Chapter 330: Legacy

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Throughout the duration of their seemingly relaxed dialogue, Morris masterfully wielded his linguistic abilities to subtly address a range of issues with Garloni. Through this tactful exchange, he and Duncan gradually determined the strange cognitive state of Garloni, the female apprentice.

Every trace of memory related to the shipwreck that Scott Brown had experienced six years earlier had been completely wiped from Garloni’s mind. This erasure was not limited to the memories themselves, but it extended to the entire cognitive framework that had been constructed around those events.

Death, with its far-reaching impacts, sets off a ripple effect in the social circles of the deceased. The subsequent management of the aftermath, periods of introspective reflection, emotional turmoil, as well as subtle alterations within the home over the course of six years – none of these can be addressed by a mere memory wipe and replacement.

Incredibly, within Garloni’s mental schema, the event of “Scott Brown dying in a shipwreck six years ago” had never transpired. Furthermore, the resulting emotional, social, and behavioral reactions that would normally have been sparked by such an incident were also absent. Garloni was under the impression that she had lived peacefully in this house for six years, patiently waiting for her teacher’s return. In her mind, her teacher had indeed returned and was currently resting in a room upstairs.

The shrill whistle of the kettle interrupted the conversation in the living room, and Garloni immediately stood up to attend to it, apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’ll go turn off the stove.”

Taking advantage of the brief moment when Garloni had left the room, Duncan turned to Morris, who was seated across from him on a separate sofa, “Her cognition has been tampered with.”

“We need to thoroughly search this house,” Morris suggested in a hushed tone, “If Brown is truly here, he must have left something behind while he was still in his right mind—he sent me another letter not too long ago, in which he had begun to piece together some of the truth.”

“... Let Garloni rest for a bit,” Duncan whispered back, almost too softly to hear.

Morris agreed with a nod, and during their short exchange, Garloni had already returned from the kitchen—she brought with her a large tray laden with warm ginger tea and some cookies. The woman, whose skin had a stony gray hue, set the tray on the coffee table and looked at her two guests, apologizing for the delay and inviting them to warm themselves with some tea.

“Thank you,” Morris responded, before gesturing towards the nearby sofa, “Garloni, please sit here for a moment. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Ah... alright, Mr. Morris,” Garloni replied. Although she found the request slightly peculiar, she did as asked and sat across from her mentor’s close friend, “What would you like to discuss?”

Morris met Garloni’s gaze head-on, “The Romonsov inequality system.”

At the mention of this, Garloni’s eyes widened. A tidal wave of knowledge, memories, and logical conundrums surged into her mind, overwhelming her. Before she had a chance to process the onslaught of information, she was overcome by a potent wave of fatigue, likely her body’s protective response to the cognitive overload.

She succumbed to the sleepiness, falling into a serene slumber, her snores steady and her sleeping posture peaceful.

Duncan watched this unfold without betraying any emotion, pausing for a couple of seconds before asking, “How long will she sleep?”

“That depends on her intelligence quotient. Heidi was out for twelve hours, and Garloni might take a bit longer,” Morris shrugged, “Folklorists usually aren’t very adept at mathematics.”

Duncan was momentarily at a loss for words, and after a pause, he stuttered, “Why did you use this method on your own daughter?”

Once the lights were turned on, the entire room came into view.

“What on earth is this...?” Morris, who followed Duncan into the room, was taken aback by what he saw.

A gray-black, mud-like substance was scattered throughout the room, smeared on the floor, walls, and even clinging to the ceiling. Half-melted “mud” dangled from the grimy ceiling, suspended in mid-air like grotesquely swollen blood vessels or oddly shaped stalactites.

Duncan was immediately reminded of the scene he had encountered at the bottom of the ship, Obsidian.

These strange and horrifying “mud” substances bore an unsettling similarity to the conditions at the base of the ship!

Morris’s facial muscles tightened.

In truth, from the beginning, he didn’t believe that his “old friend” had genuinely come back to life. He knew there must be some kind of uncontrolled supernatural phenomenon at play, potentially related to a curse from the deep sea, but... even with a vague premonition before opening the door, the sight before him was a harsh shock.

“These deep-sea replicas... it seems they all eventually transform into this,” Duncan’s voice snapped Morris out of his trance, “We were, ultimately, a step too late. It’s a shame.”

Morris blinked and then shook his head forcefully, as if trying to shake off the disordered thoughts in his mind. He ventured deeper into the room, carefully avoiding the “mud” clusters on the floor, and eventually stopped next to a table.

The table was also covered in the mud, the largest heap of which was positioned between the table and the bed.

“He wrote two letters; at least at that time, he still had some sanity,” Morris said quietly, “He must have noticed something was wrong with himself...”

“His sanity held out at least until the moment he locked this room from the inside. After that, he lost control of the situation,” Duncan also approached the desk, scrutinizing the hardened mud around him and speaking thoughtfully, “These deep-sea replicas seem... inconsistent. Some have no sanity at all, some even retain their original memories and can live like ordinary people for a while, and some... like the captain of the Obsidian, completely transform into an alien form yet retain their souls from beginning to end.”

“Like some sort of unstable experimental product?”

Morris made a casual comment, when suddenly, something caught his eye.

A piece of paper was wedged at the edge of a solidified mud cluster that vaguely resembled an arm.

“What is this...?” The aged scholar’s eyes widened as he carefully extracted the paper, whispering, “Mr. Duncan, take a look at this!”

Duncan immediately leaned in, and on that dirt-stained piece of paper, some almost indiscernible words immediately caught his eye –

“To the investigators, here are the changes that occurred in the final stage of my body:”