The twilight chimes representing the shift from day to night and the sound of steam whistles echoed faintly through the deep, damp slopes and shafts, reverberating in the dark and narrow sewers. This signal of approaching nightfall made the cultists hiding in the abandoned rest room even more distraught.
One of them was seriously ill, with an inexplicable illness, and now he was about to die—die in this dimly lit underworld.
"He's still alive..." one of the cultists said hesitantly, glancing at the "compatriot" lying on the ground. He saw that the other man's eyes were half-open and half-closed, his eyeballs slowly rolling in their sockets. The unfortunate fellow could still hear the sounds around him, but he no longer had the strength to open his eyes.
"Only for now," another cultist said in a low voice. "The twilight chimes have already sounded. He cannot die in this room—the Lord's protection will bless him with peaceful sleep in the darkness."
The man lying on the cot twitched his fingers twice. He clearly understood his situation. He didn't want to die like this, but death had already bitten firmly onto his shadow, and from the looks of it, his dear "sun compatriots" were considering moving this "hidden danger" out of the sanctuary before true death arrived.
An extremely oppressive silence enveloped the room, so much so that the dying man's weak breathing became clearly audible. After an unknown period of deathly silence, the black-robed man who had previously cursed the Storm Church suddenly broke the silence: "Let's wait a little longer, at least... the changes won't happen immediately when someone has just breathed their last."
"...Then let's wait," the low-voiced black-robed cultist relented somewhat. He glanced at the man who was breathing with difficulty, and couldn't help but mutter, "But why did he suddenly fall ill? Are you sure this is just a normal illness?"
"I know him... he runs an antique shop in the lower district that's about to close down, the kind with all fake goods," a cultist who hadn't spoken much interjected. "He was already sick to begin with, his health has never been good. He probably stayed in the sewers for too long and was frightened before, which led to the worsening of his condition."
Listening to the explanation, the low-voiced black-robed cultist finally relaxed a little—although he wasn't a high-ranking "priest," he had been converted to the sun for many years, and now he could be considered a "specialist" who knew quite a bit about occult knowledge. He knew very well how many long-term and hidden dangers would remain after a failed sacrificial ritual, and every believer who had participated in that sacrificial ritual could become a "carrier" of these hidden dangers. Now, this person who had suddenly fallen into extreme weakness... could be such a "carrier."
If it weren't for the constraint of "all children of the sun are brothers and sisters," and the fact that there were several soft-hearted cultists watching him, he would have thrown this unfortunate fellow into the vast darkness outside long ago.
After a long silence, the black-robed cultist suddenly made a move. He took out a pale golden amulet from his bosom and stuffed it into the chest of the dying "compatriot."
"What are you doing..." a cultist next to him asked curiously.
"I exchanged this sacred amulet from the envoy at a great price," he said in a low voice, his tone sincere. "May the Lord's grace protect our brother, and may the sun's radiance protect him from further corruption in the darkness."
The two cultists next to him immediately believed him and looked at the church senior who had "given away" the amulet with admiration. They made a fist with their hands and placed them on their foreheads, piously chanting in a low voice: "All children of the sun are brothers and sisters..."
The low-voiced black-robed man also made a fist with his hand and placed it on his forehead, following along in a low voice: "All children of the sun are brothers and sisters."
...
After the sun had completely fallen below the sea horizon, the starless and moonless sky appeared once again before Duncan. Pale cracks stretched across the sky, illuminating the boundless sea with their cold light, as well as the Vanishing Sail sailing on the sea.
Duncan stood near the stern deck, retracting his gaze from the sky and sighing slightly.
No matter how many times he looked, he could never see the stars that never existed in that pale, cold light.
But compared to the last time he saw this starless night, he was in a much better mood now.
On the one hand, he had accepted the various strange aspects of this world and was actively adapting to his current life. On the other hand, the fish today was really good.
He was a very optimistic person, and any small improvement in life was worth rejoicing for him—especially since the gift from nature was even greater than he had imagined.
At this rate, even if he couldn't establish a stable connection with the land in the short term, he could at least improve the living conditions on this ship.
Lost in his thoughts, he turned his head to look at the pigeon standing on his shoulder, and said casually in a joking tone: "Do you think... would it be easier for me to do something a pirate captain should do? Like finding a busy shipping lane to rob, or something..."
The pigeon tilted its head, its two eyes seemingly looking in different directions: "Is that appropriate, is that appropriate, is that appropriate..."
"Yeah, it doesn't suit my personality," Duncan smiled. "And it's easier said than done—robbing requires at least finding a shipping lane with merchant ships."
