Chapter 40

Chapter 40: Landing

Vanna jolted awake from a bizarre, chaotic dream and found that it was still deep night outside the window. The cold, pale light of the World’s Wound fell on the windowsill engraved with the runes of the Deep Sea, making everything look calm and quiet.

Yet the scenes from that strange dream still stood out clearly in her mind.

A ship – a great ship wreathed in green ghostly flames – had sailed out from the line where sea and sky met. It rolled over the city-state of Pland like a crushing mountain. In the ghostly fire, countless shouts and desolate songs roared together, as if they meant to overturn the whole world.

At the same time that the great ship descended, she had seen a blazing sun rise from deep within Pland. It was not the Sun people knew, the Sun bound by ancient runes, but a burning star like the “ancient Sun” the Sun believers described. It rose from the depths of the city-state; its flames melted the land, and everyone turned into flowing wax statues, running like molten wax through the streets.

The great Cathedral of the Deep Sea Church had stood quietly at the center of that city of living fire, like the heart of a purgatory. In the dream, she had prayed toward the Cathedral, hoping for the Storm Goddess’s guidance. But the great Cathedral answered only with noisy, meaningless bells. No guidance came…

Vanna sat up in bed and, still in her nightclothes, walked to the window. She glanced at the quiet city outside and the “World’s Wound” in the sky, but the unrest in her heart only boiled harder.

A moment later, the young Inquisitor drew her gaze back from the city. She went to the dressing table by the bed and pulled open a drawer.

There lay a dagger inside, its blade bending in strange curves – a ritual dagger. At the base of the blade, the runes of the Deep Sea Church glimmered faintly, as if stirred by some unseen force and resonating in answer.

Vanna’s eyes rested on the glowing runes for several seconds. Then she drew the blade across her palm, opening a cut. As blood seeped out, she held her hand across her chest and softly spoke the name of the Storm Goddess, trying to seek the God’s guidance.

But for some reason, she heard only unreal roaring waves. The “Psychic Sensing” state that she usually entered with ease did not respond at all tonight.

It was as if an invisible Veil had suddenly fallen around her, cutting off her link with the Storm Goddess Gamona.

Vanna’s brow slowly furrowed.

Interference in the link between a believer and a God was very rare, but not impossible. The mapping between Subspace and the Mortal Realm was deep and complex, far beyond mortal understanding. Even a God’s power could sometimes be weakened or strengthened for a time, layered through the influences of Subspace, the Abyssal Deep Sea, and the Spirit Realm. On top of that, the endless struggle between the Gods, and between the Gods and the Elder Gods, never truly stopped. In extremely rare cases, it was possible for a believer to suddenly lose the God’s voice.

But the Storm Goddess Gamona… should not be like this.

The Boundless Sea surrounded mortal civilization. The Storm Goddess’s power ran through every dimension and touched the whole Mortal Realm. Any God might lose contact with the Mortal Realm for a time; even the Death God sometimes left loopholes like the “Revenants”. But the Storm Goddess… that was impossible.

This was one of the reasons the Deep Sea Church could become the most powerful Church upon the Boundless Sea.

So was the problem in herself?

Vanna naturally began to doubt her own condition. But when she looked at her palm, she saw that the cut she had just made was already healing fast.

The Goddess’s divine blessing was still there. It took effect without the slightest delay.

Vanna recalled once more that noisy, grotesque nightmare, and the ominous signs she had seen over the past many days.

There had to be a link between all of it.

The ghost ship burning with green flames… the ghost ship…

Vanna quickly searched through her occult studies knowledge in her mind, comparing fragments, and her gaze suddenly grew serious.

She was not an expert in seafaring and rarely dealt with those absurd tales that passed among superstitious sailors. But even in orthodox Church texts, there was one ghost ship that held a special place.

It was an ominous ship that had returned from Subspace. Its captain was the terrifying man who, a century ago, had led to the Viseran Thirteen Isles being swallowed by a Border Collapse – Captain Duncan.

