Ashes Of Deep Sea-Chapter 196 - 200 Interception

Chapter 196: Chapter 200 Interception

The morning had been sunny, yet now, for some unknown reason, the sky had grown heavy—grey clouds and a thin mist descended over the Plunder City-State, casting the distant bell tower and chimneys into vague ink-wash silhouettes against the murky backdrop, while cold winds gusted erratically, stirring the colorful banners on nearby towers into a wild flap.

Two cars left the Underwood Family estate, one heading straight onto the main thoroughfare, speeding towards the city center, and the other turning onto a shortcut leading to the Lower City District, driving off into the distance under the gloomy skies.

Morris sat in the driver’s seat, cautiously steering the vehicle along the path while glancing outside at the weather.

The skies had darkened further since a moment ago, and the chaotic wind seemed on the verge of howling, wildly smacking the colorful flags on a few nearby towers.

This abrupt turn in the weather gave him an uncomfortable feeling, also reminding him of the last time he had visited that antique store.

...

The weather had been just as terrible then.

The old man raised his right hand to pat his forehead, hoping to feel more alert, while also casting a sidelong glance at the string of stone beads on his wrist.

Among the intricately knotted cords, only four colored beads remained, these divinely blessed stones twinkling weakly in the gloomy Sky Light, exuding a calming aura.

Rahm’s protection could save scholars from death when they encountered knowledge beyond their comprehension, but this protection was only marginally effective against the real danger of Subspace Shadows. Morris had no idea what awaited him at the antique store this time, nor if these beads could protect him as before.

Yet, he still set out for the antique store.

As long as he kept his curiosity in check, as long as he refrained from using his “Eye of Truth,” as long as he didn’t foolishly scrutinize Mr. Duncan and the various objects around him, he would be safe—the Subspace Shadow was friendly (although that was incredible), and as long as he didn’t overstep, it wouldn’t harm him.

It might even offer help.

Morris took a deep breath, slowing his racing heart.

He knew he had brushed against some terrifying truths hidden beneath the peaceful facade of the City-State, and as a historical scholar, he had an inkling of what these truths were. Yet, he hadn’t chosen to report directly to the Church but had instead sought out an indescribable entity from Subspace.

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It was undoubtedly an act of defiance, even heresy.

However, he still made that bold decision.

Heidi had gone to the cathedral. Her act of seeking refuge and the cryptic messages she’d sent should alert Bishop Valentin to the situation. Before he left, Morris had said a brief prayer. If Rahm was still watching over him, he had fulfilled his duty to warn the Church. Now, he headed to the antique store—with three courses of action at play, the chances of success were at least improved.

Fenna might be in trouble, and as a Judge of the Deep Sea Church, even she wasn’t safe, which made Morris reluctant to put all his hopes in the Church.

He just hoped that, at the very least, the cathedral itself wasn’t compromised, hoping… his decision to send Heidi there for refuge and to warn them had been the right one.

A sudden clap of thunder roared, and following the thunderous boom, raucous noises echoed from afar.

Busy driving while pondering these matters, Morris flinched at the unexpected disturbance, instinctively looking towards the source of the commotion and faintly discerning thick smoke rising above a distant building.

It seemed lightning had struck and ignited the roof—terrible weather, terrible luck.

That building was directly on his path, prompting Morris to mutter a curse before deciding to take an alternate side road, turning the car into it.

But he hadn’t driven far before a pack of rabid-looking wolf-dogs burst into the alley ahead, followed by a stumbling, drunken man wielding a club, chasing after the crazed animals. Noticing the car entering the alley, the drunkard cursed and rushed forward, waving his club as if to intercept.

“What kind of lunatic…” Morris furrowed his brow, pressing hard on the horn, hoping to snap the drunkard out of his stupor and clear the way. However, the horn seemed to only embolden the man, who cursed louder, charged in front of the car, and brought the club crashing down on the hood with a loud thud.

Startled by the noise, Morris suddenly realized something, immediately fixing his gaze on the drunkard’s eyes, and commanded in a deep voice, “Modazoro’s Geometric Law!”

