Chapter 190: Chapter 194: Transmission
Fenna once again found herself within the archives.
Even though she herself did not understand why she had returned there, a sense of disharmony and impending crisis seemed to be chasing her like an unseen shadow, compelling her to continuously recall the details of her previous searches in the archives and constantly feeling that she might have forgotten something.
Of course, another reason for her return to the archives was that there was nowhere else to go at the moment.
As her connection with the Homeloss had been intensifying, she was actually under round-the-clock surveillance—she remained a judge of the Plunder City-State, but this was only because no one could replace her in her crucial duties at the moment; therefore, apart from necessary attendances, she had to stay in the cathedral.
The encounter with “Captain Duncan” in the Dreamscape was anxiety-inducing, and the clues found in the small chapel in the Sixth District were unsettling; in the solemn and holy archives, she could somewhat block out the surrounding gazes and interferences, allowing herself a moment of respite.
Footsteps echoed through the empty archives, row upon row of towering shelves stretched up to the ceiling like giants standing silently in her line of sight, and the ancient scrolls quietly slept on the shelves, overlooking the young judge passing below.
Fenna raised her head, gazing at the shelves that stretched out before her in her vision, recalling once again her previous experience of searching for documents here, while a middle-aged priest responsible for managing the archives quietly followed not far behind her, with his lantern casting a warm, soft glow.
Entering the archives, searching for the records of 1889, discovering suspicious traces of heretical sacrifices, using this clue to widen the search, finding records of heretical sacrifices between 1889, and finally noticing the abnormal disappearance of the corresponding archives from 1885.
These memories combed through her mind over and over—Fenna could no longer remember how many times she had recalled them; they were now so vividly present in her mind, seamlessly perfect from start to finish, with no trace of any flaws or distortions.
But Fenna’s brow was gradually furrowing.
The young judge suddenly stopped, and the middle-aged priest following behind her also stopped.
“Judge, Your Honor?” the middle-aged man called from behind.
Something isn’t right, something is off—I definitely wasn’t alone when I first came to look for the documents, someone was with me… but who was it?
Fenna seemed not to hear the voice behind her, merely frowning and thinking hard; she remembered again the small chapel in the Sixth District and the nun who had died in battle in 1885—the chapel that had disappeared from everyone’s sight, even Bishop Valentin had forgotten its existence over the years, a situation so similar…
I, too, have experienced a similar “forgetting,” everyone has forgotten the same thing, so I can’t detect the void in my memory, nor can anyone else remind me… but what exactly have I forgotten, and since when did I start forgetting?
“Judge, Your Honor?” the middle-aged priest’s voice came again from behind.
Fenna felt the Power of Storm gathering; the middle-aged priest’s hand had already discreetly approached his waist.
“How long have you been a custodian here?” Fenna suddenly asked.
The Power of Storm dissipated; the middle-aged priest lowered his hand again, bowing slightly, “Seven years—from after I retired, I’ve been here.”
“There is more than one custodian here, correct?” Fenna asked again.
“There are two, plus another lady older than me who is responsible for the night shift, also retired from the guard.”
Fenna spoke casually as she continued to slowly walk between the shelves, chatting, “Two people… can you manage?”
“We manage alright. The archive custodian’s job isn’t very demanding. Security is maintained by visible and hidden guards, while tasks like moving and sorting are done by servants and novice monks. It’s only during the filing and retrieval of documents that we need to handle personally—most of the data here, once stored, doesn’t get ‘moved’ again, so there’s not much work,” the middle-aged priest explained earnestly. “However, because the custodian’s position requires spending long hours in the archives surrounded by volumes, it’s essential that the appointed clergy is steadfast and experienced, no matter how small the workload is.”
At this point, the middle-aged priest paused, then added, “Of course, with only two people, it can still be quite troublesome if a special situation arises. I’ve always felt it would be better to add another person, a rotation of three would be more reasonable.”
“Three-person rotation…” Fenna murmured to herself, then asked, “The archives from 1885 still haven’t been found?”
“They have not,” the middle-aged priest shook his head, “After you mentioned the anomaly here, we organized a team to check the entire archive; hundreds of servants and novice monks were used, but to no avail.”