Vanna straightened suddenly behind the dressing table, but at once she remembered: it was the middle of the night. The Cathedral’s archives, like any other library, were not open at this hour.

And for safety’s sake, she should not talk with anyone about the dream’s contents in the few hours right after such a “prophetic vision dream” ended. If the dream truly pointed to that “Captain Duncan”, then he might well use the link formed by the dream to sense mortals discussing him in return.

After all, he was a “ghost” who could return from Subspace…

The safest course now was to wait patiently. She had to wait until the Sun once more took its place as the world’s ruler, until the link forged by the dream slowly faded. Then she could go to the archives to look up related records, or seek out the Archbishop in the Cathedral to discuss these ominous prophetic visions.

No matter what, if these prophetic vision dreams truly pointed to that “Captain Duncan”, if they really warned that the legendary Vanished now had its eye on Pland, then as Guardian of the City-State she had to stop that terrifying ghost captain from making landfall, no matter the cost…

…

A tall, gaunt shadow moved quickly along the empty streets of the Lower City, its thin figure casting a fleeting outline under the gas lamps.

The city was completely unfamiliar. The buildings were completely unfamiliar. Vague, half-formed memories drifted in his mind, and the commoners’ district, under curfew, felt cold and eerie.

Yet as Duncan walked through these shabby alleys, he was in an unusually good mood.

He had done it. Not only had he successfully carried out a second walk in the Spirit Realm, he had also managed to control a body and come to the surface – to the surface of the city-state of Pland.

He was making contact with the civilized society of this world. He was seeing this era’s buildings and this era’s technology with his own eyes.

And he was using a complete body this time – no gaping chest, no opened skull. A body that looked normal from the outside would make his next moves much easier.

To be honest, this body’s health was not very good. Even though his Spirit Realm walking state let him ignore most of the body’s problems, Duncan could still clearly feel its sub-healthy condition. But he had no complaints. He even felt it was only natural.

After all, from his two experiences so far, Spirit Realm walking always took over a corpse that had been dead for some time. How could anything still jumping around be a corpse?

A distant barking came from the end of the street. Duncan cautiously slowed his steps and hid himself in the shadows between two buildings.

He did not know if it was a patrol dog led by one of the Church Guardians on night watch, but there was no harm in being careful.

Above the nearby buildings, huge pipe structures crossed over the low houses. The light of the “Pale Scar” spilled between those pipes in broken bands of shadow and glow. Now and then, steam leaked from valves along the pipes, spreading into a hazy mist in the night.

The barking faded into the distance.

Duncan stepped out from his hiding place, looked up and down the street for any movement, then absently soothed the pigeon AI, which shifted on his shoulder, before following his memories toward the opposite side of the street.

Among a row of low, two- or three-story buildings was an old door. A dirty signboard hung above it, and on either side of the door the walls held grimy, poorly cared-for display windows. It was a shop, not a small one by the look of it, but clearly neglected and doing poor business.

This was the place the shards of memory in his mind had led him to.

He walked up to the old door and looked up at the sign. A row of letters could just be made out in the dark:

“Ron Antique Shop,” Duncan muttered under his breath. “A simple, straightforward name…”

After that, he felt around by the door. His memories were not very clear, and he searched for quite a while before finally finding a spare key on a hidden hook under the window ledge.

The original owner of this body had not kept the key on him, nor carried anything that could show his identity or lead someone back to this antique shop. It seemed like the caution of a seasoned cultist. But for a ghost captain who could seize memories, this kind of surface-level caution meant nothing.

Duncan opened the door of Ron Antique Shop, slipped inside, and quickly shut it behind him.

The wooden door banged shut, but the sound did not carry far into the night. The signboard above the door shook and tilted a little. The letters on the board squirmed in the cold, pale night, and in the blink of an eye, new words emerged on the wood –

“Duncan Antique Shop.”