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“Is his condition already verified?” Agatha queried.

“Definitely a regular human, without question,” one of the guardians affirmed with a deep, grave tone, “but he’s in a state of extreme terror. We can’t dismiss the potential of psychological contamination. He’ll likely require a prolonged period of mental therapy and steady monitoring.”

“Transport him to the local chapel,” Agatha commanded with a small nod, “And ensure they’re informed about the grave circumstances here at the sewage treatment facility. The whole establishment needs to be subjected to a comprehensive purification and examination. It should only resume operations when we are certain that all potential threats have been meticulously addressed.”

“I understand, Gatekeeper,” a team member acknowledged, understanding the instruction, and then looked at Agatha with a worried expression, “You didn’t encounter any complications, did you?”

Agatha furrowed her brows, “Hmm? What prompts you to ask that?”

“You remained ‘on the other side’ longer than is usual for you,” the team member elaborated, “Were you successful in discovering any clues in the spirit world?”

A thoughtful look crossed Agatha’s faintly lined face. There was a residual sensation of overlooking something, but despite pondering over it, she couldn’t pinpoint anything unusual – could this be a lingering effect from her extended stay in the spiritual domain? She reached into her coat pocket for her habitual eye drops, but hesitated and decided against using them.

Her eyes felt surprisingly fine, almost as if she had already applied the drops prior to returning to the physical world.

“There wasn’t any unpleasant incident,” she assured her team member, “The abrupt emergence of those heretics was unexpected, which is why I took a bit more time to interrogate them.”

Unfortunately, she couldn’t extract any useful information from the interrogation. The heretics were obstinate and zealous, and not even the prospect of death seemed to shake their unyielding beliefs.

But what had she overlooked?

A vague sensation of discomfort once again arose in Agatha’s mind, but she managed to maintain her calm and composed demeanor in front of her team.

“Are we prepared to head back to the cathedral next?” a guardian, attired in solemn, dark clothing, inquired.

“Yes, we are indeed journeying back to the cathedral,” Agatha affirmed, “It’s of utmost importance that we rapidly orchestrate an extensive search of all the subterranean facilities throughout the city. The circumstances might be graver than we initially perceived.”

…

As the cloak of evening began to unfurl, the sun initiated its slow descent towards the horizon’s edge. An impressive, dual-ringed rune halo cast a brilliant radiance near the surface of the sea, while the structures of the distant city-state were incrementally tinted by the setting sun. The result was a mesmerizing scene of the entire city seemingly melting into the enveloping twilight.

Duncan had stationed himself near the slender window at the distant end of the corridor on the second floor. His substantial figure almost completely obscured the light filtering in through the window. His eyes, visible through the small gaps in his bandages, silently observed the twilight horizon stretching out in the distance, his mind apparently entangled in a labyrinth of contemplations.

Suddenly, the faint echo of footsteps resonated from one side. Without even pivoting his head, Duncan recognized the approaching presence.

“Have you finished your assigned work?” He asked in a nonchalant manner.

Shirley, who had just gently eased the door open and was on the brink of stealthily descending to the first-floor kitchen for a quick snack, found herself immobilized on the spot. From a nearby shadow, the trembling head of Dog materialized, muttering in a hushed tone, “I knew we couldn’t remain concealed…”

“I… I have finished my math flashcard exercises,” Shirley ignored Dog’s regret-filled remark, her eyes warily darting to the imposing figure of Duncan, who stood next to the window, a formidable presence that seemed unshakable. “I still have a set of vocabulary assignments left, but I’m feeling slightly peckish…”

Duncan discerned the distinct mix of trepidation and complaint in the young girl’s voice, prompting a chuckle to escape his lips as he swiveled to face Shirley: “Have I ever implied that you’re not permitted to eat until you’ve completed your homework?”

Shirley retracted a little, too uncertain to formulate a response.

Exhaling a sigh, Duncan turned back around to gently pat Shirley’s head.

“Do you detest studying?” He questioned, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “You give off the impression that you’re undergoing some sort of torment.”

“I… I tend to feel drowsy the moment I commence reading…” Shirley responded in a hesitant manner, still somewhat ill at ease in her interactions with Duncan in his current state. To her, his bandages and stern, austere attire appeared more menacing than his former position as the ship’s captain. “I… I’ll return to my room and resume my homework!”

However, Duncan gently grasped Shirley’s shoulder, preventing her from hastily retreating to her room.

“If you’re feeling weary, it’s important to rest,” Duncan advised, shaking his head with gentle firmness, “Don’t exert undue pressure on yourself to study.”

Shirley gazed at Duncan, her eyes wide with surprise, but she swiftly nodded in agreement, perhaps fearful that the captain might retract his seemingly lenient stance.

Following a few moments of hushed silence, she stole a cautious glance at Duncan and felt compelled to voice a question that had been nudging at her mind, “Why are you so persistent about me learning to read and write… I… I don’t need to attend a university like Nina, and I certainly don’t possess the aptitude to become a scholar like Mr. Morris…”

This marked the first instance when Duncan was confronted with this query from Shirley, but it was evident that it had been burdening her thoughts for an extended period. This young girl, who had never been enrolled in school and whose sole companion was a demon dog, clearly struggled to comprehend the captain’s motives.

