Chapter 414: Connection

With an explosive resonance that seemed to resonate through the deepest recesses of Morris’s mind, a sense of disorientation instantly gripped him. Despite his prior measures of consciously isolating his primary thought processes and cementing his mental strength, the intense shockwave that seemed to invade his very soul left him in disarray, wavering beneath the ensuing tsunami of information.

In a split second, his psychological perspective, previously positioned by his physical form, began to whirl uncontrollably. His mental vision blurred, preventing him from seeing the words he had formed within his mind. All he could perceive was an unending, swirling fog, within which the sentences he had just consumed were akin to a chaotic swarm of bees. They ruthlessly attacked his memories, gnawing and ravaging, tearing at the very fabric of his personality. There was a moment when he couldn’t even remember his own name. The sole thing that endured in his memory was the title he’d glimpsed in the last instant—The Nether Lord.

The following moment, an external influence suddenly halted his overwhelming disorientation. Morris experienced his consciousness being tugged back into reality by an inconceivably mighty force. During this abrupt return to consciousness, he witnessed numerous lights, akin to an array, emerging within the dense miasma, the largest among them casting a red glow.

This spectacle appeared to be a fleeting gaze from the God of Wisdom, Lahem. Yet, just a second later, these luminescent figures vanished swiftly, transforming into colossal waves that crashed toward him. The waves then morphed into a cloud of dust which imploded before his very eyes. The delicate, pale ashes, reminiscent of holy saints, showered down upon him.

Subsequently, the pale dust ignited mid-descent, morphing into a rain of fire, from which countless intense and red flames coalesced, bearing down on him with the intent to incinerate his very being.

Yet, just as the red flames were about to engulf him, Morris noticed the fire’s hue shift to an eerie green. The previously explosive inferno transformed into a calm, gentle flame, settling around him. A solitary flame made contact with his shoulder, the impact mimicking a forceful slap. In the following second, he jerkily opened his eyes, realizing he had been returned to his corporeal form.

The enforced procedures of isolating his consciousness and solidifying his mind abruptly concluded, catapulting him back from the precipice of insanity into reality once more.

As his consciousness regained its normal state, Morris rapidly closed the black leather-bound book, battling the urge to delve in once more.

His action was swift but not swift enough to prevent the book from flipping through several pages before it was fully shut. Out of the corner of his eye, a phrase was etched powerfully into his sight—they were words imbued with a fervent obsession akin to a dying person’s final wish: “We will eventually return to that pure and holy origin.”

The black, leather-bound book was now securely shut. The residual image of the last words he had glimpsed lingered in Morris’s mind as he sucked in ragged breaths.

Immediately picking up on the abnormal situation, Vanna quickly moved towards Morris in just a few strides, concern etched on her face. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Just a scholar’s routine,” Morris replied, attempting to steady his uneven breaths. “Tackling lethal knowledge and emerging on the other side.” He extended a hand towards Vanna, reassuring her, “I’m fine, I’m still me. Help me get up.”Yôur favorite stories at novelhall.com

As he steadied himself on his feet, he queried, “How much time has passed?”

“Just a few seconds,” Vanna responded, nodding to reinforce her statement. “You had just opened the book, taken a few glances, and then you abruptly closed it. Simultaneously, your spiritual turbulence was intense and unrelenting. Unidentified shadows began to take form amidst the surrounding fog.”

“Only a few seconds...” Morris murmured, corners of his lips twitching upward as he recalled the bizarre visions that had flooded his consciousness before he was pulled back from the brink of loss of control.

The very next moment, a deep and grave voice reverberated within his mind: “Morris, what happened on your end?”

Caught off guard, Morris quickly composed his features and responded mentally: “I was engrossed in a blasphemous book we had confiscated from an Annihilator cultist and inadvertently got contaminated. Captain, was it you who yanked me back to reality at the last minute?”

“Yes,” came Duncan’s response. “I felt a sudden surge in mental distress from you, so I inspected the situation via the ‘mark’ I had left on you. Did you say something about a blasphemous book? Could you elaborate on what happened? Are you still with Vanna? Where is your current location?”

“Vanna is with me,” Morris quickly replied. “We are still conducting operations in the upper city. We discovered that the Annihilators are utilizing the fog as a cover to infiltrate the real world and are manipulating ‘counterfeits’ to attack the city-state. We’ve just managed to neutralize one of these puppeteers.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, “The circumstances are unusual. The corpse of the cultist exhibited signs of fusion with primal matter post-mortem, resembling an extreme ‘modification’ outcome. He was in possession of a black, unmarked book. The contents of this book...”

Morris abruptly halted mid-sentence, his voice taking on a tone of heightened caution as he carefully manipulated his train of thought: “The contents of the book are deeply troubling. They are original accounts from those holy texts reproduced by ‘Crow.’ I only managed to get through a small portion before the contamination occurred. I apologize, but I can only report so much at the moment. The specifics elude me.”

....

After concluding his connection with his subordinates, Duncan took a shallow breath, raising his hand and igniting a small flame at his fingertips.

He stared at the tiny blaze, and after a moment of quiet contemplation, he murmured: “Agatha, do you genuinely believe ‘she’ will act according to your expectations?”

From within the flame emerged a chilly, raspy voice: “Yes.”

“And why are you so sure?” Duncan questioned.

“Because I have faith in myself.”

“Even so, she’s merely your duplicate,” Duncan calmly retorted, “There will inevitably be minute discrepancies between you two, which could lead her to make different decisions from yours.”

“Yet you didn’t instruct your subordinates to eliminate that ‘threat’,” Agatha countered, “You too have faith in my judgment.”

Duncan remained silent for a few seconds before heaving a soft sigh.

“A man named Scott Brown once demonstrated his humanity to me—a humanity that applies even to the ‘counterfeit’. Thus, this time, I’m willing to believe once more.”

“And if... let’s hypothetically say my judgment is flawed? Your trust would have been misplaced...”

“That’s fine. It’s all trivial.”

“Trivial, huh...” Agatha stood within the cold, damp confines of the sewer corridor, her gaze lowered to the small flame still quietly flickering in her palm.

The faint warmth radiating from the flame seemed to be the only semblance of heat she could feel in this world—beyond the flickering firelight, the rest of the world felt as frigid as a grave.

The voice of the “Captain” resonated once more: “Agatha, what’s your status?”

“I’m still progressing, nearly there. I can feel it—it’s within reach,” Agatha responded.

“I meant your personal condition. Your voice... it doesn’t sound like before.”

Agatha paused in her steps.

Her gaze drifted downwards to her scarred body, to the wounds that had ceased bleeding.

“I’m alright,” she assured softly, her voice carrying a chill akin to a tomb’s, “it’s all trivial.”