"Landing"

Vana woke up with a start from a bizarre and chaotic dream. Outside her window, the night was still deep—the serene and pale radiance of the World's Creation cast a peaceful glow upon the windowsill, adorned with carvings of deep-sea runes.

Yet, the scenes from her unsettling dream remained vividly imprinted in her mind—

A ship, a grand vessel ablaze with green, spectral flames, sailed in from the horizon where the sea met the sky. It bore down upon the entire Pland City-State like an oncoming mountain, and within its phantom inferno, countless cries and desolate songs roared in unison, stirring with such intensity as if to overturn the world.

And as this colossal ship descended, she also saw a blazing sun rising from the depths of Pland City-State. It wasn't the sun known to the world, bound by ancient runes, but a celestial body burning fiercely like the "Ancient Sun" described by its devotees. It ascended from the city's core, its flames melting the earth, and all its people flowed like melting wax figures through the streets.

The Grand Cathedral of the Deep Sea Church stood quietly amidst this inferno of molten fire. In her dream, she prayed towards the cathedral, seeking guidance from the Goddess of Storms. However, only chaotic and meaningless bell tolls echoed from the cathedral, with no guidance descending.

Vana sat up in bed and, still in her pajamas, walked to the window. She glanced at the World's Creation outside, the city and sky still tranquil, but the restlessness in her heart surged.

A moment later, the young Inquisitor withdrew her gaze from the city. She approached the dressing table near her bed and casually pulled open a drawer.

Inside the dressing table drawer lay a dagger, a strangely curved ritual dagger. Runes symbolizing the Deep Sea Church shimmered with a faint light at the base of its blade, as if resonating with an inexplicable power.

Vana's eyes lingered on the shimmering runes for several seconds. Then, she used the blade to cut a wound in her palm. As blood seeped out, she placed her hand across her chest, softly chanting the name of the Goddess of Storms, attempting to seek divine guidance.

However, for some reason, she only heard the roar of illusory waves. The "psychic sense" state, which she could usually enter with ease, remained unresponsive today.

It was as if an invisible curtain had suddenly enveloped her, severing her connection with Gemona, the Goddess of Storms.

Vana's brow furrowed bit by bit.

Interference in the connection between a believer and their deity was rare but not unimaginable. The mapping relationship between subspace and the real world was profoundly complex, beyond the comprehension of mortal wisdom. Even divine power could sometimes be influenced by subspace, the abyssal depths, and the Spirit World, leading to temporary fluctuations in strength. Coupled with the eternal strife between gods and between gods and ancient gods, it was possible for some believers to suddenly lose contact with their deities in extremely rare circumstances.

But Gemona, the Goddess of Storms... it shouldn't be like this.

The Boundless Sea surrounded mortal civilization, and the Goddess of Storms' power permeated all dimensions, influencing all of reality. All gods might lose contact with the real world, even the God of Death occasionally left loopholes like the "risen ones." But the Goddess of Storms... it was impossible.

This was also one of the reasons why the Deep Sea Church had become the most prosperous church on the Boundless Sea.

Was the problem with herself?

Vana naturally began to doubt her own condition. However, as she looked at her palm, she saw the wound she had just made was already healing rapidly.

The blessing bestowed by the Goddess was still present and taking effect without any delay.

Vana recalled the chaotic and bizarre nightmare from before, as well as the ominous signs she had witnessed over the past many days.

There had to be a connection between all of this.

The ghost ship burning with green flames... the ghost ship...

Vana's mind raced, recalling and cross-referencing her knowledge of the occult. Her eyes suddenly turned serious.

She wasn't an expert in navigation and rarely delved into the absurd tales passed among superstitious sailors. However, even in the orthodox church scriptures, there was a ghost ship that occupied a special place.

It was an ill-omened vessel returning from subspace. Its captain was the terrifying Captain Duncan, who had caused the thirteen islands of Viseran to be swallowed by the border collapse a century ago.

Vana abruptly stood up from behind the dressing table, but then she remembered—it was late at night, and the Grand Cathedral's archives, like any other library, were closed at night.

Furthermore, for safety reasons, it was best for her not to discuss anything related to the dream within hours of it ending. If this dream truly pointed to Captain Duncan, he might be able to sense people talking about him through the connection established by the dream.

After all, he was a "ghost" capable of returning from subspace.

The safest course of action now was to wait patiently until the sun regained dominance over the world, until the connection established by the dream gradually dissipated. Then, she could go to the archives to consult relevant materials or discuss these ominous omens with the Archbishop of the church.

Regardless, if these prophetic dreams indeed pointed to Captain Duncan, if they were truly warning her that the legendary Lost Homeland was eyeing Pland with covetous intent, then as the guardian of the city-state, she had to prevent that terrifying ghost captain from docking, no matter the cost.

A tall, thin black shadow quickly moved through the deserted streets of the lower city. Its slender form cast a fleeting silhouette under the gas lamps.

A completely unfamiliar city, completely unfamiliar architecture, fragmented memories in her mind, and the eerily quiet civilian districts during curfew hours.

Yet, as Duncan walked through these alleys, his mood was exceptionally pleasant.

He had succeeded—not only had he successfully performed his second Spirit World Walk, but he had also managed to control a body and arrive on the ground, on the surface of Pland City-State.

He was interacting with the civilization of this world, observing the architecture and technology of this era with his own eyes.

And he was using a complete body—not open-minded or outlandish, this outwardly normal body would make his subsequent actions very convenient.

Frankly, the health condition of this body wasn't very good. Even while ignoring most of its ailments in the Spirit World Walk state, Duncan could clearly feel the sub-optimal health of this body. But he harbored no complaints, even finding it natural.

After all, based on these two experiences, Spirit World Walk occupied corpses that had been dead for a certain period—how could a lively person be a corpse?

The distant barking of a dog echoed from the end of the alley. Duncan cautiously slowed his pace, hiding himself in the shadows between buildings.

He didn't know if it was a patrol dog being walked by the church guardians on duty, but it was always better to be cautious.

Above the nearby buildings, massive pipe structures spanned across the low-lying houses. The radiance cast by the "Pale Scar" created intermittent light and shadow between these pipes. Occasionally, steam leaked from some of the pipe valves, forming a hazy mist in the night.

The barking faded away.

Duncan emerged from his hiding place, observed the street activity, and then casually soothed Ai Yi, the pigeon fidgeting on his shoulder. He then followed his memory towards the opposite side of the street.

Between a row of low, two- or three-story buildings, there was an old shop door. A dirty sign hung above the door, and the walls on either side still showed dusty, unkempt display windows—it was a shop, seemingly not small in scale, but clearly neglected and struggling.

This was the place that the fragmented memories in his mind guided Duncan to.

He approached the old shop door and looked up at the sign. A line of letters was faintly discernible in the darkness:

"Roen's Antiques," Duncan muttered in a low voice, "A rather concise name..."

After speaking, he began searching around the entrance. Since the memories in his mind weren't very clear, he fumbled for a long time before finding a spare key on a hidden hook beneath the windowsill.

The original owner of this body hadn't carried the key on them, nor had they carried any items that could identify them or help locate this antique shop. This seemed to be out of the caution of a seasoned cultist—but for a ghost captain capable of stealing memories, such superficial caution was meaningless.

Duncan opened the door to Roen's Antiques, slipped inside, and quickly closed the door.

The wooden door made a "bang" sound, but it didn't travel far into the night. The sign hanging above the door tilted slightly with the vibration. The letters on the sign seemed to writhe in the pale, cold night, and in the blink of an eye, new text appeared on the wooden board—

"Duncan's Antiques."