Chapter 775: Departed, Far Away

Chapter 775: Departed, Far Away

Nina stepped onto the deck, extending her right hand skyward. Suddenly, intense flames erupted from her palm, morphing into a brilliant arc of light capable of cutting through the dense fog. This artificial sunlight danced above the ghostly Vanished, serving as a homage and farewell to those who had perished in a different timeline.

She pondered whether the Sea Song, another vessel entwined in this mysterious event, was aware of what transpired in this alternate moment. Were its crew heading towards their demise or returning from it? In that fleeting instance, as the two timelines brushed against each other and the lights shimmered, did the crew grasp the reality of their doomed fate?

As the moment of temporal overlap faded, the silhouette of the ship began to rapidly lose its clarity, dissolving back into vague lines and shadows, only to plunge once more into the abyss of the “deep sea.”

At the front of the Vanished, a particularly stooped and frail figure stood against the wind, his form quivering slightly. Gripping the ship’s wheel tightly, his gaze remained fixed on the Sea Song. For a brief second, he seemed to want to cry out, but no sound came from his parched, withered throat.

Then, he lifted his hand in a gesture he wished to direct towards the ship he once served and the comrades he once knew—a salute he had reacquainted himself with thanks to Vanna. It was a simple motion, tracing the pattern of rolling waves across his chest, a sign meant to invoke the storm’s protection and a prayer for safe passage. Yet, abruptly, as if jolted by a shock, his hand retreated to the ship’s wheel, gripping it firmly once again.

Around the Vanished, the uniform, gray-white “inner wall” of the ship momentarily roiled with dangerous, chaotic waves, only to quickly settle down as if nothing had happened.

He couldn’t afford to let go; he was the one steering the ship.

The brief window of connection closed, and the last glimpse of the Sea Song vanished from sight, marking its final departure from the mortal realm across all conceivable timelines.

Till the very end, Sailor never released his hold on the dark wheel of the Vanished.

Then, approaching footsteps broke the silence. Turning his head with a hint of sluggishness, Sailor saw a tall figure making their way towards him, observing him with a calm demeanor.

Caught off guard, he instinctively straightened up, managing to utter, “Captain...”

Duncan extended his hand, gently pressing against the gaunt shoulder of the ghoul standing at the helm: “Are you okay?”

The ghoul glanced down at his hands, which were still clasping the wheel tightly. His face, a map of wrinkles, trembled slightly as he spoke, “...Look, I’m holding on well. I just loosened my grip for a moment... the ship stayed on course... and then I never let go again... never let go...”

Duncan remained silent, simply offering a reassuring pressure on the ghoul’s shoulder once more.

As he started to turn away, ready to leave the helm, the quiet murmur of Anomaly 077 caught his ear. The words were whispered so softly as if Sailor was conversing with his own doubts: “Will it make any sense?”

Duncan paused, his gaze returning to his helmsman.

“Will all this make any sense?” This time, Sailor looked up directly into Duncan’s eyes, his voice carrying a trace of newfound bravery. His eyes weren’t searching for an answer as much as they were seeking a beacon of hope amidst turmoil, “The Sea Song, the frontier folk, the city-state guardians struggling to keep order, and... us, does any of it make any sense?”

After a brief silence, Duncan nodded calmly: “...Yes.”

Her mother responded with her usual calm and steadiness, embodying a tranquility that seemed unshakeable, “That depends on how quickly the generators can be repaired.” She paused, then added, “Did the notice say how severe the damage was to the generators?”

“They didn’t specify the exact damage, but I heard the malfunction isn’t related to machines being bewitched, so it should just be a normal operational issue,” Heidi explained, her tone carrying a hint of optimism. “If past events are anything to go by, it should be fixed in a few days—maybe two or three days if we’re lucky, a week at the most...”

“Gas lamps and oil lamps can still be used, so the situation isn’t that dire, is it?” Her mother offered a comforting smile, then reached for a piece of paper on the table, extending it towards Heidi. “This is the ‘Message Paper’ that arrived this morning. Could you read it aloud for me? My vision is blurry these days, making it difficult for me to read.”

Heidi accepted the “newspaper” from her mother.

As the night stretched on, engaging in ordinary “reading” activities had become a hazardous endeavor in the city-state. With the majority of libraries and book markets shut down and most newspapers ceasing their nighttime publication, the thirst for information persisted. To satiate this need within the confines of safety, City Hall supervised the creation of the “Message Paper.”

This publication was a streamlined form of a newspaper, crafted with both physical and spiritual safeguards. The paper itself was consecrated and blessed by the cathedral, ensuring its safety from malevolent influences. Its content was meticulously curated to limit the duration and complexity of reading, thus minimizing the risk of knowledge contamination. Additionally, the paper was adorned with sacred prayers and rune embellishments to safeguard the mental well-being of its readers.

Despite these extensive precautions, the distribution of these newspapers was tightly regulated. They were not available for public purchase but were instead delivered directly to individuals who met specific reading qualifications. These recipients were expected to possess a foundational understanding of mysticism and the skills to handle “minor troubles” that might arise.

While the process and regulations surrounding the “Message Paper” might seem burdensome, they were emblematic of the city-state’s commitment to preserving the flow of information within the bounds of modern civilization. Information needed to be disseminated among those qualified to interpret it, then relayed to the broader populace, including those not directly engaged with the city’s governance. Although Heidi was not officially affiliated with City Hall, her interactions with the city’s administrators had given her insights into their rationale.

The night’s challenges were manifold, yet the city-state endeavored to stave off the “human” decline into darkness for as long as possible, striving to prevent the erosion of civilization itself.

With a sense of duty, Heidi unfolded the paper, steadied her nerves, and began to relay the contents to her mother:

“...The malfunction within the generator has been pinpointed, and the repair teams are working swiftly to address the issue. The engineers on-site have provided an optimistic timeline, estimating that all necessary replacements and repairs will be completed within the next two days...”

“The challenge of distributing food in the northern part of the city has been successfully addressed, ensuring that the city-state’s food reserves are now adequately stocked... The lighting infrastructure is fully operational, confirming that the production output of the vertical farms remains unaffected... Additionally, there’s good news regarding our mushroom cultivation efforts, which have seen a noticeable increase in yield...”

“In international waters, a tense situation has unfolded in the northern seas. The naval forces of Cold Port and Morpheus Port have converged near a ‘sun fragment.’ The fleet of the Death Church has stepped in as a mediating force, preventing the situation from escalating further...”

As Heidi read aloud each piece of news, she occasionally paused to offer silent prayers and invocations to Lahem, the deity of wisdom, seeking guidance and protection. However, upon reaching a particular segment of the report, she halted abruptly.

Sensing the shift in Heidi’s demeanor, her mother inquired softly, “Is there any special news?”

There was a brief silence as Heidi absorbed the significance of the final news item on the paper. After a moment of contemplation, she exhaled softly, her voice tinged with a mix of concern and awe.

“...A dispatch from the Storm Church has announced that the border exploration fleet has embarked on another daring ‘cross-border’ mission. The Vanished and the Bright Star have ventured beyond the six-mile threshold...”

The gravity of this revelation lingered in the air, highlighting the courage and audacity of those willing to explore beyond the known boundaries of their world into realms where time and reality itself were fluid and unpredictable.