Ashes Of Deep Sea Chapter 388

Chapter 388: Chapter 392: In the Mirror? Chapter 388: Chapter 392: In the Mirror? In Duncan's perception, two anomalies had caught his attention.

One of the markings, of course, came from the Oak.

The ship, which he had once engulfed in flames entirely, was still emitting a strong “presence,” like a blazing fireball wandering within his senses, yet he still couldn't pinpoint the ship's actual location–every time he tried to determine the Oak's position, he would get a strange and blurry result. This result indicated that the Oak was somewhere next to Frost City-State, a place already blockaded by the Mist Fleet and Frost Navy.

The other “problematic” marking was on Gatekeeper Agatha.

Over the past period, Duncan had suddenly found that the marking he left on Agatha had been interfered with. In the disturbance, Agatha's aura had become fainter by several degrees, and her location started to show the same blurry, twisted signs as the Oak. He attempted to confirm Agatha's status remotely, only to be shocked that her presence would occasionally vanish completely within the City-State.

Two problematic markings, a ship, and a person, in different locations yet exhibiting similar states.

This was obviously cause for concern.

So, he chose to personally investigate the matter after nightfall–the Oak held no clue for the time being, but Agatha's marking still moved within Frost City from time to time and should be nearby.

Duncan looked down at Sherry, who was glancing around beside him.

Dog, as a Profound Demon, might come in handy with its perceptual abilities–if there were truly worshippers of annihilation active in this vicinity, it could probably sniff out the “scent” of its “kind.”

Night fell deeper, and the gas lamps along the street had all lit up, with the occasional sound of a night patrol's whistle or a dog's bark carrying from a distance, interspersed with the sound of waves coming from afar.

The streets were deserted and cold during the curfew hours, and even though some light spilled out from the buildings along the road, it couldn't dispel the chill of the winter night. Duncan and Sherry passed through another alley, and in his “vision,” the cluster of flames representing Agatha paused and continued not far away.

“Mr. Duncan, do you think if that gatekeeper sees me… she might swing a sword at me?” Sherry asked, trying to make conversation, “Like Fenna seeing a heretic…”

“Gatekeepers don't use swords,” Duncan said off-handedly, “I heard Fenna say they fight heretics with specially crafted battle staffs and the Divine Arts of the Death Domain.”

Sherry shrunk her neck at this and fell silent.

Duncan paid no mind to the girl's reaction. After entering an alley, he suddenly stopped.

Sherry also stopped abruptly, looking around nervously, “Did you find something? Is the gatekeeper ahead?”

“…She's not ahead; she's right here,” Duncan spoke calmly, his gaze slowly sweeping across the alley, “And she's been here for a while.”

“She's here?!” Sherry's eyes widened as if she felt another chill breeze across her neck. She strained to look ahead, growing more anxious, “Where, where… I can't see her. Dog, do you see her?”

“I can't see,” Dog's voice came from a nearby shadow, muffled, “Can't see a person, can't feel a presence.”

“Even Dog can't see?” Duncan's brow furrowed slightly, and in front of him, that small cluster of flames representing Agatha was quietly burning a few meters ahead, feeble and ghostly.

The gatekeeper was right here–she was resting here.

Duncan moved toward where the flames were but stopped again.

“Agatha” seemed to sense something; the cluster of flames jumped suddenly as he approached halfway and then swiftly moved in another direction.

Duncan raised his head and looked in the direction where the flames in his perception had moved. Suddenly, a quick shadow that passed over a nearby building's exterior window glass drew his attention.

He saw a blurred figure dart across the pane, the silhouette vaguely resembling that of Agatha.

Sherry, who had been looking up and around, also noticed the shadow, nearly letting out a cry of fright, but she quickly covered her mouth. After the shadow passed, she looked at Duncan, her voice filled with unease, “There was a figure just now!”

“I saw it; it was reflected by the window,” Duncan said solemnly, his gaze still calmly fixed ahead. In a place invisible to Sherry, he continued to focus on that flicker of flame–it had crossed the alley and flashed at the junction ahead before turning and running in another direction.

