Chapter 307

Chapter 307: Lost Between Doorways

A tower this massive, a spaceship that could cross time and space, a cult nest stuffed with secrets… how many doors did it contain?

Many. Far too many.

Doors between floors. Doors between rooms. Doors between corridors. Doors meant only to seal off certain areas like scars of security.

Now every door waited, quiet and patient, for the next passerby.

A squad advanced cautiously through the connecting passage from D-1 zone toward the core compartment, searching for any spider-silk traces the intruder might have left behind.

An outsider was hiding on the ship. It had wiped out the first combat squad and the recovery team, and it had invaded part of the system. The surveillance network could no longer be trusted. All that remained was manpower.

Under their black hooded robes, Hermitage Order combatants wore light powered armor. They moved with quick, controlled steps, their suit sensors reading every change in airflow, temperature, and magnetic field. They’d brought the few remaining Bronze Knights that could still operate, and sent some into optical camouflage, scattering them as hidden threats at the front and rear of the formation and in connecting passages.

Small drones slipped through vents, maintenance shafts, and narrow connector tunnels, stretching the squad’s perception range and probing for abnormal signals.

With precautions like this, they should have at least received warning before an attack.

Luo Nan-22 couldn’t imagine what kind of enemy could still slip beneath their noses and steal squad members away under these conditions.

And yet unease coiled in his chest, faint but persistent, as if it had seeped into the air itself.

“Cultivator,” a lower-ranked member said suddenly over the squad channel, voice tight, “I keep feeling like someone’s staring at me.”

Luo Nan-22 glanced at him. “Ai Lun-27, you’re too tense. There’s no one here. My spiritual intuition gave no warning.”

“Probably.” Ai Lun-27 nodded, but his eyes kept flicking to the sides.

The long corridor was brightly lit. Ventilation hummed. Gravity in this section had been repaired, and the air purification system ran smoothly.

Metal reliefs along the walls depicted ancient forebears. Above, an arched ceiling bloomed with intricate murals of prophets and omens. Between forebears and sages, hidden cameras slowly rotated, scanning.

Everything looked normal, and yet the atmosphere felt wrong.

Ai Lun-27 even had the absurd sensation that the figures in the reliefs and murals were watching him. For an instant, he was sure one of them had blinked.

Then the floor beneath his boots softened. Stepping on it felt like treading something warm and yielding—flesh.

He imagined blood flowing beneath the plating, pulsing. Nerve bundles threaded through steel overhead, carrying crackling interference. Every wall hid malicious eyes. A powerful, terrifying impression rose unbidden in his mind.

He didn’t know why those images came. And in the next instant, they were gone again, like a fever-dream that evaporated when you tried to remember it.

…Was it the shameful defect buried in his genes?

Or the way his original template had pushed neural sensitivity too far during descendant tuning?

Ai Lun-27 shook his head and checked his suit data again.

Normal. Everything was normal.

They reached the D-1 end airlock, heading toward the core zone.

The earlier combat squad had vanished near this very door.

But there were no traces of battle.

Luo Nan-22 had the team inspect the area with care, then stepped through first.

Ai Lun-27 stayed at the rear, watching the others pass through one by one, watching their figures continue down the corridor on the other side. It all looked perfectly ordinary—and still the wrongness clung to him.

It was as if those who crossed didn’t truly reach the other side. As if what he saw was illusion arts.

The presence of the others around him thinned. When the last compatriot stepped through, Ai Lun-27 suddenly felt alone, standing by himself in the long corridor.

“Cultivator!” He stopped at the airlock and shouted, voice cracking. “Something’s wrong!”

“What are you doing back there?” Luo Nan-22 turned, displeased. “Hurry up and come over!”

“Cultivator, I said something’s wrong—I can feel it!” Ai Lun-27’s breathing came fast. His heart hammered, and some nameless urge surged through his nerves. “Come back! Something’s wrong on your side!”

But Luo Nan-22 stood beyond the door with the others who’d already crossed, and none of them moved. They only stared at Ai Lun-27.

Through the thickness of his tactical helmet, Ai Lun-27 felt that gaze press down on him.

