"Whoosh!"
A chill wind came howling in.
Silas was just about to strike back when he suddenly made out the source of that eerie gust: a slip of paper, delivered in secret, drifting down into his hand on the current of air.
Queen Mystic Bernadette's messenger remained as concealed as ever, never showing itself before Silas.
Silas unfolded the note and looked down to read it. The handwriting, though elegant, was slightly disordered, as if the Queen had written it in a great hurry, too rushed even to seal it into an envelope.
There were only a few short lines on it:
[Intis and the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun are searching for the "Black King." It's unclear for now where their information came from.
Be extra careful. According to intelligence on my end, the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun has dispatched a Sequence 3, and is carrying with them a Level 0 Sealed Item.]
A Level 0 Sealed Item?!
After reading the note, Silas's expression shifted slightly.
The so-called "Sealed Item" designation was the official term used by the Northern Continent's Church of the Evernight Goddess... no, by the True God Church, for Beyonder artifacts.
Depending on how dangerous they were, they were divided into four tiers: 0, 1, 2, and 3. Among these, the Tier 2 and Tier 3 designations weren't shared between churches; each church assigned its own code names by its own system.
For example, the designation 2-11 referred to different things within the Evernight Church and the Storm Church, each representing a distinct Beyonder item owned by that particular church.
But this rule didn't apply to Level 0 and Level 1 Sealed Items.
Because their effects were so powerful, and the harm they could cause was so staggering, the seven great churches had reached a consensus.
To some extent, they would share this intelligence with one another, informing each other of what they possessed. As a result, the code names of Level 0 and Level 1 Sealed Items were never duplicated.
Among these, the effects of Level 0 Sealed Items were especially terrifying. That traitor to the Evernight Church who deserved to die a thousand deaths, Ince Zangwill, had once used Sealed Item 0-08 to steer the unfolding of events within an entire city according to his own will.
Now, what Silas faced was a Level 0 Sealed Item whose exact capabilities remained unclear, and the degree of danger involved could well be imagined.
"Now that's quite the surprise..."
He murmured under his breath. A ripple of black shadow surged across his palm, and the slip of paper corroded and disintegrated rapidly, until it vanished entirely.
On the other side of Aroka Island, inside the local governor's residence.
"Your Excellency the Archbishop."
A deacon walked respectfully into the room, both hands holding a scroll of parchment raised above his head. The room's furnishings were extremely plain, lacking the gilded decorations so common to the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun, containing nothing but an ordinary single bed, a table and chairs... simple to the point of being almost shabby.
The one thing worth remarking on in this room was the floor-to-ceiling window at the front. The governor's residence stood at the highest point on Aroka Island, and this window faced directly out over the sea toward the rising sun, so that the sun hanging in the sky flooded the entire room with its blazing light.
The Archbishop of the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun, Jean Pierre, stood in the center of the room, arms raised high, striking a pose of praise toward the sunlight.
He looked already quite elderly, his face deeply lined with wrinkles, dressed in a long white robe, bathed in golden light. Under such illumination he appeared pure and dignified, as if his entire body had turned translucent, merging with the sunlight itself.
"How is it going?"
The Archbishop slowly lowered his arms and asked calmly.
He turned to look at the deacon. Beneath that aged countenance, a pair of ice-blue eyes remained utterly pure, utterly dignified. His eyes seemed to hold a soul-stirring power, representing absolute justice and authority.
"We have fully confirmed that ship's course."
The deacon said, stepping forward to present the scroll of parchment.
Jean Pierre took it, unrolled it, gave it a cursory glance, and handed it back.
"Give it to Rear Admiral Francois. Tell him to move tomorrow."
He said.
"No need to pass it along."
A voice, tinged with amusement, spoke up. A young officer with fiery red hair appeared outside the doorway.
He strode into the room, taking the parchment from the deacon's hands along the way. "Though, must we really rush this much? Why not observe for a few more days, confirm its course thoroughly, and then act?"
As the commander of this naval force, it was only natural that he had a deeper need for solid intelligence.
Pierre shook his head slightly.
"I have heard the Lord's revelation."
He murmured softly, "Today's sunlight should shine upon today's blooming flowers; justice that arrives late cannot redeem yesterday's injustice."
The deacon beside him prostrated himself in excitement, listening to the Archbishop's sermon.
"That ship is a remnant of the imperial era, a symbol of Roselle's decadent rule. He governed the nation through tyranny, enslaving the Lord's faithful through violence. He is a heretic, an enemy of the Lord!"
Golden motes of light swirled around Pierre, his figure appearing righteous and inviolable. Even though his words were already extremely radical, this was the very creed he believed in, the "justice" he held to be true in his own heart.
His sense of justice was simple and twisted: nothing more than fierce opposition to Roselle.
"...Very well, Your Excellency. Understood."
A strange expression crossed Francois's face, as if the hunter's instinct in him were urging him to voice some mockery, but the instinct for self-preservation reined the impulse back in. The corner of his mouth twitched sharply. "You are the one in overall charge. Since you've made your decision, I will naturally comply."
As for what he was actually thinking, there was no way to know.
After adjusting himself for a moment, Silas made his way down to the ground floor of the inn.
He needed to gather more information in order to decide his next move.
The front desk was no longer as crowded as before. Those who could afford to pay had already checked in, and those who couldn't had likely gone off to find some other arrangement. The liveliest spot now was instead the restaurant-and-bar on the other side, since with the sea route blockaded, the fishermen who would otherwise have been out at sea had no choice but to gather there in broad daylight to drink and swap stories.
"Did you hear?"
A fisherman said, already drunk. "Those navy men, and the church people who came, they're here looking for that ghost ship."
"Old Corney next door to me, he saw that ship back when he was young. They came and hauled him off for questioning just a few days ago..."
Someone else chimed in.
The Fog Sea was thick with heavy mist everywhere, and people held a natural fear of whatever lay hidden in its unseen depths. This was a place with no shortage of eerie tales.
Stories like: someone had fished up more vessels in the Newins style; some ship had spent a night out at sea and heard strange sounds drifting out of the fog, only to find the next morning that the sailor standing night watch was nothing but a skeleton; some fleet had been stalked by an unknown monster, fifteen ships sailing out and only two coming back, and so on.
Among these, of course, was the tale of the "ghost ship."
According to local legend, those who set sail from here would sometimes, deep within the fog, pass close by an ancient black vessel. The islanders all called that mysterious ship the "ghost ship."
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