Ashes Of Deep Sea Chapter 534

Chapter 534: Chapter 535: Enthusiastically Maintaining Urban Security Chapter 534: Chapter 535: Enthusiastically Maintaining Urban Security So, the heretics began to pray.

Under the dim light of the oil lamp, in the deathly stagnant atmosphere, within the deep and icy gathering room, under the gaze of the Profound Saint.

A member, delirious and reckless, brought an inescapable shadow into this gathering room. From now on, anyone who left the hall could potentially spread that shadow to others, just as it had already happened. Therefore, they would not leave here again–under the witness and encouragement of the Messenger, these devoted and fervent heretics would choose a calm and loyal sacrifice.

They had resolved to take the secrets they held to the Lord's kingdom, revealing nothing to the specter.

At least, that's what they had decided right now–momentary courage was always easy to muster.

The heretics prayed silently, constantly invoking the Profound Saint's blessings within the sealed room. The Messenger sat quietly at the round table, calmly observing every face in the room, watching their determination, tension, bravery, fear, and wavering.

Time passed indeterminably, and the flame of the oil lamp flickered, unsure in its dance. At one flicker, someone seemed to hear a faint voice:
“…I give you one chance.”

Somebody gasped, raising their head to find the source of the sound, others tightly shut their eyes as if terrified to truly see something. However, the voice had already vanished into the air as if it had never been there.

“Keep praying,” the Messenger softly said, his words seemingly carrying a seductive power, “That specter is powerless now, besides death, he has nothing more to threaten us with, and death itself is the quickest route to the Lord's kingdom.”

In the past, these words of the Messenger had always brought courage, quickly reinforcing the most unsettled followers. However, for some reason, this time his words only made the icy chill of approaching terror more palpable–
A growing unease was spreading throughout the gathering, fear nearing the boundaries of reason, wavering quietly growing. Not everyone was a devout saint, and for those who weren't devout enough… it was now time to lose their reason.

A believer finally screamed, the smallest one–he seemed to have suddenly seen something horrifying, abruptly jumping up from his chair, shouting, “I'll tell! I'll tell! I know what's happening!”

Instantly, the Messenger stood from his chair and shouted with shock and anger, “Hold him down!”

Several figures around the round table immediately surged forward, roughly and angrily grabbing the slight figure, pinning him tightly to the table, trying to cover his mouth to prevent him from revealing the Lord's secrets–but the slight figure erupted with surprising resistance. He struggled fiercely, dark chains materialized around him, and terrifying bone spurs and keratinized structures appeared on his limbs, almost freeing him from his “brethren's” hold, all the while shouting:
“It's the Doomsday Preacher who gave us the intelligence! They claim 'The Dream of the Nameless' harbors the truth from the beginning of Creation, holds the earliest blueprint of the Saint…
“The Dreamscape of the Elves can lead you to 'The Dream of the Nameless'! This race itself is both the carrier and the conduit of the dreamscape, for they were flawed in the blueprint stage…
“Followers of the Black Sun are also in motion, but they seek something else; I do not know what they are exactly looking for!

“The Doomsday Preachers say the time is near, but that's all I know… that's all I know, Mr. Duncan, only the Prophets and Saints have more intelligence, and those Doomsday Preachers, they know… I really only know this much!”

The thin heretic continued to shout furiously, his cry imbued with courage from another dimension–the courage to betray his faith. Then, he surged to lift his head, tears streaming as he looked towards the not-too-distant Messenger, a fresh fear following his brief bravery, “I'm sorry, I just want to live, I want to live…”
Then he screamed again, “Mr. Duncan! Please protect me! Don't let the Messenger kill me! I upheld my promise–you said you'd give me one chance! You said… would…”

The heavy pressure on his shoulders lessened, the slight heretic, screaming in panic, slowly grasped the change in atmosphere and gradually stopped.

Throughout, it was only his screams echoing in the hall, his “brethren” held him down, but none really stopped his shouting, the Messenger watched him, but never really made a move.

He widened his eyes, watching as the Messenger slowly placed both hands on the round table, revealing a gentle smile, “You see, speaking up wasn't so hard.”

Around the round table, those who had previously cooperated to hold him down also started to back away one by one.

