Chapter 701: Departing the Harbor

Chapter 701: Departing the Harbor

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.

Goathead was engulfed in deep panic, the kind that completely rattles one’s being. Despite the captain’s comforting attempts, Goathead’s mind spun wildly as the shocking truth was disclosed.

Nearby, Alice was profoundly shaken by the captain’s announcement to the point that her head had literally detached from her body and stayed that way.

With eyes wide, Goathead blurted out, “Are you really telling me that everyone from the ancient Kingdom of Crete is a clone derived from me?” Its voice trembled with disbelief. “And this cloning was orchestrated by the Nether Lord?”

With a serious nod, Duncan confirmed, “Yes, and this discovery clarifies several historical mysteries surrounding the ancient Kingdom of Crete that have baffled scholars. For instance, their lack of cultural artifacts or records stems from them being a transient group, created solely to aid in the ‘World’s Creation.’ They had no culture of their own. Furthermore, the existence of artifacts connected to the Cretans on completely uninhabited islands is because the ancient Cretan cities were temporary, constructed as part of a grand scheme for the World’s Creation.”

Goathead’s expression showed a tumult of inner conflict. “That’s not my main concern...”

Duncan paused then responded calmly, “Suddenly finding out that an ancient tribe is essentially your descendants is indeed an overwhelming revelation. I was quite taken aback myself when I first discovered this...”

Alice, who had been silent until now, stammered, “But... but... but... Goat...”

“Please, reattach your head before you continue,” Duncan interjected with a resigned tone, giving her a sympathetic yet slightly frustrated look. “It’s really disturbing to see you speak while holding your head in your hands.”

After her head fell off in initial shock and had not been reattached since, Alice, sitting quietly beside Duncan and engrossed in the unfolding drama, swiftly put her head back on her neck. Now more composed, she said, “But Mr. Goathead, you’re essentially the supreme deity of the elves. All elves in the world might be seen as your descendants. Surely this revelation isn’t too difficult to grasp...”

“Easier said than done,” Goathead retorted, turning away to possibly conceal a surge of irritation. “I was deep asleep when they took a part of me for cloning! We’re not dealing with just any ancient tribe; this involves apocalyptic beings known as ‘Enders.’ I’ve always been uneasy about those so-called ‘Enders.’ When they boarded the ship, they knelt silently on the deck. Had I been able to, I would have felt goosebumps. Just thinking about it now makes me shiver! What a bizarre situation to awaken to...”

As Goathead vented vehemently, Duncan felt the need to soothe him. He sharply tapped on the table twice, the sound echoing in the room to grab the first mate’s attention and hopefully calm his nerves. Then, clearing his throat to cut through the tension, Duncan declared, “Ahem, you should know, the doomsday Enders were once mere ordinary Cretans.”

Goathead stopped his tirade, turning its neck with a creaking sound, a look of reluctant acceptance in its eyes. “I understand that now... and I see that not all of them have lost their reason... but...”

The word “but” lingered, fading into a sequence of mumbles and fragmented attempts at reasoning, ending in a deep, weary sigh. Goathead’s head drooped, signifying defeat and resignation.

Alice, observing Goathead with a mix of concern and curiosity, looked up at Duncan with an expression of helplessness. After a pause, she cautiously ventured, “Captain... the first mate doesn’t seem to be doing well.”

Duncan sighed softly, his breath a mix of understanding and concern. “It’s not about feeling happy or upset. It’s about coping with a shockingly unexpected revelation. What he needs now is some peace and time to process,” he said, standing up from his seat at the navigation desk, determined to give Goathead some space. “We should leave him be for now.”

Alice, recognizing the gravity of the situation, nodded silently. She rose from her chair and began to follow Duncan out of the captain’s quarters. However, as she passed the navigation table, she paused briefly before gently patting Goathead on the head. “Try to rest... you still have to teach me how to make those Southern dishes later,” she whispered softly.

“He was just a sentinel, a soul trapped between life and death, left behind after the observation station’s systems shut down and its creators and engineers departed. He shared everything he knew with me, but as for the sun...”

He paused, his gaze drifting off toward the sea, where Vision 001-Sun moved slowly across the sky, its motion reminiscent of an elderly man, weary yet relentless in his journey.

“The sun was a colossal undertaking, a creation by the ‘King of Darkness’ and the entire Cretan civilization. Its complexities are beyond a mere guardian’s understanding.”

“...Of course,” Vanna murmured, a self-deprecating smile briefly crossing her face. “I was hoping for too much.”

“Yes, but your hope is not unfounded,” Duncan reassured her, his voice warm and resolute. “Because that’s exactly what I intend to address next. We’ll start by seeking out that ‘Designer’ from the Deep Sea Era, opening the doors to new insights and perhaps a new dawn.”

As Duncan’s words faded, a faint creaking noise echoed from the depths of the Vanished. At the same time, Vanna felt a subtle tremor under her feet. It was almost imperceptible, yet unmistakable. In response, the semi-transparent sails of this spectral vessel began to materialize upon its masts, shimmering slightly as if awakening from a deep slumber.

The Vanished had started to reorient itself with deliberate slowness. Its bow turned, gradually aligning with the vast, open sea ahead.

......

Meanwhile, at Wind Harbor, the Grand Storm Cathedral stood solemn and sacred, its spires reaching towards the heavens as it rested quietly near the coastline. Within its hallowed halls, a cleric, dressed in the ceremonial blue and black robes of his order, hurried through the corridors and archways. His pace quickened to almost a sprint as he approached the outer area of the Pope’s prayer chamber, urgency in every step: “Your Holiness! Your Holiness! The Vanished, it’s changed course! Just ten minutes ago, it suddenly veered away from Wind Harbor and picked up speed!”

“I am aware,” came the response from within the prayer room. Helena’s voice, magnetic and filled with an almost tangible calm, filled the air. “There’s no need for such alarm; this is merely the unfolding of time.”

With these words, the distinguished lady turned her head, her gaze returning to the ritual brazier that flickered before her. While partly engaged with the physical realm, her mind also traversed the psychic channels of communication she had established.

“...The Vanished has begun its journey. Vanna has just informed me... Yes, the ‘Tide’ and its escort fleet are en route; they will meet at the rally point as planned...

“Banster, what about your fleet, the one you call Dead and Alive?”

A grave voice echoed in Helena’s mind, correcting her with a somber tone: “They’re the ‘Resolved’ and the ‘Unresolved,’ Helena.”

“Alright, alright, nearly the same... Where are they now?”

“They, too, have set sail. Rest assured, Helena—we will all arrive at the rendezvous in due time.”