The sounds of the evening bell and the foghorn echoed through the damp, dark slope and shaft. In the narrow, gloomy sewer, these signals of the approaching night made the cultists hiding in the abandoned break room feel even more despondent. One of them was gravely ill, the cause unknown, and he was about to die—right here in this dim underground world.
“He’s still alive…” one cultist hesitated to say, glancing at the “brother” lying on the ground. He saw the man’s eyes half-open, slowly rolling in their sockets. This unfortunate guy could still hear the sounds around him, but he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes.
“Only for now,” another cultist said in a low voice. “The evening bell has already rung. He can’t die in this room—may the Lord’s protection grant him peaceful rest in the darkness.”
The man on the ground twitched his fingers a couple of times. He clearly understood his situation. He didn’t want to die like this, but death was already tightening its grip on him. It seemed that his dear “brothers” were considering removing this “threat” from their sanctuary before true death arrived.
An oppressive silence filled the room, so much so that even the dying man’s faint breaths became clearly audible. After what felt like an eternity of silence, the previously cursing black-robed cultist suddenly broke the quiet. “Let’s wait a bit longer; at least… he won’t change immediately after he breathes his last.”
“…Then let’s wait,” the low-voiced black-robed cultist relented slightly. He glanced at the struggling man and couldn’t help but murmur, “But why did he suddenly fall ill? Are you sure this is just a normal illness?”
“I know him… He runs a nearly closing antique shop in the lower district, filled with fakes,” said another cultist who had been mostly quiet. “He’s always been sick; his health has never been good. Maybe he’s been in the sewer too long, and after getting frightened before, his condition worsened.”
Hearing this explanation, the low-voiced black-robed cultist finally relaxed a bit. Although he wasn’t a high-ranking “priest,” he had been a follower of the sun for many years and was somewhat knowledgeable about mystical matters. He understood the long-term and hidden dangers that could linger after a failed sacrificial ritual. Each cultist who participated in that ritual could become a “vessel” for these hidden dangers. Now, this suddenly weakened man… could very well be one of those “vessels.”
If it weren’t for the bond of “all children of the sun are brothers,” and with a few other hesitant cultists watching, he would have thrown this unfortunate guy out into the vast darkness long ago.
After a long silence, the black-robed cultist suddenly moved. He pulled out a light golden amulet from his pocket and placed it on the chest of the dying “brother.”
“What are you doing…” one of the nearby cultists asked curiously.
“This sacred amulet cost me dearly to obtain from the messenger,” he said in a low voice, sincerity in his tone. “May the Lord’s grace protect our brother; perhaps the sun’s light can prevent him from further erosion in the darkness.”
The two cultists beside him immediately believed him and looked at the elder cultist with admiration. They clasped their fists to their foreheads and quietly recited, “All children of the sun are brothers…”
The low-voiced black-robed man also clasped his fists to his forehead and joined in the recitation: “All children of the sun are brothers.”
…
After the sun completely sank below the horizon, the starless, moonless sky appeared before Duncan once again. Pale cracks stretched across the sky, casting a cold light over the vast sea and the ship Lost Homeland sailing upon it.
Duncan stood near the stern deck, withdrawing his gaze from the sky and letting out a small sigh. No matter how many times he looked, he couldn’t see the nonexistent stars in that pale, cold glow.
But compared to the last time he saw this starless night, he felt much better now. On one hand, he had accepted the oddities of this world and was actively adapting to his current life. On the other hand, the fish he caught today was indeed quite good.
He was an optimistic person; any small improvement in life brought him joy—especially since nature had given him more than he expected. At this rate, even if he couldn’t establish stable contact with the land in the short term, he could at least improve the living conditions on this ship.
Lost in thought, he turned to the pigeon perched on his shoulder and jokingly said, “What do you think… would it be easier for me to do something a pirate captain should do? Like robbing a busy shipping lane or something…”
The pigeon tilted its head, its eyes darting around: “Does that make sense, does that make sense, does that make sense…”
“True, it doesn’t fit my character,” Duncan chuckled. “And it’s easier said than done—robbing someone requires finding a shipping lane with merchant ships.”
