Ashes Of Deep Sea Chapter 505

Chapter 505: Chapter 506: Morris's Teacher Chapter 505: Chapter 506: Morris's Teacher Fenna entered the prayer room in the deep crew quarters below the deck of the “Homeloss” and quickly set up the area for spiritual communication after closing the door.

On the limited conditions of the Endless Sea, the ceremonial scene still utilized materials found on the ship. She substituted a large candelabra for the fire basin and her own prayer book for the necessary Sacred Relic. Then, using a mixture of salt and grease, she smeared and drew the runes of the Storm on the floor, constructing a sacred site–since this was her second time doing this, she was not as unfamiliar as before.

A sudden feeling of being watched came from the side, causing Ms. Judge, who was busy setting up the ritual space, to stop abruptly.

She turned her head towards the direction of the gaze and saw a round mirror hanging on the wall in the corner of the room, where the light fluctuated and a black-haired lady was curiously looking this way.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to pry into someone conducting a ritual,” Agatha's voice came from the mirror, “I was just drawn here by the activity.”

“It's alright, this isn't a secret ritual,” Fenna smiled generously, greeting this very special new “crew member” who had recently joined the “Homeloss,” “I am about to contact the Church Ark.”

“Yes, I know, the rituals of the Death Church are slightly different, but I can somewhat tell what you are doing, however…”

Speaking from the mirror, Agatha suddenly hesitated.

“However, what?” Fenna asked, puzzled.

“…Is this really okay, setting up a ritual like this?” Agatha curiously observed the scene inside the ship cabin, “Using a candelabra instead of a fire basin might be acceptable, and substituting a regular prayer book for a Sacred Relic is also passable, but using kitchen salt instead of blessed 'pure salt,' and cooking oil instead of holy oil… Are the rituals of the Deep Sea Church so flexible?”

Fenna felt a bit embarrassed: “This… mainly because we have limited resources on the ship, we ran out of holy oil previously, and I forgot to replenish it when we docked. But based on experience, it's no problem.”

“…Then it seems you truly are a saint favored by the goddess,” Agatha couldn't help but marvel, “Most clergy wouldn't dare use such casual methods to borrow divine power.”

Fenna's facial muscles twitched twice, and she could only reply with a forced smile, “Uh, thanks…”

“I won't interrupt any further,” Agatha waved in the mirror and her figure slowly blurred, “I'm going to see what Sherry is doing. The captain asked me to supervise her homework…”

The mirror turned pitch black and then slowly returned to its normal reflection.

Fenna watched the lady in the mirror leave, stared blankly for a while, then turned her head to look at the ritual site she had just earnestly set up, slowly frowning.

“Is this really good enough?”

She muttered to herself with some self-doubt, then flicked her fingers towards the direction of the candelabra–a force invisible to the eye instantly ignited the candelabra, the next second it transformed into bright flames leaping higher than normal candle flames. Soon, the runes arranged around the ritual space began to crackle, gradually mingling with the rising sound of waves.

“This works quite well…”

Fenna noted inwardly. The next second, she gradually let her spirit sink down, allowing her consciousness and senses to immerse in the ongoing surge of wave sounds.

The ritual drew the gaze of the divine, the runes borrowed the divine's power, and Fenna let this force guide her spirit, using it as a medium to call to the faraway Church Ark, waiting for a response from Pope Helena.

Psychic Resonance, utilizing the ritual to borrow the power of the four gods, thereby enhancing the originally feeble mental abilities of mortals, allowing for communication between distant clergy who share the same faith. This ancient Divine Art was a skill that every official clergy had to learn, even in these continuously advancing technological days, even when humans had created convenient modern communication means like telegraphs and telephones, this form of remote clerical communication remained an important means of exchanging information between distant City-States.

Fenna felt herself entering a long, dark tunnel, her soul flying rapidly through it, and the surroundings of the tunnel appeared like dark rock layers which seemed to undulate and ripple vaguely–looking as if they might come to life.

She gathered her thoughts, concentrated her mind, controlled unnecessary curiosity and the impulse to reach outward, reciting those rules well ingrained in her heart, trying to avoid approaching any tangible boundaries within this “tunnel.” Then, she “saw” a glimmer of light gradually appearing ahead.

Different from attending a “gathering” at the Tomb of the Nameless King, today's psychic communication was directed solely towards the Storm Cathedral above the Endless Sea–the far end of the “dark tunnel” saw a misty, ethereal space rapidly forming, with an elegant and dignified figure appearing in view.

Fenna stopped in front of that figure, her own ethereal shadow quickly stabilized.

“I greet you, Your Holiness.”

“No need for formalities, Fenna, this isn't a public setting,” Helena's apparition returned a greeting, then curiously asked, “Why have you suddenly called upon me? Is there a problem with 'that ship'?”

