The Dusk Bell and steam whistle that marked the changing of day and night traveled through the deep, damp slopes and shafts, echoing faintly through the dark, cramped sewers. The signal of approaching night only made the cultists hiding in the abandoned rest area more despondent.
One of them had fallen gravely ill, for unknown reasons. Now he was about to die—die in this dimly lit underground world.
"He's still alive..." one cultist said hesitantly. He glanced at the "fellow" lying on the ground and saw that the man's eyes were half-open, his eyeballs slowly rolling in their sockets. The unlucky man could still hear the sounds around him, but he no longer had the strength to open his eyes.
"He's only still alive for now," another cultist said in a low voice. "The Dusk Bell has already rung. He can't die in this room—the Lord's protection will bless him with peaceful rest in the darkness."
The man lying on the bedding twitched his fingers twice. He had clearly understood his situation. He did not want to die like this, but death had already sunk its teeth into his shadow. And from the looks of it, his dear "Sun fellows" were already considering moving this "hidden danger" out of the shelter before true death arrived.
An utterly stifling silence blanketed the room, making even the dying man's weak breaths clearly audible. After an unknown length of dead silence, the black-robed man who had cursed the Storm Church earlier suddenly broke it. "Wait a little longer. At least... changes won't happen immediately when someone has just stopped breathing."
"...Then we'll wait," the low-voiced black-robed cultist relented somewhat. He looked at the man struggling to breathe, then could not help muttering, "But why did he suddenly fall ill? Are you sure this is just an ordinary illness?"
"I know him..." said a cultist beside them who had barely spoken until now. "He ran an antique shop in the lower district that was about to close down, the kind full of fakes. He was always sickly and had never been in good health. He probably stayed in the sewers too long and was frightened earlier, which worsened his condition."
Listening to the explanation, the low-voiced black-robed cultist finally relaxed a little. Though he was not a high-status "priest," he had worshipped the Sun for many years and could now be considered an "expert" with considerable occult knowledge. He knew full well how many long-lasting, hidden dangers could remain after a failed sacrificial ritual, and every believer who had participated in that ritual might become a "carrier" for those hidden dangers. This man who had suddenly fallen into extreme weakness... might be one such carrier.
If not for the rule that Sun's children are all brothers and sisters, and the few softhearted cultists watching nearby, he would have thrown this unlucky fellow into the boundless darkness outside long ago.
After a long silence, the black-robed cultist suddenly moved. He took a pale golden amulet from his robe and stuffed it into the chest of the dying "fellow."
"What are you..." a cultist beside him asked curiously.
"I paid a great price to trade for this sacred amulet from an Emissary," he said in a low voice, his tone earnest. "May the Lord's grace protect our brother. The Sun's radiance may keep him from further corruption in the darkness."
The two cultists beside him immediately accepted this without question and looked admiringly at the Church elder who had "given away" his amulet. They clenched their fists and pressed them to their brows, chanting devoutly in low voices, "Sun's children are all brothers and sisters..."
The low-voiced black-robed man likewise pressed his fist to his brow and chanted along quietly, "Sun's children are all brothers and sisters."
After the sun had completely sunk below the horizon, the starless, moonless sky appeared before Duncan once more. Pale scars stretched across the heavens, bathing the Boundless Sea and the Lost Homeland sailing upon it in cold light.
Duncan stood near the stern deck. He withdrew his gaze from the sky and sighed softly.
No matter how many times he looked, he could never find stars that had never existed within that pale, chilly radiance.
But compared to the last time he had seen this Starless Night, he was in a far better mood now.
On one hand, he had accepted the many strange things about this world and was actively adapting to his current life. On the other hand, today's fish had truly been delicious.
He was a very optimistic person. Any small improvement in life was worth celebrating to him—not to mention that nature's bounty had exceeded his expectations.
At this rate, even if he could not establish stable contact with land anytime soon, he could at least improve the living conditions aboard this ship.
Lost in thought, he turned to look at the pigeon perched on his shoulder and casually joked, "Tell me... wouldn't it be easier if I did what a pirate captain ought to do? Like finding a busy shipping lane and robbing passing ships..."
The pigeon cocked its head, and it was impossible to tell where its two eyes were looking. "Does that sound right? Does that sound right? Does that sound right..."
"You're right. That doesn't suit my personality," Duncan said with a smile. "And it's easier said than done—if I wanted to rob ships, I'd first have to find a route with merchant vessels on it."
This vast sea was empty, and the Lost Homeland had somehow drifted an unknown distance from civilized society. Since colliding with that ship transporting Anomaly 099, he had not seen another vessel anywhere in sight. He did not even know where to find victims if he wanted to rob someone.
