Deep Sea Embers Chapter 411: Pursuit

A heavy silence engulfed the room for a span of almost ten seconds, seemingly suspending time itself. The quiet was abruptly shattered by the muffled and raspy voice of Bishop Ivan, obscured by the swathes of bandages that concealed his features. The single word he uttered was a low questioning “hmmm”.

The terse reply left the air hanging with a sense of suspense. “You’ve certainly caught me off guard with your response,” he remarked, a note of surprise threading his voice.

“Your revelations are immensely disconcerting,” responded Bishop Ivan, seeming to gather himself after the initial shock. With a determined straightening of his back, his voice took on a serious and uncharacteristic gravitas, “Are you implying that Frost’s valuable metal ore deposit ran dry several decades ago? Is that the shocking truth that you discovered in the depths?”

“Exactly,” she agreed, “At the very bottom of the Second Waterway, there exists a sealed door. This door, I presume, was put in place by the first generation of city hall officials. Concealed behind this door is a mine that appears to have been significantly depleted. Given its location, it was likely the richest section of the mine and theoretically the last to be mined…”

Agatha laid bare all the secrets that she had stumbled upon in the subterranean depths. As she recounted her findings, Bishop Ivan’s countenance darkened with each unfolding revelation.

After a substantial period of divulging her underground discoveries, Agatha wrapped up her exposé with a tone of uncertainty, “Keep in mind, this is only one mining tunnel. The mine comprises countless such tunnels, and even if this particular one was located in the richest area and at its deepest level, it doesn’t necessarily signify that the whole mine is now spent. Therefore, a significant part of my conclusion is conjectural… I recognize that this assumption seems somewhat improbable.”

“Improbable indeed,” Bishop Ivan echoed with a thoughtful slowness, “Because, if your accusations are indeed true, and the metal ore vein has been barren for all these years, then what, pray tell, have we been unearthing for the last five decades? What is the metal catalyst that Frost has been consistently supplying to the other cities over these years?”

Faced with the questions raised by Bishop Ivan, Agatha fell silent. She knew that she was unable to provide a satisfactory answer or deflect his pointed inquiries.

Frost has always been renowned as the prime producer of superior-quality metal ore and processed catalyst rods. For the past fifty years, Frost’s production of metal ore has nearly matched the cumulative output of all the other city-states situated around the Cold Sea. The mine’s supply of metal never faltered, the excavation machinery tirelessly dug up riches round the clock, and the smelting factory’s catalysts were distributed globally. Ships powered by these catalysts were a common sight in the vast expanse of the Boundless Sea.

Throughout this half-century, there wasn’t a single incident of non-fulfillment or error reported in the delivery of metal ore orders.

If it was indeed true that the vein had been depleted years ago, the implications went far beyond just the Frost mine issue – the question then arose: what were all those ships sailing the Boundless Sea using as fuel in their steam cores? Ghosts?

Following a substantial period of silence, the only sound in the room was a low sigh from the gatekeeper, “If contamination is to blame for this too, then our world has truly descended into a state of shocking absurdity.”

“Our world has always been awash with absurdities, but perhaps… you’ve indeed unearthed something pivotal this time,” Bishop Ivan intoned, shaking his head slightly, “We mustn’t waste time pondering whether your theory is a long shot or not. From a logical standpoint, the contradiction between the supposed long-exhausted mine and its persistent output could be intertwined with the current anomalies plaguing our city-state.”

“However, according to the evidence we previously had at our disposal, the current anomalies were instigated by the followers of the Annihilation Cult,” Agatha pointed out, her eyebrows furrowed in thought, “What could be their possible connection with the mine?”

“They may not have a direct link to the mine itself. They might have merely exploited the situation and instigated this crisis,” Bishop Ivan proposed, his mind racing through possible scenarios, his extensive life experiences, particularly his past interactions with cultists, assisting him in untangling this complex conundrum. “It’s highly improbable that heretics could infiltrate the city-state undetected for such a long span of time, especially considering the ore depletion could have occurred during the Queen’s reign. The hunt and elimination of heretics were far more thorough in that era, and no cultist could possibly have evaded the vigilant watch of the Frost Queen…”

In the middle of his hypothesis, the elderly bishop paused and abruptly asked, “You mentioned earlier that Governor Winston claimed ignorance about the existence of that deeply concealed door in the Second Waterway?”

Agatha confirmed his query with a nod, stating, “That’s what he professed.”

“His claim strikes me as suspicious,” Bishop Ivan responded, shaking his head with a hint of doubt, “Surely, the early establishment of the first city hall was somewhat chaotic, but such a considerable oversight during the transition between the initial governors and their administrative teams seems implausible, particularly in regards to a secret of such substantial importance and sensitivity…”

“Are you suggesting that Governor Winston might be concealing something from me?” Agatha furrowed her brows, her confusion apparent, “But what could his possible motive be?”

“I can’t say for certain. He might be attempting to maintain City Hall’s authority, there could be larger implications hiding behind this secret, or he could even be manipulated by someone else. It’s all quite uncertain,” Bishop Ivan declared, his gaze suddenly falling intently on Agatha, “What I find even more perplexing is your lack of suspicion. It’s rather uncharacteristic of you to dismiss such potential anomalies.”