Fenna hummed a response, then fell silent, standing quietly in front of one of the shelves lost in thought, while her silence made the priest behind her tense.
Fenna noticed the other’s tension and laughed, shaking her head, “No need to worry so much; I’ve only met that ghost captain once, I’m not out of my senses yet. Besides, who knows how many eyes and detection devices are watching in and outside the archive now? If I notice something unusual, I will alert immediately—I still have that professionalism.”
“Please forgive me,” the middle-aged priest sighed, “I’ve already seen too many comrades disappear from this world due to a moment’s carelessness.”
Fenna remained silent, her gaze shifting towards the end of the bookshelf, where the archive administrator usually stayed—she had walked a circle around the massive shelves and returned near the entrance.
She seemingly saw a slightly hunched figure sitting there.
The young Judge suddenly widened her eyes.
The figure had vanished.
The middle-aged priest noticed something, “Judge, did you see something?”
“Perhaps it was nothing… no, let’s go have a look.”
Fenna quickly uttered a phrase and started to advance without waiting for a response. She walked faster and faster until she was almost running towards the massive curved desk, where she closely examined the table that contained numerous intricate mechanisms.
There was no one beside the table, and the few items on it were fully visible.
Fenna walked behind the desk and looked it up and down.
From the corner of her eye, she suddenly noticed something—several scattered small parts were carelessly abandoned behind a panel on the edge of the table, the parts had rusted, seeming as if they had been discarded for many years, and judging by their outlines… they appeared to be part of a mechanical cube.
For some reason, the moment she saw these parts, Fenna felt a peculiar smell… it seemed like incense mixed with mechanical grease, and something burnt had an acrid smell.
The middle-aged priest holding the lantern followed up, curiously following Fenna’s line of sight, and asked in a puzzled voice, “Who left these things here?”
“There are traces on the desk.” Fenna had already found other clues next to those parts, which looked like oil stains but also seemed like deliberately created drawings upon closer inspection.
Her heart thumped wildly, a piercing noise seemed to echo repeatedly in her mind, and even the peripheries of her vision began to tremble uneasily. Between those quivering shadows, it seemed like fire was burning and leaping, but these highly uncomfortable sensations not only didn’t bring chaos, but rather made her heart slightly excited—her spirit was pulsating, she was observing and touching Transcendent traces, the clues she sought… indeed existed in this archive!
Mentally invoking the name of the Storm Goddess Gomona, Fenna reached out to the side, “Hand me the lantern.”
The middle-aged priest immediately handed over the “administrator lantern,” which was protected with Holy Symbols and fueled by holy oil, “Here you go.”
Fenna took the lantern and carefully brought the light close to the area with the oily traces on the desk. Under the light, it seemed like fine dust or mist appeared out of thin air and then quickly faded, and between the light and shadows brought by the flame, she finally saw the “stains.”
They were dark red blood, seemingly like someone who was on the brink of death had used trembling fingers to draw with their own blood on the desk, forming something that looked like a cluster of bonfires, with a cylindrical object standing in the middle of the fire.
This was nothing like any of the Holy Symbols used by the Deep Sea Church, nor was it any kind of blessing from the Storm Goddess Gomona.
Yet, Fenna still recognized this symbol—it was unexpectedly the mark of a Fire Transmitter.
Fire Transmitters? Why would the mark of a Fire Transmitter appear in a chapel of the Deep Sea Church?
A sudden confusion arose in Fenna’s mind. Although the four gods were indeed in the same alliance, and the churches of the four gods had many cooperative relationships, the Holy Symbols of each faction, being highly symbolic, would normally not appear within the sanctuaries of other churches under normal circumstances, but why… would the mark of a Fire Transmitter appear here?
Fire Transmitters… the small chapel in the sixth sector… the forgotten people, the forgotten events, another Plunder hidden beneath the real world…
Fenna’s breathing suddenly became rapid, and at this moment, she finally understood.
This symbol was a warning, a solitary guardian’s only message left for reality from his lonely battlefield, already forgotten by all.
“Someone has tainted history!”
The young Judge suddenly exclaimed loudly and abruptly turned to look at the middle-aged priest following behind her.
The archive was empty.
As if from the beginning, there was only her.