But just then, a voice suddenly came from nearby, interrupting Duncan's wandering thoughts. "Captain, are we going to rob someone?"
Duncan followed the voice and saw Alice sitting atop a high wooden plank nearby, looking over at him curiously.
Beneath the glow of the Pale Scar in the sky, the Gothic doll in a courtly gown sat high atop the ghost ship. Her mercury-like long hair gleamed with a chilly sheen in the night. She sat with perfect poise, curiosity in her eyes. The sight resembled an elegant, mysterious classical painting.
Duncan was briefly taken aback. After all the chaotic "mundane incidents" they had gone through, he had nearly forgotten the elegant, mysterious impression Miss Doll had made on him when she had first lain inside that wooden crate. Seeing Alice quietly sitting there now left him somewhat startled.
Alice did not know what the captain was thinking. She merely asked again with curiosity, "Captain, are we going to rob someone?"
That rather ruined her image.
Duncan looked at the doll with mixed amusement and exasperation. "Do you like robbing people?"
"No." Alice shook her head. "It sounds rather boring."
"But I robbed you onto this ship," Duncan reminded her with a smile.
"...That's true," Alice said after thinking about it, nodding. Then she asked again, "So are we going to rob someone now?"
"No." Duncan waved a hand and leisurely headed toward his Captain's Cabin. "I think robbing people is rather boring too. Compared to that, taking a walk is better after-dinner exercise."
Duncan returned to the Captain's Cabin. After briefly instructing Goat Head to take the helm, he entered the bedroom as he had last time and carefully shut the door.
He had decided that tonight, he would make his second Spirit World Walk.
But unlike last time, he would use the pigeon Ai to test this ability.
A cluster of ghostly green sparks danced at Duncan's fingertips. The instant the flames flickered, the pigeon that had been strolling across the table vanished in the blink of an eye, then reappeared on his shoulder.
Feeling the faint connection between himself and Ai, Duncan slowly calmed down. Then he recalled the "feeling" from when he had activated the Brass Compass last time and began trying to use the Spirit Body Fire in his hand to connect with Ai—
The intangible green flames became a thin thread and coiled around Ai's wings. The next second, the white pigeon was abruptly engulfed in blazing fire!
As the flames burned, every feather on the pigeon became illusory. The rising Green Fire seemed to reshape its flesh and bones. Ai spread its wings within the flames, while the Brass Compass hanging from its chest snapped open. Faint Light flickered across the dial covered in countless occult runes, and after spinning madly, the needle at its center pointed straight into the distance.
The surrounding scene shattered and scattered. The familiar dark space appeared before Duncan's eyes, followed by those familiar currents of light and countless specks of "lamplight."
Following his instincts, Duncan looked toward those starlike lights, searching for the next suitable "target" to contact.
Suddenly, one cluster of starlight caught his attention.
He did not know whether this was the "Captain Duncan's intuition" Goat Head always muttered about, but he decided to follow that feeling. No matter who was behind that starlight, Duncan was now fated to meet them.
In the abandoned sewers at the edge of Pland City-State, the Sun God cultists who had luckily escaped the Church Guardians remained silent.
The world above had already sunk into the deep night, while the underground world had only a faint lamp protecting the abandoned room.
Even the most vicious and inhuman cultists would feel tense and terrified as the darkness gradually closed in.
On the ragged bedding nearby, the dying man was about to exhale his final breath.
Listening to his increasingly low, labored breathing, several pairs of eyes turned toward him in unspoken unison.
They stared fixedly at the "fellow" on the bedding. Every one of them knew that he truly could not survive the night.
Under the gaze of those several pairs of eyes, the man on the bedding's chest rose and fell one last time—he released the final breath of his life.
"May the Sun continue to shine upon your soul in the darkness," the low-voiced black-robed cultist said slowly from beside him. Then he waved his hand. "Take him..."
The next second, his words caught in his throat.
Before his eyes, the corpse with its eyes tightly shut began breathing again.
(It's recommendation time. This time, the title is "My Story as the King of Anime Is Surely Fine," a work by a fellow reader. You can probably guess the content from the title, right? Let's just post the synopsis:
Xia Yu was an ordinary nerd who transmigrated into a parallel world where ACG culture was extremely barren, carrying an ACG Encyclopedia System. He vowed to spread ACG culture throughout the world and plant the flag of the two-dimensional world across the globe.
He first rose to prominence with "Pokémon." After that came Touhou, magical girls, ship girls, LL, Vocaloid, Gundam, and all kinds of new beliefs.
A new era had arrived.)
Before you continue