Chapter 232: Chapter 236: Secret Connections Are Local Customs
Thank you.
A simple word, yet it abruptly made Duncan’s breath catch.
He was certain that the word had not been on the paper just moments ago, nor had there been that water-stained mark; it had appeared out of thin air right before his eyes!
He stared intently at the impression that had materialized on the paper, while a faint green flame had slowly begun to burn around him. His consciousness in a flash swept over the entire ship, checking if some uninvited “guest” had appeared—but he found nothing.
How did this word get here? Who was conveying a message to him? And why?
Frankly, he was now slightly empathetic towards those whom he had frightened, like Fenna who had once karate-chopped her vanity mirror in the Dreamscape, and just now, Tyrion and Lucrezia—though it was only a slight empathy, and next time he would do the same.
...
The key issue now was why a word had suddenly surfaced on this piece of paper.
Duncan’s brow furrowed deeply, and suddenly, a detail flashed across his mind—just before, while he was conversing with Tyrion, he had jokingly said,
“If the deity behind this church is watching, then They owe me a ‘thank you.'”
Duncan’s expression became complex at the thought. His initial reaction was that such fanciful notions couldn’t be taken seriously, but after dismissing it subconsciously, he couldn’t help but start thinking along those lines again, becoming unable to calm his mind the more he pondered…
He lowered his head, gazing at the water-stained corner of the paper. After hesitating for a moment, he picked up a fountain pen from beside him and wrote in a drier spot along the edge of the dampness:
“Storm Goddess?”
Having written this, he then patiently waited, his gaze fixed on the damp area as if he was a commander who had pressed a big construction button and was now anticipating delivery—only to wait so long without a response that the water had almost dried up.
It seemed the other party had left a message and slipped away—or deliberately read and ignored him?
Duncan’s brain was teeming with absurd and bizarre thoughts. Having spent so much time in this strange world, the level of weirdness he felt in this moment still surpassed all he had experienced before, making it hard for him to maintain his usually unflappable demeanor. However, after waiting in vain for half a day, he slowly put down the fountain pen and allowed his mood to gradually stabilize.
After pondering in place for a moment, he stood up and pushed open the wooden door leading to the chart room—where, as always, the goat head was focused on the fog-shrouded sea chart until it immediately turned around upon hearing the door open.
“Nothing unusual on the ship just now, right?” Duncan asked before the other could speak.
“On the ship? There’s nothing out of the ordinary,” the goat head replied with a bewildered tone, then seemed to sense something, “Is something wrong? I can search the entire ship right away…”
“No need, I’ve already checked it once. I asked you just for a double confirmation,” Duncan waved his hand, then steadied himself and decided not to mention the eerie writing that had appeared on the paper, “I just met Tyrion and Lucrezia—they were in the midst of contacting each other.”
The goat head felt that the captain’s demeanor was a little odd now, but since he didn’t elaborate further, it wisely didn’t ask for more. Upon hearing Duncan’s words, it remarked with some awe, “Many people speculate that the relationship between siblings Tyrion and Lucrezia is strained, citing how Tyrion turns to piracy deep within the Civilization Frontier while his sister engages in grand ventures of exploration at its edge, with never a meeting between them… But it seems the rash conjectures of the masses are just conjecture after all.”
“In my view, their relationship isn’t bad, especially when they faced me together; that tacit understanding is clearly the result of growing up together and enduring the shared trauma of childhood beatings from their father,” Duncan shook his head, “As for their current distance… they’ve simply chosen different paths in life.”
“Ah, the musings of a father,” the goat head remarked exaggeratedly, “How was your communication with your ‘son and daughter’?”
“…I think it went quite well,” Duncan considered for a moment and then nodded slightly, “I believe I’ve adequately conveyed my goodwill and have planted the initial seeds of reason and ‘return to humanity’ in their minds, and I’ve also laid some groundwork for future encounters. At the very least, the next time we encounter the Sea Mist, we shouldn’t need to cover each other with gunfire, which is the first step towards family harmony.”
For a moment, the goat head was silent, which struck Duncan as odd: “Why aren’t you speaking this time? You’re usually quite talkative, aren’t you?”
The goat head spoke faintly, “Not needing to cover each other with gunfire equates to family harmony, that’s just overwhelmingly powerful, and I’m at a loss for words…”
Duncan, unsure of how to respond, could only open his hands without comment, while the goat head, after a brief silence, asked, “It sounds like you’re preparing for your next meeting with Tyrion. Why have you become so proactive about this suddenly?”
“Because he once served the Frost Queen,” Duncan stated blandly, “and I’m now somewhat curious about that period of his life.”
“Is it because of Miss Alice?”
“A little, yes.”
