Chapter 40: Chapter 40 “Landing
Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
Fanna woke from a bizarre and chaotic dreamscape to find the world outside still cloaked in the deep of night—the cold, pale glow of the Creation of the World shone on the windowsill engraved with deep sea runes, exuding a sense of peace and tranquility.
Yet the scenes from that bizarre dreamscape remained vividly etched in her mind—
A ship, a great ship engulfed in green ghostly flames, sailed in from the boundary between the sea and the sky, rolling over the entire Plunder City-State like a mountain overwhelming all in its path. Amid the ghostly flames, countless cries and desolate songs thundered in unison, as if clamoring to overturn the entire world.
As the colossal ship descended, she also saw a sun rising from the depths of the Plunder City-State—not the familiar sun bound by ancient runes, but a celestial body ablaze like the “ancient sun” described by the sun’s believers. It rose from deep within the city-state, its flames melting the earth, and all the people flowed through the streets like melting wax figures.
In the heart of this fiery, melting purgatory stood the silent cathedral of the Deep Sea Church. In her dreamscape, she prayed to the cathedral, hoping for guidance from the Storm Goddess, yet the cathedral only returned a noisy and meaningless ring of bells, without a single sign of divine intervention…
Fanna sat up from the bed and walked to the window in her pajamas. She glanced at the still “Creation of the World” above the calm city and felt her restlessness bubbling more intensely.
Moments later, the young Judge withdrew her gaze from the city and approached the vanity near her bed, pulling open a drawer without much thought—
In the vanity drawer lay a dagger, a curved and twisted ceremonial dagger. The runes symbolizing the Deep Sea Church glimmered at the base of the blade, resonating faintly as if stimulated by some mysterious force.
Fanna’s gaze lingered on the flickering runes for several seconds before she drew the blade across her palm, creating a wound. As blood seeped out, she placed her hand across her chest and murmured the name of the Storm Goddess in an attempt to seek the deity’s guidance.
However, for some reason, all she heard was the illusory roar of the waves—she couldn’t easily enter the “spiritual-energy-sensitive” state that she usually accessed with little effort.
It was as if an invisible barrier had suddenly enveloped her, cutting off her connection to the Storm Goddess Gomona.
Fanna’s eyebrows knitted together bit by bit.
It’s exceedingly rare for the connection between a believer and a deity to be disrupted, but not beyond imagination—the mapping relationship between Subspace and the real world is arcane and complex, utterly incomprehensible to human wisdom. Even the powers of the deities can be affected by layers of influence from Subspace, the Mysterious Deep Sea, and the Spirit Realm, showing temporary fluctuations in strength. In addition, with the ceaseless strife and contention between gods, and between gods and ancient gods, it was possible for some believers to suddenly find themselves deaf to the voices of their gods.
But it should not be this way with the Storm Goddess Gomona…
The Endless Sea surrounds human civilization, and the Storm Goddess’s power penetrates all dimensions and influences the whole of reality. All deities might lose contact with the real world, even Death itself occasionally leaves loopholes such as the “Revived,” but the Storm Goddess… it’s impossible.
This was also one of the reasons why the Deep Sea Church was the most powerful church on the Endless Sea.
Could the problem lie with herself?
Naturally, Fanna began to doubt her own state. But looking at her palm, she saw that the wound she had just made was already healing quickly.
The blessings bestowed by the goddess were still active, without the slightest delay.
Fanna recalled the noisy, bizarre nightmare and the ominous omens she had witnessed over many days.
There must be a connection between all these things.
The ship ablaze with green flames… Ghost Ship…
Her mind raced as it recalled and compared the esoteric knowledge she possessed, and then her expression suddenly became serious.
She was not an expert in the field of navigation and rarely came into contact with those absurd tales that circulated among superstitious sailors, but even in the orthodox scriptures of the church, there was one Ghost Ship that held a special place.
It was an ominous ship that had returned from Subspace, its captain the terrifying Duncan, who had caused the collapse and obliteration of the thirteen islands of Vesserland a century ago.
