ASHES OF DEEP SEA

Chapter 294: Chapter 298 PTSD

Outside the guardhouse, on the pathway to the morgue, the stack of charred remains that still vaguely resembled a human figure remained unmoved. Several church guards were preparing to transfer these remnants into a wooden box when they ceased their motions upon seeing the “Gatekeeper” and the cemetery caretaker appear.

Gatekeeper Agatha pointed to the burnt remnants, “What you saw yesterday, it should have been him—of course, what remains here now is just a shell. The ‘visitor’ that once occupied this shell has indeed departed.”

The old caretaker approached the remains, lowering his head to inspect them for a moment before slightly furrowing his brow, “He is…?”

“If I’m not mistaken, he was one of the four heretics disguised as clergy last night,” Agatha stated calmly, “This shell died due to a backlash from a Profound Demon Symbiosis.”

The old caretaker fell into a grave silence, contemplating something, then suddenly raised his head two minutes later and said, “The body you brought last night…”

Agatha nodded, lifting her hand to point in another direction, “Over here, though its state is… even more peculiar.”

Led by the Gatekeeper, the old caretaker arrived at an empty plot on the edge of the morgue where processed “samples” and other crucial evidential items prepared to be sent back to the cathedral were stored.

The old caretaker stared, astonished, at what Agatha was pointing out to him.

It was a collection of large and small… glass jars.

“You mean… this is the body you brought in yesterday? The ‘Restless One’ who talked to me for a half-hour in the coffin last night?” The old man stared at the myriad of jars for a long time, finally unable to resist turning his head suspiciously toward Agatha, “Just last night, he was still lively enough to knock on the coffin lid!”

“Indeed, but when the guards found that stuff, all we could do was shovel it up and store it in jars as best as we could—the only things that proved it was indeed the deceased we brought to the cemetery last night are its remaining outline and location,” Agatha shook her head, “As you see, a semi-solid… sludge, barely retaining traces of biological tissues which are rapidly transforming into mud-like substances over time.”

She paused, pointing at one of the larger jars.

“There were a few bones here originally, but now, only this bizarre viscous substance remains.”

The old caretaker frowned deeply, staring intently at the eerie substances in the glass jars.

Those, devoid of any trace of biological tissue, dark red mixing with black-grey, resembling the mud at the bottom of a pond.

Had he not known that the “Gatekeeper” would not deceive him, he would have found it impossible to associate these substances with the “Restless One” who was chattily knocking inside the coffin yesterday.

“Well, the deceased has turned into mud; strange things always seem to clump together,” the old caretaker finally sighed, “Given the circumstances, how am I supposed to explain all this to the deceased’s family? They come to the graveyard to bid their loved one farewell, and then I tell them that a few heretics snuck in last night, and something akin to a Subspace Shadow came along, so their family member turned into jars of liquid?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that anymore—their family won’t be bothering you,” Agatha replied impassively shaking her head, “They’ve already completed the farewell ceremony in the adjacent Cemetery 4, and the miner who died falling into a well will be cremated as scheduled.”

The old caretaker blinked, his expression suddenly becoming serious, “You forged a body to deceive the deceased’s family?”

“We haven’t stooped that low,” Agatha said flatly.

“Then…”

“We found another body—around noon today, in that shaft well, a worker who had fallen to his death, identical to the body we brought here last night.”

The old caretaker’s eyes widened, his expression slightly stiff.

After a long moment, he suddenly came to his senses and instinctively turned his head toward a platform nearby—on that platform still rested the simple coffin that had been delivered to the cemetery last night.

Then he turned his gaze back to the eerie collection of glass jars in the sample storage area.

“… For the love of the god of death, what exactly did you bring here yesterday?”

“We’ll investigate,” Agatha stated, her expression, usually unchanging, now somewhat more serious, “What we can confirm right now is that the body sent to Cemetery 4 is ‘real.’ It hasn’t shown any restless phenomena, nor has it collapsed into dissolution, while the body we brought here last night… was tampered with by a transcendent force.”

The old caretaker was silent for a moment, seemingly burdened with heavy thoughts. At that moment, a church guard dressed in black suddenly approached Agatha from another pathway.