Duncan said offhandedly.
Then he shook his head, turned back into the room, and tore off the water-stained corner of the paper where the writing had appeared, before returning to the chart table in the chart room, “I have something to show you.”
He placed the peculiar hexagonal pattern before the goat head.
“Have you seen this before?”
The goat head’s neck creaked as it turned, lowering its gaze to the curious pattern on the paper, then shook its head: “Never seen it. What is it?”
“You’ve never seen it?” Duncan frowned and, after confirming the goat head didn’t seem to be hiding anything, slowly began, “…Over a century ago, several devout monks visited the Homeloss. One of them carried an amulet bearing this pattern.”
The goat-headed figure fell silent for a moment, then spoke softly, “Oh, that’s ‘beyond my sight.'”
Duncan instantly understood what the other meant.
At that time, the goat-headed figure wasn’t on the Homeloss.
It wasn’t an original “crew member” of this ship; it had only been serving on the Homeloss for a century—at most, in fact, it appeared on this ship after it had plunged into Subspace.
There were many secrets hidden behind this ship and this “first mate,” and this was one of the few mysteries that Duncan had slowly probed and successfully unraveled.
Duncan didn’t speak for a moment.
He had always been curious, curious about how this goat-head had come aboard, curious why it had become the “first mate” here after the true Captain Duncan had gone completely mad, and… curious about its connection with Subspace and the countless secrets it knew.
But unfortunately, the goat-head never mentioned these things—even on several occasions when Duncan tried to probe slightly, it shifted the conversation in a noticeably stiff manner.
It was an attitude and a hint—it couldn’t speak or it would cause serious trouble.
Duncan snapped back to reality, temporarily set aside the myriad thoughts in his mind, and after a bit of contemplation, he nodded at the goat-head, “Then you keep steering, I need to handle some affairs.”
“Of course, at your service anytime!”
Duncan put away the paper, turned, and walked toward his bedroom. But just as he was halfway there, the voice of the goat-head suddenly came from behind him again, “Captain.”
Duncan stopped in his tracks, slightly turned his head, “Hmm?”
“You can always trust your loyal first mate.”
Duncan didn’t speak, but he nodded lightly and then stepped into the room.
…
Maurice tossed and turned in bed for a long time before finally sitting up.
His wife was sleeping soundly beside him, her light and steady snoring occasionally breaking the silence. The glow of Creation of the World shone through the window, casting a nocturnal hue on the bedroom floor.
Everything felt like a dream, but everything was real.
Maurice seldom suffered from insomnia, but ever since his wife “returned,” he’d been struggling to fall asleep, and he knew all too well why.
It was anxiety.
He fretted that once he fell asleep, this dream-like reality would indeed turn into a mere dream and feared that all the miracles were just the fruit of his own wishful thinking, just like the futile Subspace Prayer he made eleven years ago, which resulted in nothing but an illusion easily popped.
Because of this anxiety, he even dared not pray to Rahm carelessly—over the years, even though he had intentionally distanced himself from the church, he never stopped the habitual prayers in his daily life. But now, subconsciously avoiding the effects of the “Eye of Truth,” he forcibly restrained his prayers.
Maurice sighed gently, allowing his somewhat groggy brain to clear up a bit in the cool night air, then got up, threw on a piece of clothing, and stood silently by the bed, looking at his sleeping wife.
He often did this these past couple of days.
But this time, just as he had been watching for a while, he suddenly felt a daze in his head, followed by a faint call and a blurry majestic figure emerging deep in his mind—Maurice immediately snapped to attention, realizing what was happening.
The captain was calling him.
The old scholar took a couple of deep breaths to fully awaken, then hastened to the junk room connected to the master bedroom. He turned on the light inside the junk room, and his gaze then moved to an antique mirror placed in the corner of the small room.
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The edges of that mirror were slowly stirring with ethereal Spectral Flame, and the captain’s figure was gradually emerging within.
For some reason, this scene, which should have frightened the average person, now gave Maurice an inexplicable sense of reassurance.
He found a “sense of reality” in those undulating flames and the majestic figure—as pain can prove life, it was the “evidence” that the miracle had truly occurred, proving that everything at this moment was not an illusion.
Maurice approached the antique mirror and bent slightly, “Captain, what are your orders?”
Duncan saw Maurice and the background of clutter behind him, and his mind immediately conjured up the image of a middle-aged man sneaking into the closet to play games, still afraid of being discovered by his wife…
The next moment, he straightened his face, tossing the frivolous thought aside, and spoke to Maurice with a serious expression, “I need you to investigate something that may be related to history or some secret organization.”
“What kind of thing?”
“A mysterious pattern that appeared on the amulets of a group of monks.”