Chapter 347

Chapter 347: The Silent Grand Cathedral

The Sea Mist Fleet had come, out in full force.

For a full half century, this famous curse Fleet had always hung like a blade over the heads of the people of Frostholm. It was the legacy of Frostholm’s Queen, the shadow that never faded after the Great Uprising fifty years ago. It stood upon the Frost Sea like a sheer iceberg, its cold, hard hull hiding the unfathomable mind of the undying pirate general within.

Whenever people of Frostholm spoke of it, they could not help lowering their voices.

Almost everyone who knew history understood that the Frostholm rebellion fifty years ago had not succeeded because of “justice” or “blessing”. The ragged rebels who rose up back then had been able to defeat the strongest royal fleet in history for one main reason: the Queen’s most powerful main fleet had simply not been on Frostholm’s main island at the time.

No one knew why the Sea Mist Fleet had left back then, just as no one knew what truth Frostholm’s Queen had learned from the Deep Sea in those days. People only knew one thing: to this day, that fleet still acted in the Queen’s name.

For half a century, the powerful Sea Mist Fleet had wandered through these Northern Seas like a ghost. Some city-states had tried to wipe out or reclaim this fleet, but they had never succeeded. On the other hand, although the Undying captains of those cursed warships roamed the Frost Sea, most ships that met them only needed to hand over money to avoid disaster. Compared with the losses from fighting the Sea Mist Fleet head-on, that “toll” was more like a kind and cheap tax. The northern city-states would rather pay for peace than risk themselves to repay Frostholm’s fifty-year-old debt.

But the people of Frostholm themselves knew that the Sea Mist Fleet would one day return. It was like a curse, and had even become a “prophecy of legend” that many Frostholm people grew up hearing again and again—

As long as the flag of the Sea Mist Fleet still flew, the Queen of Frostholm had not finished ruling this city-state. As long as the Sea Mist’s engines still turned, the reckoning for that Great Uprising fifty years ago would sooner or later fall upon this city.

The curse and the rumors passed from mouth to mouth had far-reaching effects. Under these stories, year after year, the cold shadow of the Sea Mist Fleet had only grown more frightening. Even well-trained professional soldiers could not ignore that pressure.

Lister’s fingers tightened slightly on the document until his knuckles turned a little white.

And as his words fell, a strange and heavy silence settled over the whole pier.

This Defense Commander knew that information about the Sea Mist Fleet did not need to be kept secret. That huge fleet was sailing openly right beside Frostholm, and it was still drawing closer to the main island and Dagger Island. By the time the Sun rose tomorrow at the latest, residents living near the coast would only need to open their windows, raise a telescope toward the southeast, and they would see those hazy ship silhouettes. This news would spread through the city-state very soon.

“The Sea Mist Fleet… the Sea Mist Fleet suddenly appearing, could it be connected to what happened on Dagger Island?” one trusted officer said. “Could it be tied to that ‘Sea Swallow’ that appeared out of nowhere?”

“I would rather they were connected. Then at least we would only face one problem,” Lister said through his teeth. “The worse possibility is that we are looking at two separate troubles…”

Another trusted officer sounded nervous: “Will the Sea Mist Fleet strike while the iron is hot? While Frostholm’s main island is being threatened by some unknown power…”

“It is too early to make any judgments. Carrying out the orders is our first duty,” Lister said, cutting off his subordinates’ wild guesses and speaking quickly. “Arrange the blockade at once. Send martial law signals to the nearby city-states and ships along the route. All Coastal Guns positions are to stand by… We may be in serious trouble.”

…

In the heartland of the Frostholm city-state, just like in most seafaring city-states, the solemn, towering Grand Cathedral stood on the highest ground at the very center of the city.

The locals called it the Silent Grand Cathedral, or simply “the Grand Cathedral”.

It was an ancient and solemn building, almost entirely made of gray and black bricks. Clusters of slender buildings and all kinds of spires formed its body. Whenever the heavy winter snow flew, those layers of spires became hazy against the snowy sky, like rows of tombstones in the mist or black swords pointing at the heavens.

When outsiders first came to Frostholm and saw this Cathedral, their first feeling was often that it was too gloomy and oppressive, even a little frightening. But for the people of Frostholm, who almost all believed in the God of Death Bartok, this black Grand Cathedral held only solemn dignity and holiness.

The locals firmly believed that the many spires of the Cathedral were bridges between the realm of death and the mortal world. When the days of heavy snow came, the God of Death’s envoys would hide among those spires and rooftops. With eyes that saw through all things, they would cast their gaze over the city-state and guide back to rest those undead who had lost their way for all sorts of reasons.