The vast sea was empty and desolate. The Vanishing Sail didn't know how far it had drifted from civilized society. Since the last time it collided with the ship transporting Anomaly 099, he hadn't seen another ship appear in sight—it was really hard to find a victim to rob even if he wanted to.
But just then, a voice suddenly came from the side, interrupting Duncan's wandering thoughts: "Captain, are we going to rob?"
Duncan looked in the direction of the voice and saw Alice sitting on a high wooden plank next to him, looking over with curiosity.
Under the pale glow of the scar in the sky, the gothic doll in her court dress sat high on the ghost ship, her mercury-like hair gleaming coldly in the night. She sat dignified, with curiosity in her eyes—this scene was like a classical and mysterious painting.
Duncan was a little surprised for a moment—after experiencing several chaotic "real-world trivialities," he had almost forgotten the elegant, mysterious impression that this doll had given him when she was first lying in the wooden box. As a result, he was a little taken aback when he saw Alice in a quiet state at this time.
Alice didn't know what the captain was thinking. She just asked curiously again, "Captain, are we going to rob?"
This sentence somewhat ruined her image.
Duncan looked at the doll with a wry smile: "Do you like robbing?"
"No," Alice shook her head. "It sounds boring."
"But you were 'robbed' onto the ship by me," Duncan reminded her with a smile.
"...That's true," Alice thought for a moment, nodding as she spoke, then asked another question, "So are we going to rob now?"
"No," Duncan waved his hand, walking slowly towards his captain's cabin. "I also think robbing is quite boring—in comparison, a walk is more suitable as an after-dinner exercise."
Duncan returned to his captain's cabin. After briefly instructing Goathead to take the helm, he entered his bedroom as before and closed the door.
He had decided to conduct his second Spirit Realm Walk tonight.
But unlike last time, this time he would use the pigeon "Ayey" to test this ability.
A cluster of eerie green sparks danced on Duncan's fingertips, and at the moment the flames danced, the pigeon, which had been strolling on the table, disappeared in the blink of an eye and reappeared on his shoulder.
Feeling the faint connection between Ayey and himself, Duncan slowly calmed down. Then, recalling the "feeling" he had when he activated the brass compass last time, he began to try to communicate with Ayey using the spiritual fire in his hand—
The invisible green flame turned into a thin line, wrapping around Ayey's wings. The next second, the white pigeon was suddenly engulfed in flames!
As the flames burned, the white pigeon's feathers all turned into illusory forms. The rising green fire seemed to reshape its flesh and bones. Ayey raised its wings in the flames, and the brass compass hanging on its chest opened with a "snap"—the dial depicting numerous occult symbols flickered with light, and the pointer in the center spun wildly before pointing straight into the distance.
The surrounding scenes disintegrated and scattered, and the familiar dark space appeared in Duncan's eyes. Then, there were those familiar streams of light, and countless twinkling "lights."
Duncan looked at those starlight following his inner feelings, searching for the next suitable "target" to contact.
Suddenly, he was attracted by one of the clusters of starlight.
He didn't know if this was the "Captain Duncan's intuition" that Goathead was always talking about, but he decided to follow this feeling—no matter who was behind that starlight, now, it had a connection with Captain Duncan.
...
In the abandoned sewers on the outskirts of the Principality of Pland, the few Solar God cultists who had managed to escape from the church guards were silently silent.
The world above ground had fallen into deep night, while the underworld was only protected by a weak cluster of lights in the abandoned room.
Even the most brutal and inhuman cultists would feel nervous and terrified in this gradually approaching darkness.
On the tattered cloth bunk next to them, the dying man was about to breathe his last.
Listening to the gradually low and difficult breathing, several pairs of eyes looked at the dying man at the same time.
They stared intently at the "compatriot" on the bunk. Everyone was very clear that this person would not be able to survive the night.
Under the gaze of several pairs of eyes, the man on the bunk heaved his chest for the last time—he breathed out the last breath of his life.
"May the sun continue to shine on your soul in the darkness," the low-voiced black-robed cultist said slowly, then waved his hand, "Put him..."
The next second, his words were suddenly choked back.
Before his eyes, the corpse with its eyes closed began to breathe again.
(It's time to recommend a book. This time, the book is called <
Xia Yu is an ordinary otaku who transmigrated with an ACG Encyclopedia system to a parallel world where ACG culture is very barren, and is determined to spread ACG culture throughout the world and plant the banner of anime across the globe.
Starting with "Pokemon," he gradually rises to prominence. Subsequently, Touhou, magical girls, KanColle, LL, Vocaloid, Gundam, and various other faiths begin to appear.
A new era is coming.)