Ashes Of Deep Sea - Chapter 327 - Chapter 327: Chapter 331: The City of Infiltration

Chapter 327: Chapter 331: The City of Infiltration

The paper was crumpled, and many parts had been contaminated by the gray-black “mud,” making the writing blurry and missing in some areas. Despite that, after Morris’s careful handling, many words on it were restored to a barely legible state—

“Brown Scott” had recorded the bizarre changes happening to him during the last lucid stage of his consciousness:

“…Around four in the morning, twelve hours since I locked the door, the increasing tinnitus and bouts of vertigo severely affected my mobility. I could only write something when my condition was slightly better. It seemed there was bleeding under my skin, seeing inexplicable bruises…

“At six-thirty, my organs felt as though they were churning— as if the structures inside my body had lost their order, wandering with a mind of their own, and I felt no pain, even the dizziness had lessened considerably… Fear began to recede, clearer memories emerged in my mind…

“Around seven, I clearly recalled the details at the time of death, becoming more convinced that the real ‘me’ had actually died a long time ago. My left leg inexplicably broke— perhaps a segment of bone had suddenly dissolved.

“At eight fifteen, my left leg began to dissolve, starting with the skin cracking on its own, followed by internal tissues flowing out like some gray-black liquid. Those detached liquid substances seemed to have their own life, crawling on the floor and even climbing up the walls… I had been worried whether the wooden boards nailed on the windows could keep these eerie, terrifying substances out, but later found out that they quickly began to lose vitality after detaching, and even when they retained some activity, they seemed to consciously avoid sunlight… This might be an important piece of information; thus, I record it here…

“…My heart stopped beating, yet consciousness lingered on, feeling that this body no longer functioned according to normal human physiological mechanisms. I tried making a cut; instead of blood, a gray-black viscous substance slowly flowed out… What on earth is this body made of now?

“My entire lower body began to dissolve. It took some effort to secure myself in one position and continue writing these words— I now feel no pain, no breathing, and my heart has long stopped. Occasionally, I hear a buzzing sound as if the material composing me was resonating… More and more of the viscous substance left my body, turning the room into a mess…

“…I hope Garland won’t be frightened when she cleans the room… Although as I write this name, I can hardly recall Garland’s face anymore.

“At ten-thirty, the thing I feared most began to happen. My vision rapidly weakened, and the environment quickly darkened; I had to grope for the edge of the paper, trying to make the words below as clear as possible…

“I can’t confirm the current time, approximately between eleven and twelve. I heard sharp, strange sounds lasting about five minutes; then all discomfort began to fade away, and my perception of the remaining parts of my body quickly weakened. I can vaguely feel the parts below my chest dropping…

“It might have been another hour since then,”

The text stopped there.

It was uncertain if the recorder’s consciousness had finally reached its endpoint or if he could no longer accurately write down the words on the paper after losing most of his perception— ultimately, all that the dead left to the world was an abruptly-ending punctuation mark.

Morris was silent, not making a sound for a long time. After what seemed an eternity, he finally murmured softly to himself, “Ah, it’s indeed his handwriting.”

“Do you need some time alone?” Duncan calmly glanced at the old man, “I can wait outside for you.”

“No need; I have mourned him once already,” Morris gently shook his head, “I just didn’t expect that I could see his academic record again after six years… These materials are all very useful, right?”

Duncan didn’t answer immediately. He leaned closer to the now stagnant “mud,” thoughtfully observing its edges, then picked up the last record left by Brown Scott, carefully inspecting the paper’s edges which the mud had completely soaked.

The edges were a bit blurry and uneven. The boundary between the paper and the mud seemed to have vanished, even showing some signs of merging.

Morris noticed Duncan’s actions. “Did you find something?”

“Prime Element,” Duncan lifted his head, “the local church in Frost is studying this substance, which they believe to come close to the ‘Prime Element’ spoken of by the Heretics, a viscous residue left after the collapse of the ‘Mysterious Deep Sea replicates.’”