Thus the people of Frostholm saw the first day of heavy snow as “the day when long-lost restless souls set out on their way”. On that day, they would close the cemeteries and pause all funerals for new dead, so as to leave the roads wide and clear for those long-lost restless souls, letting them reach the Silent Grand Cathedral in time.

Today was one of those days of heavy snow.

The nearby cemeteries were closed, and the Grand Cathedral no longer allowed anyone but the Clergy to go in and out. The cloister paths in the courtyard, where snowflakes kept falling, were quieter than ever. Other than the sound of boots on snow, even the soft patter of snow slipping from the treetops could be heard clearly.

Agatha, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and dressed all in black, passed through the Cathedral’s courtyard gate. She walked through the long audience hall and then deeper inside, until she reached the Meditation Chapel where the Bishop stayed.

As in Pland, Frostholm also had two top spokespeople for the Church. The “Gatekeeper” was the guardian of the city-state’s security and mainly handled worldly affairs. The city-state’s Bishop mainly took charge of clerical work and of dealing with the higher powers of divine authority.

Inside the Meditation Chapel, candle flames flickered in rows of niches along the walls. The pale light from countless candles made the room quite bright. At the far end of the chapel stood a high stone platform. Yet on that platform there was no statue or chair, only a simple black coffin with an ancient look.

That was where the city-state’s Bishop stayed.

Agatha stepped up onto the platform, looked down, and said: “I’m back.”

The coffin stayed completely silent.

Agatha waited patiently for a few seconds, then raised her voice a little: “Bishop Ivan, have you heard the news that the Sea Mist Fleet has appeared?”

There was still no movement inside the coffin.

Agatha frowned and lifted her head to look around. After hesitating a little, she finally raised the Gatekeeper’s cane and tapped it beside the coffin: “Are you there?”

She tapped three times in a row. At last, a hoarse, elderly voice came from inside the coffin: “I am. Stop knocking. Show some respect for the elderly.”

Agatha lowered the Gatekeeper’s cane: “…Did you fall asleep while meditating and giving benediction to the God of Death?”

“I was too deep in my meditation to hear any voices from the mortal world.”

“But your snoring carried through the coffin lid into the mortal world.”

“Ah? Was it that loud?”

Agatha sighed: “You really did fall asleep, Bishop.”

The voice in the coffin fell silent at once. A few seconds later, a faint scraping broke the quiet. The dark coffin lid slid a little to the side, but only enough to leave a narrow crack. The old, raspy voice came again, now clearer: “Your heart is in turmoil, Agatha. It seems things are not going well in the city-state.”

“On my way back to the Grand Cathedral, I received the news that the Sea Mist Fleet is approaching the city-state,” Agatha said slowly. “I’m afraid this news will soon…”

“The Sea Mist Fleet should be left to the navy and the people at City Hall to worry about. Your concern is the balance in the supernatural field and the peace within the city-state,” said the voice of Frostholm’s Bishop, Ivan Romonso, from inside the coffin. “Tell me about the situation inside the city first.”

Agatha nodded at this and set the news of the Sea Mist Fleet aside for the moment. Her expression grew serious.

“A new site of ‘elements’ corruption has appeared at 42 Hearth Street. From various signs, we judge that a replica made of ‘elements’ lived in that building for a long time, until it collapsed and vanished not long ago. In addition, we found a commoner there who had clearly suffered cognitive interference…”

“cognitive interference?” Bishop Ivan cut off Agatha’s report. “What kind of cognitive interference?”

Agatha gathered her thoughts and said: “After checking the population records for the local block, we found that the replica’s ‘original person’ actually died in a shipwreck six years ago. But during all the time the replica was active… the female apprentice who lived with it never noticed this obvious Anomaly. Even after the replica collapsed and vanished and our investigators entered the scene, she still believed her teacher was just resting upstairs.”

Agatha paused here, then went on: “And… our discoveries do not end there.”

“They don’t?”

“There is a third force—identity unknown, but very strong. They seem to be investigating the elements as well. One of their combatants killed two rather powerful heretic priests in a nearby alley. Their investigator searched that building before our elite Guardian squad arrived. Sadly, we found no clues at all and cannot even confirm where this third force comes from.”

The coffin fell silent. The quiet lasted for who knew how long before Ivan’s voice sounded again: “Is there any other news?”

“Yes,” Agatha took a soft breath. “Do you still remember the ‘visitor’ who appeared in Cemetery No. 3?”

“…Has He appeared again?!”

“Yes. He appeared again, and not only appeared—He also left behind a… ‘denunciation letter’.”