The “brethren” circled around him, casting their gaze upon him, their faces revealing somewhat stiff yet gentle smiles, then one by one, they began to clap.

The small heretic, eyes wide open, looked in terror at everyone in the hall, voice trembling, finally spoke, “Messenger… Lord Duncan, and everyone, Duncan, Duncan, you all are…”
Chilling howls and roars echoed one after another, and in the assembly hall, one Profound Demon after another, either disintegrating or struggling to break free from their chains and flee the real world, appeared.

As these Symbiotic Demons disintegrated or escaped, every figure in the eyes of the small Heretic, including the “Messenger”, began to rapidly self-immolate.

The last burning figure, before collapsing, walked over to the small Heretic and smiled as he patted his shoulder, “You too.”

The assembly hall fell silent.

The small figure stood quietly amid countless black ashes. After a few seconds, he suddenly blinked his eyes and then quickly returned to the round table, reached for the paper and pen on the table, and swiftly wrote a page.

He then grabbed the page and stepped towards the basement exit– the “Thorns” previously summoned by the Messenger still tightly sealed the door, with sinister dark forces swirling in the thorn bush.

But in just an instant, the thorn bush burst into flames, and a ghostly green Spiritual Body fire reduced it to ashes. The door behind the thorn bush opened with a push.

Duncan quickly walked through the basement door, still warm with embers, and through the dilapidated buildings above ground, then his figure soared in the flames…

A patrolling guard, stunned, watched a ball of ghostly green fire crash onto the street in front of him. Just as he instinctively raised his weapon, he saw a staggering figure, seeming to continuously disintegrate, emerging from the ghostly green flames.

The dangerously suspicious, disintegrating thin figure quickly approached, his face breaking into a radiant smile, “Hello, I am here to report heretical activity.”

The guard, ready to blow his whistle and rush forward with his sword, was instantly stunned.

Having served the church for many years, it was his first time encountering such a… reporter. Confused, he instinctively asked, “A report?”

“Yes, right down that alley, in the basement of the house with the blue sloped roof. This is a letter of accusation, it details their meeting, and at the end is an anonymous bank account. Please deposit the reward directly into the account, thank you.”

The guard, blinking in confusion at this suspicious and strange fellow, listened to his rapid-fire speech. Amid his mental chaos, he couldn't help but raise his hand and point to the man's face, which was continuously crumbling into ash, “Sir, you don't look very well…”

“I know, I tried to maintain it, but it seems the method is still not quite right, only stabilized it by fifteen minutes more than usual–don't worry, just remember to make the payment…”

The young guard, almost dazedly, took the letter of accusation. Before the man completely disintegrated, he finally remembered a question, “Sir, what is your name?”

“Just a concerned heretic…”

Homeloss, inside the captain's quarters, Duncan came to his senses, taking a deep breath.

His main consciousness returned to the ship.

At the edge of the navigation table, the goat's head was the first to react, turning its head toward him, “Ah, great Captain– it looks like you got quite a haul?”

“I gleaned some useful information from a band of secret Heretics, but unfortunately, there wasn't enough time. I couldn't confirm which City-State it was, nor do I know if there are other meeting points nearby,” Duncan sighed, raising his hand to rub his brow, “But it's not a big problem, I think we will be dealing with them again soon…”

On a nearby wall, the surface of the ancient oval mirror rippled with shadows. Agatha's figure emerged from within the mirror, curious as she looked at Duncan, “Are you alright? You look a bit tired?”

“Just tried a newer method of avatar control, not quite used to it,” Duncan waved his hand, “Turns out, splitting one's psyche isn't something to be tried casually, maybe I should consult with Heidi sometime… How does she manage to split into dozens without getting confused?”

Agatha: “…?”

However, Duncan didn't continue on that topic. He soon furrowed his brow slightly, starting to recall and organize the information he had just received from “afar”.

He had originally thought it was just an ordinary Dreamscape invasion, just a bizarre nightmare phenomenon, thought the appearance of the Heretics was just an accident… but unexpectedly, this matter suddenly revealed a shadow far beyond anyone's imagination.

“The Dream of the Nameless…” Duncan, deep in thought, raised his head, looking at Agatha in the mirror and the goat's head on the table, “Have you heard this term before?”

Chapter end

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