This church guard quickly whispered something to Agatha, then handed her a thick piece of paper.

Agatha glanced at the content on the paper, her expression unchanged, merely nodding slightly, “Understood.”

“What happened?” the old caretaker casually asked.

“Do you remember that yesterday there were four heretics who entered your graveyard?” Agatha lifted her head and handed the piece of paper directly to the old man. “You killed two of them; one turned into char outside your cabin. Now, we have located the last obliterated heretic.”

The old caretaker took the piece of paper, only to discover it was a photograph.

On an unidentified concrete floor lay a pile of remains, barely recognizable as human contours, with evident burn marks—just like the pile of char at the entrance of the caretaker’s cabin.

Clearly, it was the backlash after the severance of the demonic symbiotic relationship.

“It was that woman…” the old caretaker frowned, lifting his gaze to Agatha, “Is she dead? How did she die? Where?”

“Two blocks away, right in the middle of the public eye, this pile of remains suddenly fell at the intersection,” Agatha explained. “Along with it, there appeared an obviously out-of-control Herald of Death demon—that demon collapsed and vanished within seconds in the real world, and the bystanders at the scene alerted the sheriff.”

The old caretaker pondered for a moment, then shook his head slightly: “I’m not an expert in this field; just give me your opinion.”

“My opinion is that this heretic might have seen the same ‘visitor’ you saw last night—the eyes of Profound Demons are more adept at perceiving the ‘truth,’ so her Herald of Death went mad, and in its frenzy, it dragged its master into the deep Profound,” Agatha analyzed calmly. “Judging from the remnants, this heretic was torn apart by other Profound Demons before the symbiotic contract backlash occurred; typical of unprotected falls into the Profound depths.”

The “Gatekeeper” finished speaking calmly, then softly exhaled.

She stared into the eyes of the old caretaker.

“I feel… there’s something watching over this city, and the coming days may not be very calm.”

…

Duncan arrived at the restaurant before evening.

Although he didn’t know when it started, the restaurant had somehow become a place where the crew gathered during their leisure time.

Upon entering, Duncan saw Morris grading Nina’s homework, while Nina supervised Sherry, A-Dog, and Alice in spelling words at a nearby table.

Fenna was sitting near the restaurant window, earnestly reading a book of the church.

The atmosphere seemed quite pleasant.

Duncan approached Morris, casually handing over a letter: “A letter from your wife.”

“From Mary?” Morris stopped grading, surprised at the letter handed over by the captain. He then took out his personal letter opener, mumbling as he began to open the envelope, “I told her in the letter there was no need to rush a reply.”

“Anyway, the ‘postage’ only cost a few fries,” Duncan joked lightly. “See what she wrote; maybe it’s urgent.”

Morris nodded, quickly scanned the letter, and reflexively frowned.

“What does the letter say?” Duncan asked curiously, then quickly added, “You don’t have to mention personal matters.”

“…Brown Scott’s second letter has arrived, only three days after the first,” Morris replied, his tone slightly strange. “His mental state in the letter was clearly not right—Mary was worried that the letter carried something unclean and burnt the original, but she recounted the content—Brown very anxiously advised me to stay away from Frost.”

“It seems your friend has recognized some of the truth,” Duncan remarked thoughtfully after listening. “Unfortunately, when I went to scout the situation in Frost, I did not have much success and couldn’t inquire about your friend.”

“Ah? You went to scout Frost?” Morris exclaimed in surprise, unable to hide his shock, “When did you go?”

“Just last night,” Duncan revealed straightforwardly; they were all trust-worthy here, “I borrowed a body—just a shame I didn’t get much information. It wasn’t this troublesome last time in Prand.”

As he finished speaking, they suddenly heard a thud from nearby.

Duncan and Morris simultaneously looked in the direction of the sound, seeing Fenna’s book had fallen to the ground.

Judge Miss’s expression was somewhat strange.

Morris, a bit worried, asked, “Fenna, are you alright?”

“She’s fine,” Duncan waved a hand, responding for Fenna, “She just has a bit of PTSD.”

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