Fanna rose abruptly from behind her vanity, but then she remembered—now it was the middle of the night, and the archive of the cathedral, like any other library, would be closed.
Moreover, for safety reasons, it was best not to discuss content related to this dreamscape with anyone during the hours just after the “premonitory dream” had ended—if this dreamscape truly pointed to the infamous “Captain Duncan,” then he might be able to sense mortal discussions about him through the connection established by the dream.
After all, it was a “ghost” that could return from Subspace.
The safest course of action now was to wait patiently until the sun reclaimed its dominant place in the world, until the connections formed by the Dreamscape gradually dissipated, and then to consult the archives for relevant material, or discuss these ominous premonitions with the Archbishop of the Church.
Regardless, if these premonitory dreams truly pointed to Captain Duncan, if they were indeed warning her that the legendary Homeloss was eyeing Plunder City-State greedily, then as the Guardian of the City-State, she must stop at nothing to prevent that terrifying ghost captain from coming ashore…
…
A tall, thin shadow quickly moved across the deserted streets of the Lower City District, its slender silhouette casting a fleeting outline under the gas lamps.
A completely unfamiliar city, completely unfamiliar buildings, memories that seemed correct but uncertain, and the curfewed civilian district that appeared deserted and eerie.
Yet, as Duncan walked down such back alleys, his mood was exceedingly pleasant.
He had succeeded—not only in making his second journey through the Spirit Realm, but also in successfully possessing a body to come above ground, to the surface of Plunder City-State.
He was in contact with the civilization of this world, observing the architecture of this era, the technology of this era.
And he was using a complete body—neither open-minded nor wildly imaginative, this outwardly normal body would facilitate all his movements to come.
To be honest, the health of this body was not really good, even though walking in the Spirit Realm allowed most of the body’s ailments to be ignored, Duncan could clearly feel the suboptimal health of this body, but he had no complaints about it, even finding it natural.
After all, from these two experiences, the bodies occupied during a walk in the Spirit Realm were corpses within a certain time after death—could a vibrant jumping body be a corpse?
A distant barking of dogs came from the end of an alley, Duncan cautiously slowed down his steps, and hid himself in the shadow between the buildings.
He didn’t know whether it was a patrol dog led by a Church Guardian on night watch, but being careful was never a mistake.
Above the nearby buildings, there were huge pipe structures stretching over low houses, the light from “Pale Scars” sprinkled intermittently between the pipes, occasionally steam leaked from the valves between some pipes, forming a hazy mist in the night.
The barking of the dogs faded away.
Duncan stepped out from his hiding spot, looked around the street for any activity, and after casually soothing Ai Yi, the pigeon on his shoulder, he crossed the street, following his memory.
Between a row of low two- or three-story buildings was an old door, hanging above was a dirty sign, and on either side of the wall were dusty, poorly maintained display windows—this was a shop, seemingly not a small one, but clearly neglected and doing little business.
This was the place fragments of memory in his mind led Duncan to.
He arrived at the old door, looked up at the sign, and saw a row of letters barely distinguishable in the darkness:
“Lorne’s Antique Shop,” Duncan murmured, “quite a straightforward name…”
Having spoken, he began to feel around the entrance. As the memories in his mind were not very clear, he searched for a long time before he found a spare key on a hidden hook under a windowsill.
The body’s original owner did not carry the key with him, nor did he carry any identification or items that could be used to find this antique shop, which seemed to be the caution of an experienced heretic—but for a ghost captain who could take memories, such superficial caution was meaningless.
Duncan opened the door of Lorne’s Antique Shop, quickly slipped inside, and fastened the door behind him.
The wooden door banged shut, but the sound did not carry far into the night. The sign hanging above the door shook slightly from the vibration, and the letters on the sign squirmed in the pale, cold night, and in the blink of an eye, new text appeared on the wooden board—
“Duncan’s Antique Shop.”