Morris was taken aback, but he had grown somewhat accustomed to the captain’s way of obtaining new clues from unknown sources, so he didn’t inquire curiously about the source of the intelligence. After a brief contemplation, he said, “I know about the ‘Prime Element,’ In studying the heritage of the Heretics’ history, one can’t avoid their mystical nonsense.”

He paused, seemingly organizing the information in his mind, then continued, “Just as the Sun Cultists firmly believe that the ancient True Sun will eventually save the world, the Heretics have a similar ‘prophecy of salvation.’ They preach that one day in the future, the Mysterious Deep Sea’s Saint will awaken from slumber, and in fury, destroy the current world twisted and deceived by the gods. Then the Mysterious Deep Sea, representing the ‘true world,’ will rise from the depths to become mankind’s paradise. Before that day arrives, it will be preceded by a surge of ‘Prime Element,’ the bedrock of the world, the blueprint of all things. They will cover everything and restore the world to its true form…”

Listening to the old scholar’s narrative, Duncan was silent for a few seconds before lifting his head, “A great surge… emerging from the deep sea?”

Morris didn’t respond immediately.

“Now I am becoming more interested in these Heretics, but rather than their so-called ‘prophecy of salvation,’ I am more curious about how they have established ‘contact’ with the place one kilometer deep beneath Frost,” Duncan shook his head, “Replicates come from the deep sea, the Obsidian and the submersible on Dagger Island do as well, but a group of mystical Heretics… how do you think they accessed a power from a kilometer under the water?”

“Even for a powerful City-State, building a submersible capable of traveling to and from a kilometer deep in the sea is no small feat, at least not something a bunch of Heretics could master,” Morris said, lost in thought, “But they could use some kind of indirect ritual to channel the deep sea’s forces or communicate with a deep sea’s… ‘powerful entity.’”

“So, there must be a larger Heretic stronghold in Frost, a secluded place capable of holding large ceremonies, enough for them to continuously draw on the power of the deep sea, to create replicates inside the City-State, or even invade Dagger Island.” Duncan slowly spoke, while lifting his head, surveying the room—the room’s only window was nailed shut with wooden boards and the roof, walls, and floor were covered with dried “mud” that had lost all signs of life, all seemingly silently narrating a heart-stopping journey of death and confrontation.

In his perception, Homeloss was sailing, heading toward the direction of Dagger Island and Frost itself.

“Perhaps ultimately a little ‘Homeloss shake-up’ is needed for the Heretics here.” He spoke softly, rubbing his fingers together, a small cluster of eerily green flames fell from his fingertips, silently landing on the floor and quickly dissolving into the air, disappearing.

Morris surely saw this moment, but he said nothing, only casting one last glance at the side table.

That was Brown Scott’s last “workspace”— perhaps that was merely a short-lived Replicate, but when that continuously disintegrating body strove to write, it still possessed a noble soul.

“How should we handle things here?” the old scholar lifted his head, looking at the captain, “The traces in the room, the material Brown left behind, and Garland downstairs…”

“We have gathered enough clues,” Duncan said lightly, “leave the remainder to the Frostfolk. Keep the room as it is, leave that letter in a conspicuous place on the table, and prepare an accusation letter. As for Garland…”

Duncan paused.

“The cognitive disturbance Garland has suffered evidently hasn’t ended yet. Even after the replicates inside this building have disappeared, she still hasn’t shown signs of regaining lucidity, even firmly believing her teacher is resting in the room. This indicates the disturbance’s ‘source’ was not her teacher, but something still active, hiding deep within the City-State, which cannot be eliminated until we destroy that source.”

He slightly frowned, as if contemplating more.

“And… it’s uncertain how many ‘Brown Scotts’ and ‘Garlands’ there are in this City-State.”

Morris’s expression stiffened, “You mean…”

“Rumors of the dead returning circulate in the city, yet completely opposite information reaches Tyrian,” Duncan glanced at Morris, “This City-State, I’m afraid, is already riddled with replicates and phenomena of cognitive disturbances.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated on N𝘰vgo.co