“Because knowledge equates to power,” Duncan responded after a momentary pause, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on Shirley, “The very concepts that you perceive as tedious and burdensome are the pillars that support our modern, civilized world. Have you never pondered how the cars that throng the streets, the machines that hum rhythmically in the factories, and the expansive ocean that unfurls beyond our city operate? Or what existence is like in distant cities across the world?”

Shirley mulled over his words. It seemed she had a vague notion of what the “correct answer” might be, but eventually, she shook her head in a tentative manner, “No, I… I’ve always held the belief that having enough food to sustain oneself was enough. I didn’t dedicate much thought to matters extending beyond that.”

“But now, merely appeasing your hunger isn’t sufficient, Shirley,” Duncan bent down to align with her eye level, engaging her gaze with serious intensity, “You might not grasp the full significance of it now, but my aim is for you to experience a life that is more fulfilling. You’ve missed out on so many opportunities, but now that you’re an integral part of our ship’s crew, we’ll make up for all the experiences you’ve been deprived of.”

Shirley observed Duncan with a slightly stupefied expression. She couldn’t fully comprehend what the captain was endeavoring to convey, but his sincere and solemn tone transmitted a feeling of… warmth.

This warmth felt oddly familiar, the same type that only her parents showed during her youth.

She partially understood and responded in a slow, ponderous tone, “Oh…”

“Good,” Duncan acknowledged, a smile gradually unfurling on his face as he steadily rose to his feet. “Now that you’ve grasped the concept, feel free to grab something to eat and resume your homework. I…”

He abruptly ceased mid-sentence.

Shirley, who had been eagerly anticipating his further directives, looked up in confusion, “Huh? What’s the matter?”

Duncan didn’t respond immediately, instead lifting his hand and directing his focus towards the distance. His gaze seemed to traverse the length of the corridor, but his deep-set eyes hinted at a faraway meditation as if pondering over matters not present within the confines of the house.

He blinked, one eye reflecting the architectural elements of the corridor and the lofty ceilings of the residence, while the other seemed to perceive a spectral ship enveloped in a haunting green fire, aimlessly adrift in a fog-infused, shadowy expanse.

Onboard the Vanished, gracefully slicing through the boundless waters of Frost’s ocean, Duncan abruptly redirected his attention from the nautical chart sprawled on his desk.

His sudden shift in movement instantly captivated the attention of the goat head perched at the corner of the table. It swiveled around with an audible creak, “Ah, Captain, how may I be of service? Is it mealtime already? Despite our crew’s currently depleted state, I am fully prepared to extend dining services to the best of my abilities. What cuisine might you prefer? We could start with southern delicacies: deep-fried meat rolls, savory pork chops, exquisite fish cakes, a variety of delectable egg dishes including grilled, steamed, boiled, stewed, pickled, and smoked eggs…”

“Silence, I didn’t divert my attention to hear you catalog an exhaustive culinary roster,” Duncan cast a fleeting glance at the excessively talkative goat head, his expression cloaked in a layer of solemnity. His gaze drifted towards the window of the captain’s cabin, peering in the direction of Frost as he pondered out loud, “The White Oak?”

“The White Oak?” The goat head paused momentarily before recognition dawned, “Ah, the steamship Alice once journeyed on? What provoked its mention? Do you desire to claim it as spoils of victory? I am capable of devising a comprehensive strategy for acquisition. Are you contemplating augmenting the crew? We could likely persuade the captain to…”

“It’s in close proximity,” Duncan interjected, curtailing the goat head’s ceaseless ramblings. He slowly rose from his seat behind the desk, his eyebrows furrowing together as he tuned in to that faint yet unmistakably tangible link, “Close to… Frost?”

“The White Oak is near Frost?” The goat head abruptly halted its discourse, its voice resonating with disbelief, “That’s an absurd claim… Isn’t Frost currently under siege? Tyrian’s naval fleet has imposed a blockade on the surrounding sea routes. If a foreign vessel were in the vicinity, he would certainly inform you, wouldn’t he?”

“…There’s something unusual. I can indeed perceive the White Oak’s presence,” Duncan said reflectively, “But its location… it’s rather nebulous and seems to oscillate intermittently…”

He narrowed his eyes, his gaze unyieldingly fixed on the distant sight of Frost, striving to pinpoint the sudden vivid presence that had come to his awareness.

The emergence of the White Oak had abruptly surfaced and exponentially intensified, much like a beacon spontaneously igniting in pitch blackness, irresistibly drawing his attention. It was an entirely novel sensation, one he hadn’t encountered before.

In addition to that, whether it was a figment of his imagination or a tangible reality, Duncan also perceived multiple considerable fluctuations in the ship’s energy, reminiscent of… a lantern sputtering capriciously in a gusty breeze.

Deep in thought, he cast a contemplative glance towards the meticulously chiseled goat head on the table, “Do you have any inkling of what might be unfolding?”

The goat head pondered for a brief moment before shaking its head, “Would you prefer that I propose some dish suggestions instead…”

“Absolutely useless when it truly counts.” Duncan couldn’t help but grimace as he rose from his chair, circumvented the navigation table, and commenced his approach towards the exit of the captain’s cabin.