“Everything is normal on the ship–but something big has happened,” Fenna took a gentle breath, composed herself, and then slowly began, “I am here to convey a warning from Captain Duncan–the Homeloss is warning the entire civilized world…”

Bright yellow light illuminated the ancient bookshelves and old scrolls, and on the large walnut desk, intricate alchemical equipment sustained a series of complex chemical reactions. In the spacious and rustic study, a portly, kindly-faced elven elder sat calm by the desk–he was the leader of the Academy of Truth, the pontiff of the God of Wisdom Rahm, Rune.

This elven elder was watching the alchemical devices on the table, but in his eyes reflected a scene from afar–
“The Homeloss is warning the entire civilized world, we have confirmed the reawakening of the ancient god 'The Saint' in the deep sea beneath the Frost, this 'awakening' process could be repeated in any City-State, there is evidence that 'The Saint's' flesh exists in all things…”

The short, chubby, and amiable elven elder listened silently to this distant voice, his expression growing stern, and when the other party's voice fell, he slowly stood up from beside the desk, walking towards one of the bookshelves at the end of the room as he spoke, “Morris, if this most intense part of the message were to be made public, it would be considered the most horrifying heresy in history–even the nihilists might find it too extreme.”

“There's no heresy on the path of truth, teacher, in the 'classics' created by mortals there are only two kinds: those that have been disproved, and those waiting to be disproved, this is what you taught me.”

Morris's voice sounded steady and strong, yet it carried a sharp, restrained determination and courage, which made the elven elder fondly recall many years ago–when this exceptionally talented young human was still studying at the Academy of Truth, he also sought all answers with such perseverance, and dared to question every issue with immense courage.

This curiosity and drive in a scholar were intense and dangerous; many talented young individuals would swiftly ascend the peaks of truth under this force, but many among them would be knocked down by the dangers posed by knowledge itself, while others might calmly learn under the protection and guidance of their mentors, learning to suppress their talents and cautiously sip from the trickle of truth.

A rare few, like Morris, could choose a third path–
Within two years mastering various firearms, cold weapons, explosives, mystical body protection spells, and comprehensive combat skills.

They were the pride of the Academy of Truth and its affiliated martial school.

Rune stopped before a large bookshelf, reaching in and pulling out a record book.

Opening it, he slowly flipped through, page by page, all of them showing the youthful faces of past students–their youthful appearances captured within magically imbued pages, some standing shyly, some waving at someone off-page, making faces, or laughing heartily.

A young human stood at the classroom door, arms crossed, confidently facing this way, beneath the black and white image, the name Morris Underwood and the corresponding student record.

“Yes, I taught you, human classics are of only two kinds, those that have been overturned and those waiting to be overturned… There's no heresy on the path of truth, for truth itself does not need human approval, it is eternal…”

Rune muttered to himself softly, one eye on the students on the page, while in his other eye still reflected the current appearance of this student–white hair now touched his temples, completely different from the vigorous young man in the register.

Human life is indeed fleeting, establishing deep connections with humans is a thing full of difficulty and pain for elves–these friends and students always age quickly, and before the elves know it, they transform into mounds of yellow earth, goodbyes and memories often come abruptly, every sorrow arriving late and with irreversible regrets.

But Rune still enjoyed accepting and teaching these apprentices from human society.

For even within their brief lifespans, these apprentices could still exhibit a learning capacity that astonished elves, and the explorative desires and possibilities born from short lifespans were, in Rune's view, extremely precious traits in the pursuit of truth.

Morris's voice rang in his mind again, “Captain Duncan believes it's necessary to share all the intelligence we currently possess with the Four Gods Churches, only selectively withholding in our exchanges with the various City-States and the Explorers' Association–because the Four Gods Churches have the capability and the necessary understanding to know how to handle this 'warning.'”
“…That sounds quite reasonable, but has he not considered another possibility?” Rune spoke slowly, “The content of this 'warning' is too shocking, even seeming like a heretical discourse more extreme than that of the nihilists' apostasy–it will be seen by the Church as a form of… hostility, even as a new kind of heretical preaching, and for some more conservative clerics, they would not initially accept this as a 'warning,' but would tend to view it as an attack on their beliefs.”

“He doesn't care.”

“Oh?”

“There's a storm coming, and thunder warns first–but the thunder does not care whether mortals have taken shelter, such is the attitude of the captain.”

“…Reasonable.”

(Recommendation time, the book, “Wasteland: Paradise Construction Guide” by Old Gou, Mu Hou Liu, Wasteland Style. The protagonist has dual identities, managing a shelter from an AI's perspective on one hand, and exploring the wasteland with a false identity on the other, elements of hammer are present, can be viewed like the Tella's unification wars of the emperor, it feels like a great concept, everyone can check it out.)

Chapter end

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