This vast sea was empty, and the Lost Homeland had no idea how far it had drifted from civilization. Ever since the last collision with the ship carrying the strange item 099, he hadn’t seen another ship appear in sight—he wouldn’t even know where to find victims if he wanted to rob someone.
Just then, a voice suddenly interrupted Duncan’s thoughts: “Captain, are we going to rob someone?”
Duncan turned to see Alice sitting on a high plank nearby, looking at him curiously. Under the pale glow of the sky’s crack, the Gothic doll in her court gown sat gracefully on the ghost ship, her mercury-like long hair shimmering in the night. She sat dignified, her eyes filled with curiosity—this scene resembled a classic and mysterious painting.
For a moment, Duncan was a bit surprised. After experiencing several chaotic “real-life matters,” he almost forgot the elegant and mysterious impression this doll had given him when she first lay in the wooden box. Seeing Alice in her quiet state now left him a bit stunned.
Alice, unaware of the captain’s thoughts, asked curiously again, “Captain, are we going to rob someone?”
This question somewhat shattered her image.
Duncan looked at the doll, both amused and exasperated: “Do you like robbing?”
“Not really,” Alice shook her head. “It sounds pretty boring.”
“But you were ‘robbed’ onto my ship,” Duncan reminded her with a smile.
“…That’s true,” Alice thought for a moment, nodded, and then asked, “So are we going to rob someone now?”
“No,” Duncan waved his hand and casually walked toward his captain's room. “I also think robbing is pretty boring—compared to that, a stroll is more suitable as a post-meal activity.”
Duncan returned to the captain's room, briefly instructed Goat Head to steer the ship, and then, like last time, entered his sleeping quarters and closed the door.
He had decided to attempt the second spirit realm walk tonight.
But unlike last time, he would use the pigeon, Ai Yi, to test this ability.
A cluster of green sparks danced at Duncan’s fingertips, and as the flames flickered, the pigeon that had been wandering on the table suddenly vanished, reappearing on his shoulder.
Feeling the faint connection between Ai Yi and himself, Duncan slowly calmed down. He recalled the “feeling” he had when he activated the brass compass last time and began to try to communicate with Ai Yi using the spirit fire in his hand—
The invisible green flame transformed into a thin line, wrapping around Ai Yi’s wings. In the next moment, the white dove was suddenly engulfed in flames!
As the fire burned, the dove’s feathers turned into an ethereal form. The rising green fire seemed to reshape its flesh and bones. Ai Yi spread its wings in the flames, and the brass compass hanging from its chest suddenly “snapped” open—the dial, covered with various mystical runes, flickered with dim light, and the central pointer spun wildly before pointing straight ahead.
The surrounding scenery shattered and scattered, revealing the familiar dark space before Duncan’s eyes, followed by those familiar streams of light and countless twinkling “lights.”
Following his instincts, Duncan looked toward those starry lights, searching for the next suitable “target” to connect with.
Suddenly, one cluster of starlight caught his attention.
He didn’t know if this was what Goat Head always referred to as “Captain Duncan’s intuition,” but he decided to follow this feeling—no matter who was behind that starlight, he was now connected to Captain Duncan.
…
In the abandoned sewer at the edge of the Pland city-state, the few sun god cultists who had narrowly escaped the church guards were silent.
The world above had plunged into deep night, while the underground world was only protected by a faint light in the abandoned room.
Even the most ruthless and inhumane cultists felt nervous and terrified in the encroaching darkness.
On the ragged bedding nearby, the dying man was about to take his last breath.
Listening to the increasingly weak and labored breathing, several pairs of eyes turned toward the dying man.
They stared at their “brother” on the bedding, each fully aware that he wouldn’t survive the night.
Under the watchful eyes, the man on the bedding took one last deep breath—he exhaled the final breath of his life.
“May the sun continue to shine upon your soul in the darkness,” said the low-voiced black-robed cultist slowly, then waved his hand. “Take him…”
In the next second, his words were suddenly cut off.
Before his eyes, the corpse with closed eyes began to breathe again.
(End of chapter)