Chapter 403: The Depleted Truth

Agatha, the appointed leader, assembled a compact yet fully equipped squadron of guardians. With a determined spirit, they embarked on their journey from the forward outpost, a position staked out by the army of the church. The path they tread was laden with hasty constructions meant to impede any potential enemy advancements, including makeshift barricades and provisional firing posts. Guided by the ambient glow of antiquated gas lamps, they maneuvered through a significant intersection and, subsequently, found themselves navigating the serpentine twists and turns of a labyrinthine corridor that plunged into the bowels of the complex.

The ancient gas lamps, embedded within the corroded walls of the corridor, emitted an eerie, hissing sound. The outdated network of pipes supplying the gas to these lamps was far from reliable, resulting in an unsettling flickering and dimming of the lamps’ luminosity. Beneath this insufficient illumination, a formidable door, wrought from a dense alloy, stood ominously at the end of the corridor, shrouded in the encompassing darkness.

The rhythmic sound of Agatha’s staff and high-heeled shoes tapping against the stone floor reverberated eerily through the hollow corridor as she approached this enigmatic door. The door’s seal bore signs of decay, possibly as a result of its long and forgotten existence. A thin fissure could be spotted between the two imposing door panels, betraying a glimpse into the unknown beyond. The lead block that originally bolstered the bolt had evidently endured some form of impact; it was visibly stretched and torn.

An embossed nameplate, a steel relic of Frost’s city hall, was affixed beside the door. This puzzling discovery had been made by an exploration team deep underground: the peculiar door situated in the heart of the Second Waterway’s central region that Agatha had previously mentioned to Governor Winston.

City Hall had cordoned off this area, yet the governor was oblivious to the presence of this door. Documentation relevant to this door seemed to have vanished during the tumultuous period that succeeded the end of the Frost Queen, Ray Nora’s, rule. In times of hardship and uncertainty, memory can often disregard such trivial details as the sealing of a forsaken tunnel in some dark, dank recess of the city.

Was this door a potential sanctuary for the nefarious Annihilation Cultists? Or perhaps it was one of the many enigmas that the Frost Queen had left behind as her legacy to the world?

Agatha stretched out her hand, gingerly brushing her fingers against the rough, cold surface of the heavy alloy. A strangely dull and numbing sensation spread from her fingertips, with only the door’s coldness registering distinctly.

“Shall we proceed with opening this door?” inquired a guardian, cloaked in a black robe, stepping forth from the shadows. “We have received authorization from the governor’s office...”

“True, Governor Winston did provide his consent,” Agatha responded with a gentle shake of her head, “but this door, which has remained ensnared in darkness for countless years, should not be hastily tampered with. There could be dangerous entities lurking behind it. I will assess the situation beyond the door first.”

The guardians in her vicinity instantly comprehended their leader’s directive and retreated a few steps. Agatha raised her gaze to the sliver of a gap between the door panels and extended her hand once more, ready to explore the unknown.

Nothing transpired as Agatha expected, her face creased into a perplexed frown.

Observing her confusion, a black-robed guardian sidled over, curiosity glinting in his eyes, “Is there a complication?”

“No, there’s no issue,” Agatha replied, shaking her head dismissively, then swiftly recaptured her focus.

Finally, an unexpected gust of wind whirled across the barren expanse, causing her form to morph into a spectral haze of gray mist. This ghostly apparition of wind cycled twice in front of the imposing door before seeping through the narrow fissure.

“Remain vigilant and hold your positions until I return,” Agatha commanded.

The captain of the black-robed guardians released a sigh of relief after witnessing the lady’s success in bypassing the locked gate. He then promptly set about instructing his team to establish a secure perimeter within the corridor.

On the other side of the door, the gray cyclone found itself engulfed by a dimly lit expanse after infiltrating the crack. The ethereal wind spun momentarily before it merged back into the figure of Agatha.

Having safely traversed the door, the gatekeeper threw a backward glance at her recent passage, then instinctively scanned her own state, her brow knitting together in slight worry.

“Why does the magic I routinely wield feel somewhat strained today? Even my body’s responsiveness appears to be lagging slightly,” Agatha murmured to herself, perplexed. Dismissing her initial confusion, she shook her head and directed her focus back to the urgent task at hand.

“Fifty years... they passed as swiftly as a fleeting dream...”

He rose leisurely from his seat and ambled towards the window.

Through the expanse of the wide glass window, the dense fog blanketing the entire city was visible. The fog swirled and billowed, obscuring the distinct outlines and boundaries of the buildings and roads as though they were merging into the cityscape. Even the majestic church located across the open space had been reduced to a vague silhouette amidst the fog. The numerous towering spires and steeples appeared as though they were giants gasping for breath, on the verge of succumbing within the smothering haze.

Winston’s gaze remained composed as he studied the fog outside his window. The sound of alarm bells tolling in the distance wafted towards him, punctuated by the sporadic commands of the guardians and sheriffs assembling and strategizing in the square.

Such an expansive and unusual fog would inevitably alert City Hall. Even without his explicit order as the governor, the city’s defense forces would initiate operations in accordance with pre-established procedures. However, maintaining order amidst this dense haze might be the simplest challenge they would face in the imminent future.

After contemplating the foggy scene for some time, Winston finally moved away from the window and strolled towards a specific spot in his office.

Situated near the window was a petite round table. Wisps of fog infiltrated through the crevices of the cracks, dancing and twirling around the table. In the misty whiteness, he observed two items placed on the table.

One was a pile of weathered, brittle files; the other was a meticulously constructed revolver.

The files were composed and structured in a traditional format. The exquisite paper edges were adorned with intricate, elaborate print fringes, radiating the unique sophisticated ambiance of the Frost Queen’s era.

“Warning of Ore Exhaustion,” “Investigation Report on the Mine,” “Analysis of the Inspection Results of Mining Samples...”

Most of the files were reviewed and authorized between the years 1840 and 1845, and the signature endorsing the review belonged to Ray Nora.

The revolver was a prized possession from Governor Winston’s personal collection, a classic design from twelve years prior. Even in the present day, it remains robust and dependable. The well-preserved handle and the gun mechanism glistened with an oily sheen, suggesting that it could continue its service for twelve more years, or perhaps even longer.

Winston’s gaze hovered over the files before ultimately settling on the revolver.

He extended his hand and grasped the cool, heavy metal, inspecting its chamber before snapping it back into place.

Slowly, he raised his right hand, positioning the barrel of the gun against his temple, a location chosen meticulously by its owner.

A few seconds passed before he finally lowered the gun.

“This spot will do, I’ll remember to use it later,” Winston murmured softly. He then ensured the safety of the gun mechanism and securely fastened the revolver in the holster at his waist.

The sounds of hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor outside his office.

“Your Excellency, the fog enveloping the city is intensifying...”

“I’m aware, I’m on my way,” Winston replied.