This observation took Agatha by surprise.

Caught in her brief moment of disorientation, she recalled the scene she had observed upon her return from the Second Waterway – the mirrored image in the pool, the “other self” moving in the opposite direction in the reflection.

“Agatha, are you alright?” Bishop Ivan’s voice punctured her reverie.

Agatha blinked, slightly startled, and gently shook her head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bishop Ivan pressed, concern apparent in his voice, “You’ve seemed distant and preoccupied on multiple occasions over the past few days, and…”

“I’m fine, I’ve always been fine,” Agatha interrupted the elderly bishop’s concern. For some reason, after that brief moment of confusion, her voice had grown lighter. She drew in a deep breath, invigorated, and got up from her seat, “I’ve just had some critical realizations. I must leave immediately.”

Bishop Ivan also rose, asking, “…Are you planning to go to the mine?”

“The navy is engaged with the enemy; the sheriffs and guardians are handling the situation. They’ve bought me some time, and I still have a shot at uncovering the core of all this chaos. It’s time to move.” Agatha paused momentarily, then stressed as if to underscore her point, “Time is the ultimate essence. I can’t afford to dawdle here for too long.”

“Very well, go then,” Bishop Ivan acknowledged with a gentle nod, “I hope you successfully decipher the truth and return unharmed.”

“I will unearth the truth.”

…

Within the dense fog, intermittent gunshots occasionally echoed, punctuated by the automated broadcast warnings from the sheriff’s or guardian’s team and the sporadic alarm bells ringing from certain facilities.

“Frankly, I’d rather face hundreds of heavily armed cultists or even breach through a city engulfed in flames several more times.”

Vanna casually dissipated her ice-forged sword, her scowl focused on the disturbed ground beneath her feet.

Within her limited field of vision, the earth was marred with worrisome intersecting cracks, from which copious amounts of grimy black sludge sluggishly seeped and writhed as they quickly hardened. Some of the sludge even vaguely maintained humanoid shapes, but they exhibited grotesque deformities in their primary limbs.

“Disgusting,” Vanna grumbled.

“Really now, would you rather have another clash in a burning city?” Morris’s voice emanated from nearby. The elderly scholar, leaning on his cane, studied the ravaged ‘battlefield’ in front of him and casually engaged Vanna in conversation.

“…Alright, I wouldn’t,” Vanna conceded with a shrug, “Neither a phantom city shrouded in thick fog nor a city ablaze beneath the black sun is desirable.”

As she spoke, the dense fog shifted, and a towering figure abruptly emerged from the mist behind Vanna. The figure’s head was grotesquely magnified and malformed, its colossal singular eye trembling uncontrollably in the fog. The next moment, the monster lunged at Vanna.

However, the inquisitor didn’t turn around; instead, she stamped the ground with such force that an unseen shockwave pulsed outward. The distorted creature managed only a single step forward before its lower half was obliterated. It fell to the ground, swiftly metamorphosing into mud.

Under her deliberate control, the shockwave didn’t affect Morris, who was close by. The elderly scholar merely adjusted his monocle, calmly surveying the fog-enshrouded streets surrounding them.

The next moment, his gaze abruptly honed in on a particular spot, his eyes illuminated with a glimmer of silver: “The McAfinny conjecture and proof.”

What followed was a series of deep, resonating sounds reminiscent of watermelons being crushed. Several silhouettes could be vaguely discerned materializing from the fog, their heads detonating in a spectacular display reminiscent of fireworks.

“The fortunate aspect is, these inferior duplicates have managed to replicate some degree of cognitive ability, forcing their manipulators to exercise more thought,” Morris withdrew his focus, the silver gleam in his eyes gradually dimming, “I was initially apprehensive they were all chaotic shells, against which the power of knowledge wouldn’t have been particularly effective.”

Vanna cast a somewhat odd look at the monstrosities whose heads had exploded into mud in the distance. She then turned her gaze to Morris, “When you tutored me, you never implied that ‘the power of knowledge’ was this potent.”

“I reckoned back then that this path wasn’t apt for you,” Morris responded nonchalantly.

Vanna: “…”

Miss Inquisitor briefly felt as if she was the subject of mockery, but after recalling her examination results from those years, she chose to maintain her dignified silence.

“Are there any more of them nearby?” She inquired in a low tone, her vigilance unwavering.

“Not at present,” Morris shook his head.

He was persistently aware of their surroundings. When those monsters emerged from the fog, their tumultuous thoughts would first manifest in his perception since their thoughts were as conspicuous as a beacon of light in the dark to his keen senses.

Few individuals possess the ability to deliberately control their thoughts, hence in the domain of “sentient being detection,” none could surpass the saints of the God of Wisdom.

“It’s a relief there aren’t any in the vicinity for now, though I expect new ones will likely materialize soon,” Vanna sighed, subtly stretching her limbs, “Did you observe… there’s a higher concentration of these counterfeit creatures in this direction, and their aggression seems noticeably greater than elsewhere?”

“You’ve observed that too?” Morris raised an eyebrow, “It seems my suspicion was on point.”

“You’re implying…”

“The ‘counterfeits’ that materialize from the fog aren’t all aimlessly wandering. Some of them are being orchestrated by a puppeteer concealed behind the scenes.”