just a few minutes. From the moment the Old Caretaker and the young woman started talking about “elements”, he had been patiently and curiously listening in.

Now, as he felt the people around him move away, he laughed and said: “There are quite a lot of people here tonight.”

“…We have no wish to offend you,” Agatha answered at once, very carefully. For now she still could not tell what kind of being this “visitor” really was. But at least he had not shown any open hostility. When dealing with a high-ranked, non-hostile “godlike” presence, showing enough courtesy was the first step to communication. “All these arrangements are only to protect our own sanity.”

“Oh, I understand. People often start having problems in the head when they are talking to me. To be honest, it can be pretty troublesome,” Duncan said with a light smile in his voice. “It is good that you know how to protect yourselves.”

Agatha frowned slightly.

She had dealt with many supernatural beings before, including cruel and vicious ones, as well as chaotic and dangerous ones. But this was the first time she had met one who chatted with her like this.

“May we know what kind of being you are?” After a moment’s hesitation, she finally gathered her courage and asked.

Duncan lay in the coffin and thought seriously.

He remembered the brilliant record of the Vanished dragging the Viseran Thirteen Isles into Subspace, and he remembered what he had learned from talking with Morris and Vanna about the link between those thirteen islands and the death cult.

“I am just the Nameless Traveler. Do not be curious about my real name – that will be better for both of us.”