He squinted slightly, as if sketching Agatha's situation in his mind.

She seemed to be breaking free from some predicament, possibly injured or very exhausted. She had rested here briefly and then headed toward the Upper City District–at the junction, something had obstructed her momentarily but failed to stop her.

Duncan opened his eyes and once again gazed at the glass window nearby. In the smooth pane, Agatha's figure was gone, leaving only the quiet reflection of the distant street lamp.

“Fascinating…” Duncan murmured, “Intriguing…”

“Ah?” Sherry still looked bewildered, “What? You've figured it out?”

“Perhaps.” Duncan said noncommittally, then stepped towards the glass window and lightly snapped his fingers.

A small cluster of flames danced at his fingertips, illuminating his figure.

He looked at the glass window and saw his hand's flame reflected on it, the jumping light seemed alive, quietly burning in the mirrored world.

Sherry, puzzled by Duncan's actions, then saw him wave his hand and casually dispel the flame at his fingertips.

But a faint green light still danced in her vision.

Sherry's mouth slowly dropped open in astonishment at the scene before her: after Duncan dispersed the flame in his hand, the reflection of the flame on the glass window showed no sign of disappearing– the reflected flame was still quietly burning, as though it had its own independent existence, burning in the mirror!

“How… how can this be?!” Sherry stammered, pointing at the flame in the glass window, “Why is the flame still… in there?”

“A mirrored Frost,” Duncan slowly turned his head, a hint of amusement in his voice, “is gradually merging with the real-world Frost–a fabulous bit of ingenuity, I must say, quite creative.”

“Mirrored…” Sherry may not fully understand, but still instinctively repeated the word, “You mean there's another Frost in the mirror? That 'guardian' has run off to the world inside the mirror?”

“Not accurate, but you could understand it that way,” Duncan said calmly, turning his gaze back to the calmly burning reflected flame in the mirror, “There is a small crack here, but it's not enough.”

“Not enough?” Sherry blinked.

“I need a more precise location, a stronger connection,” Duncan slowly extended his hand, his fingertips touching the phantom flame in the mirror, “To ignite the world opposite the mirror, this small flame will not suffice. However…”

He paused, then withdrew his finger.

The phantom flame in the mirror suddenly shook, then slipped into the depths of the darkness, leaving behind only a dim, seemingly spreading, pale green trace.

“That should be enough to give Agatha a hand.”

How many counterfeits made from the “Prime Element” had she destroyed? How many “avatars” of the blond-haired young man had she shattered?

After the number exceeded four digits, Agatha had grown too weary to count.

She knew only one thing that the heretic had not lied to her about–she indeed was trapped in this bizarre world, and there seemed no hope of escaping any time soon.

Sky Light was dim, clouds chaotic, in this sunless “Frost City-State” where day and night had lost their distinction. Only the subtle changes of light between clouds and the gas lamps lighting up the streets allowed her to estimate that night had fallen.

Agatha moved through a narrow alley, catching her breath and healing physical and mental injuries while on the move.

Her black coat was torn in many places from continuous battles, and the soft armor lining underneath was not lightly damaged either. At places like the shoulder and flank, one could even see the bandages wrapped around and skin underneath, with traces of blood seeping through.

To be fair, the enemies were not strong. Even the “avatars” used by the blond heretic, in the eyes of Agatha, the guardian, were not particularly formidable–barely a three-minute fight to resolve.

But they were endless.

The entire City-State served as their “material” and “reserve forces.” Ordinary combat methods were meaningless here.

Agatha moved through the alleys, rapidly calculating in her mind.

At the same time, she recalled the strange and terrifying sensation from a few minutes ago.

At that time, she was taking a short rest in a dark alley when that terrifying sensation suddenly emerged in her perception, the pressure… even made her feel as though her heart had stopped beating for a few seconds.

At the time, she left her hiding place in a hurry without thinking too much. But looking back now… that terrifying presence did not seem like something that belonged in this bizarre counterfeit City-State.

Then… what exactly was it?

Chapter end

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