Complicated and jumbled knowledge and memories suddenly flooded the drunken man’s brain, sparking a brief thought storm in the surface of his consciousness. The brute, who on a normal day likely never used addition or subtraction beyond double digits, immediately let out a pained and terrified scream, and ran away in madness.

Maurice immediately restarted the car and drove straight past the mad dogs still frantically barking on the roadside, charging towards the increasingly gloomy streets ahead.

Having shaken off the temporary trouble, no trace of relaxation appeared on Maurice’s face; instead, when a sudden large ditch appeared in his field of vision and a steam pipe by the road unexpectedly burst, sealing off the path with steam, his bad feeling finally got confirmation.

It wasn’t that the weather had turned bad out of nowhere, it wasn’t that trouble had suddenly sprung up, it wasn’t that his own luck today was poor.

Something was obstructing him—obstructing him, the “one who perceived the truth,” from moving forward.

This was not a forceful obstruction or a directly fatal threat; the series of accidents seemed more like some kind of “stress response,” akin to an auto-operative alarm rule.

How was this alarm rule activated? How had “they” found him? Was it because of his “awakening”? Or was it a specific action?

He had only vaguely perceived the truth and had not engaged in direct confrontation with the hidden enemies behind the scenes, yet he had already encountered this series of “obstacles.” Then what about Fenna? What exactly had she discovered, and what had she encountered that caused her entire being to disappear from this dimension of reality?

Maurice silently recited the Holy Name of Rahm and glanced out of the corner of his eye at the several colored pebbles on his wrist. He steered around the obstacles ahead and chose a main road leading to the Fourth District.

On the open and straight road, how were “they” planning to obstruct him?

Maurice blinked, and suddenly, he saw another figure besides his own in the rearview mirror.

A “person” wearing a tattered monk’s robe, withered and shriveled like a skeleton, sporting a grotesque smile on his face, was sitting in the back seat, looking at Maurice’s eyes through the reflection of the rearview mirror.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Maurice,” the withered and strange figure suddenly spoke, surprisingly polite, “Where are you heading to?”

“I should have realized… when Mr. Duncan and I were discussing the ‘Wilhelm Transmission Incident,’ I should have known it was you so-called ‘Preachers’…” Maurice slammed on the brakes and slightly turned to look at the figure sitting behind him, “…when did you sneak onto this car?”

“Hard to say, might have been yesterday, or maybe in 1889—right when you and your wife first bought this car,” the gaunt figure seemed to be smiling, his shriveled flesh crinkling into a mass, “You’re in such a hurry, do you have an urgent matter?”

Maurice responded with silence, but the gaunt Doomsday Preacher didn’t seem to mind, continuing very politely, “Wherever you’re going, I’m afraid I can’t let you through—but I won’t take your life, after all, regardless of everything, you once prayed to the Subspace during that great fire, which somewhat makes you our half-brethren… Ah, you don’t still remain unaware of whom you prayed to at the time, do you?”

Maurice’s face underwent a couple of rapid changes, eventually settling into a wry smile, “I see…”

“As we often say, Subspace is the promised land; it will answer all the desires of living beings and grant fulfillment fairly…” The Doomsday Preacher raised one hand, speaking devoutly and gently, then his gaze rested on Maurice, “What will you do next? Try to expel me? I have studied the power granted to the Believers by the God of Wisdom; they say your words can turn knowledge and memories into power, making the uttered words as forceful as bullets. I’m quite curious to witness… ”

“Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!”

Six deafening gunshots abruptly exploded inside the car; the Doomsday Preacher’s words were cut off as he was turned into a corpse by the large caliber revolver, with two shots to the heart and one to the forehead.

The withered body rapidly disintegrated into pale fragments, then dispersed like dust in the wind.

Maurice pulled his right hand from the angle covered by the side seat, a revolver still smoking in his grip.

“I’ve got bullets, why waste words with you…”

The elderly scholar muttered a few words, hastily reloaded the revolver, and once again started the car.

He knew that his journey was still not easy; who knows what might be blocking his path ahead—killing one mentally defunct Doomsday Preacher couldn’t end it all.

This Doomsday Preacher might even persist in troubling him tomorrow—since this fellow dared to board this car, it showed that he simply didn’t care about his death at this moment.