“Brother… sister…?” His throat tightened. Speaking became strangely difficult. “You… are you really over there?”

“Luo Nan-22” stared at him without a word.

A needle of pain stabbed through Ai Lun-27’s skull, as if something ripped at his nerves. His heart clenched. A massive dose of spirit vision slammed straight into his spine. Warnings shrieked inside his helmet.

And in the instant the overdose hit, he finally saw—

Pale gray eyes, drained of all color.

There was no connecting corridor on the other side. It was an unfamiliar hall, filled with fully armed Special Operations Bureau agents.

Ai Lun-27 sucked in a sharp breath and ran.

At the same time, he opened every built-in comm channel in his suit and screamed into anything that might still hear him:

“Doors! The doors are wrong! Don’t go near the doors on the ship!”

Only piercing static answered.

Ai Lun-27 slowed and lifted his head.

The forebears in the reliefs lowered their eyes and shook their heads in helplessness. Metal flowed off them like mud, piling at his feet, climbing his legs, binding his arms. The floor softened and heaved like a living thing, wave by wave pushing him toward the nearest door.

The corridor filled with the wet, grinding sound of writhing metal and Ai Lun-27’s ragged, repeated shout:

“Doors are wrong! Don’t go near the doors on the ship! Doors are wrong! Doors are wrong! Doors are wro—”

…

Bai Li Qing turned her head and looked at the Hermitage Order members standing in a blank line. Even when Special Operations Bureau agents stepped in to dismantle their powered armor, none of them resisted.

She lifted a hand and rubbed at her eyes.

Farther out on open ground, deep divers had already torn apart the Bronze Knights and scattered the parts everywhere. Beside the scraps lay piles of “mud” substance burned down to ash.

Song Cheng stood nearby, watching the last Hermitage Order member get “thrown” over. This one wasn’t as quiet as the earlier batches who’d walked through on their own. The moment he regained himself, he started screaming and tried to attack the deep divers with his weapon.

Fortunately, Xu Jiali was better.

After a few exchanges, he disarmed him.

“Not many people can stay conscious under your gaze,” Song Cheng said, genuine awe in his voice. “There are capable ones in this bunch.”

“He was drugged,” Xu Jiali said, voice muffled inside his powered armor helmet. He’d just checked the man he’d knocked out, and regret colored his tone. “Even if you save him, he’ll drool. His brain’s practically been cooked by spirit vision.”

“…Send him to the med bay anyway. One more living prisoner is one more potential source of intel.” Song Cheng waved it off. “We need to know how these guys snuck in, and what they’re trying to do in Boundary City.”

The new batch of prisoners was hauled away and locked together with the earlier ones in the same containment facility.

Bai Li Qing and Song Cheng stayed by the doorway, waiting.

The ground was quiet, but the mood had gone strange.

Song Cheng kept glancing at the female Director beside him, trying to find a way into the silence. He failed twice, then finally blurted, “Director… tell me. From a normal person’s point of view, we’re supposed to be the good guys, right? And these Hermitage Order people are the bad guys?”

Bai Li Qing glanced at him without expression.

“…Why does it feel like the vibe flipped?” Song Cheng’s mouth twitched. “I’ve arrested cultists more times than I can count, and I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“As long as we solve the problem and ensure the Borderland’s safety,” Bai Li Qing said flatly, “the small details do not matter.”

“…You’re right.”

Just then, Bai Li Qing’s phone vibrated.

She checked the screen. Something shifted in her eyes—just slightly.

Song Cheng recognized it at once. Not many people could make the stone-faced Director show any change, and there was one in particular who did it more than anyone.

“What did Yu Sheng say?”

“He asked whether the Special Operations Bureau knows what the artificial saintess’s holy coffin looks like.”

Song Cheng stared. “…What is he trying to do?”

“He wants to try moving an entire artificial saintess system over here,” Bai Li Qing said, drawing a quiet breath. “The saintess herself, the holy coffin, and the supporting maintenance system.”

Song Cheng swallowed. “…Yeah. That’s breathtaking.”