Duncan put the book back and checked the rest of the small bedroom. He didn’t find anything valuable—there was very little in the room, and it looked like it wasn’t used often. The most valuable clues were that book and two old notebooks tucked away in the desk drawer. The notebooks were filled with notes about steam mechanisms and engineering principles, mixed in with complaints about certain teachers or classmates.
From this, it was easy to guess that the person living here was a young student.
Duncan slowly pieced together memories in his mind. After putting everything back in its place, he returned to the master bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, thinking, then got up and walked over to a nearby wardrobe. He opened one of the drawers, almost on instinct.
Deep inside, he found a few bottles of strong alcohol and half a box of pain-relieving pills. These were left behind by a cultist named Ron. He had a serious illness that had worsened to the point of being untreatable. The cheap alcohol and pain pills were common items in the drawer, but they clearly wouldn’t help someone suffering from a chronic illness live any longer.
So, this hopeless man turned to the Sun Cult. The missionaries told him that the healing power of the Sun God could cure all ailments and purify the bodies and minds of the faithful. To some extent, the cultists did keep their promises.
They performed bloody and strange rituals, using blood as a medium to transfer the life force of innocent people into the sick cultists.
Duncan didn’t know how this ritual worked or if it really could heal incurable diseases, but according to the fragments of memory he had, Ron did improve after the ritual and became a devoted follower, even donating most of his wealth to the “messenger.”
However, Duncan didn’t care about what had happened among those dead cultists.
He reached deeper into the drawer and found a hidden compartment. After fiddling around a bit, he discovered a revolver and a box of well-maintained bullets. The city of Prand doesn’t prohibit citizens from owning guns, but they need to go through legal procedures.
A fake antique dealer living in the lower district clearly lacked the funds and identity to obtain a gun permit, so this was undoubtedly an illegal weapon. Out of caution, the original owner of this body left the gun behind instead of taking it to the gathering.
He likely used it to protect his shop, but now it belonged to the captain.
Duncan knew this was just a regular weapon. Compared to the “abnormal items” on the Lost Homeland, even his old flintlock on the ship might have some special power over this revolver. But he was a practical person; he understood that moving around in Prand was different from being on the ship. The body he was using was flesh and blood, and many places in the city were definitely not safe.
After all, he couldn’t just rely on the pigeon to handle everything—Ayi made too much noise and could attract unwanted attention from the church in the city.
Just then, a faint sound caught Duncan’s attention. He heard the sound of keys scraping from the direction of the shop door on the first floor, followed by the sound of the door opening and hurried footsteps.
Duncan quickly tucked the revolver away and noticed that it was already bright outside—he had been busy in the antique shop all night. Ayi suddenly started chattering on his shoulder, “You have a new message!”
“Quiet,” Duncan glanced at the pigeon and quickly said while walking toward the door, “Stay in the room until I tell you to come out. Also, don’t speak if there are outsiders.”
Ayi flapped its wings and flew to a nearby cabinet. “Aye, captain!”
Duncan quickly left the room, and just as he reached the stairs, he heard the hurried footsteps coming up the stairs, followed by a young girl’s voice from below, “Uncle Duncan? Is that you back?”
The next moment, a girl in a brown dress and white shirt with long dark brown hair entered Duncan’s view. She looked to be around seventeen or eighteen, small and thin, with a bit of morning dew still on her hair. Her face wasn’t particularly striking, just youthful and pretty for her age. She stared wide-eyed at Duncan, who was standing at the top of the stairs, her expression a mix of surprise and joy.
Duncan didn’t respond. He stood silently on the second floor, the sunlight streaming in from a narrow window behind him, casting his expression in shadow. He watched the girl for several seconds before finally speaking slowly, “What did you just call me?”
“Uncle Duncan?” The girl looked momentarily surprised, then became slightly nervous. She held onto the stair railing, peering carefully as if trying to see his expression in the backlight. “Is something wrong? Are you… have you been drinking again? You haven’t been home for several days… I saw the light on downstairs…”
The girl’s expression and voice fell into Duncan’s eyes and ears. She clearly didn’t understand (or hadn’t thought about) how to hide her emotional reactions.
From the memories he had absorbed, this girl was the original owner’s “niece,” his only family.
Duncan realized that the girl didn’t think there was anything wrong with what she said. She didn’t realize that calling him “Uncle Duncan” was a mistake from the start.
What went wrong? How could this girl, who theoretically shouldn’t know his secret, call him “Duncan” so naturally?
Confusing thoughts swirled in his mind. At the same time, Duncan found a bit of information about this girl in the fragments of memory—she was the dark-haired child, the last person the original owner had any attachment to in this world.
“Nina,” Duncan’s expression didn’t change, and his tone was calm, hiding the storm of thoughts in his mind. “Did you stay at school yesterday?”
“I’ve been staying at school these days,” the girl downstairs immediately replied. “I thought you would be like before, staying out for at least a week, so after tidying up the house, I went to stay with some classmates… Mrs. White, who manages the dorm, agreed. I just realized I left a book at home, so I came back… Are you okay? I feel like you… seem strange…”
“I’m fine, just a bit groggy from waking up.”
Duncan responded naturally, then stepped toward the first floor. He was starting to entertain some extremely absurd ideas, and now he needed to confirm them.
He passed by Nina as she turned to look at him curiously. Just as he was about to reach the first floor, she suddenly asked, “Uncle Duncan, are you going out later? Are you… going to stay home for a few more days?”
“...It depends,” Duncan didn’t turn around because he wasn’t sure if his expression was natural enough. He just answered his “niece” in the tone he remembered, “I’ll check at the door, and if there’s nothing going on, I’ll be home for the next few days.”
“Okay, then I’ll go buy groceries later. We’re running low on food…”
The girl quickly said as she dashed up the stairs, her footsteps quick and her tone light.
Duncan reached the shop door, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
He turned around and looked up at the sign hanging at the shop entrance. The old, dirty sign clearly showed the words: Duncan’s Antique Shop.
The first few letters were as old as the rest, showing no signs of being changed, as if it had always been that way.
Duncan frowned and slowly walked to the nearby display window. He leaned forward, using the dirty glass to see his reflection.
It was indeed a strange face, not that of the stern and gloomy ghost captain, but that of a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard, deep-set eyes, and a tired look—belonging to Ron, the cultist who had already met his end in the sewers.
Duncan straightened up little by little. He heard the city around him slowly coming to life. The sound of bells ringing from shops opening on the street, the sound of bicycle bells, and conversations filled the air. Someone passed by the antique shop; it seemed to be a neighbor from next door, and Duncan heard a greeting:
“Good morning, Mr. Duncan—have you seen today’s newspaper? The Deep Sea Church seems to have taken down a big cultist hideout. That’s quite a big deal!”
(End of Chapter)