Chapter 1 The Guardhouse Falls Silent

The guardhouse quieted down. An unusual silence, as if solidified, filled the air—the old watchman even had the illusion that even the altar set up on the desk, the candlelight, the incense smoke, and the faint spiritual power permeating the air were frozen for a short time.

An illusion?

The old man raised his head in confusion, seeing the candle flames flickering in his vision, but as if they had only begun to flicker the moment he looked up.

He stared at the pale flames for a long time before slowly shaking his head, returning his gaze to the letter in front of him, looking at the words on it with a strange feeling he had never experienced before.

But after reading only a few lines, he couldn't care less about the sense of incongruity and embarrassment in his heart—the content of this letter began to make him realize the seriousness of the matter.

A warning that the city-state was being eroded and infiltrated by deep-sea forces, evidence of large-scale activities by the Annihilation cultists, speculation about the intrusion of the Gloom Saint into the real world, and... a warning about Dagger Island.

The old watchman stared intently at the lines of text on the letter in his hand, suddenly feeling that the unsettling atmosphere that had been spreading in the city-state recently finally had an explanation.

He didn't know whether he should believe this "report" from some unnameable existence, but one thing was certain—he had to immediately notify the Gatekeeper and the Grand Cathedral!

Agatha bent down, carefully examining the Sentine woman who was fast asleep on the sofa—the latter was still sound asleep, completely unaware that a large group of Guardians had gathered in the house at this time, even occasionally letting out a muddled, uneasy groan in her sleep.

She could still mumble in her sleep, which meant that her mind had not been damaged in the "attack," and the uninvited guest who had entered the house earlier had no malicious intent.

Agatha's gaze swept over Galoni. The Sentine woman's body could almost be described as burly—most Sentines were like this, they were born with well-developed bodies and skin as tough as stone. After a simple examination, the young Gatekeeper found that the other party's muscles would tense up from time to time, coupled with the muddled, uneasy muttering she had heard earlier… It seemed that this Sentine woman's dream was not peaceful.

"No external injuries, no signs of mental contamination, no signs of fighting. Outwardly, it's just ordinary sleep—but she can't be awakened," a priest in a gray-white coat stood beside Agatha, reporting the current situation, "Considering that the door lock also shows no signs of damage, and there are signs of use in the kitchen, the initial judgment is that the 'intruder' was invited into the house."

"…Maybe an acquaintance, or a guest who gained her trust," Agatha muttered softly, "What's the situation on the second floor?"

"A large number of samples have been collected, and a last testament has been found. The person who left the record should be the source of those… abnormal substances in the room," the priest nodded, "In addition, based on other clues found in the house, it is inferred that the person who left the record should be called Brown Scott, a folklorist."

"A folklorist?" Agatha frowned. "Has his background information been investigated?"

"People have been sent to the nearest resident management office to retrieve his file, but there has been no response yet."

"You guys stay here and take care of this lady," Agatha nodded. "I'll go upstairs and check the situation."

"Yes, Gatekeeper."

In the study on the second floor, the Guardians had completed the initial evidence collection and sampling of the scene. When Agatha arrived, her subordinates were trying to clean up the dried "mud" hanging from the bookshelves in order to move the large number of books in the room.

In a place where supernatural events have gone out of control, the books left at the scene are very likely to be contaminated by supernatural power, and it is a necessary procedure to transfer and seal these books for research—even if doing so may "damage the scene."

Agatha's gaze fell on the dried, gray-black mud.

These things… reminded her of the samples collected in Cemetery No. 3, those… strange substances suspected to be "primordial matter."

She also saw the "last testament" that the priest mentioned earlier—it was placed in the most conspicuous place on the desk.

At the first glance of the record, Agatha judged that the manuscript had been processed. There were obvious traces of cleaning on its surface, and the cleaning was very meticulous.

This was not something that a malicious intruder would do, but rather like a "professional" who came to investigate the incident for legitimate purposes, just like herself. Thinking of the sleeping woman downstairs, Agatha already had some preliminary guesses in her mind.

A mysterious third party, who at least didn't seem to be an enemy—were they the same group as the people who fought the Annihilation cultists in the alley outside?

If so… then this "third party's" power needed to be carefully monitored.

With various guesses and inferences running through her mind, Agatha's gaze slowly swept over the words on the "last testament," and as those words, soaked in determination, courage, and awareness, came into view, the Gatekeeper's gaze gradually became heavy and solemn.

The owner who left the record... had actually retained a clear consciousness and memory.

After a brief silence, Agatha took a light breath. She solemnly placed the last testament back on the desk, then picked up her cane and slowly traced a line on the floor with the tin tip.

The sound of metal rubbing against the wooden planks rang out, and pale flames burned at the tip of the cane, leaving behind a similarly pale, glowing trace on the floor. As the flames and the glowing trace extended, the sound of the cane rubbing against the floor began to change—it became lower and slower, as if a thick barrier had been invisibly established, gradually isolating the surrounding space.

Soon, Agatha outlined a triangular area large enough for an adult to stand in, and drew the runes of Bartok, the God of Death, within the triangular area. Then, she stepped into the center of the triangle, placed the cane beside her, and reached for her eye socket with the other hand.

A fresh eyeball popped out of its socket and landed in her palm.

In just an instant, everything quieted down, and all sounds from the real dimension were blocked outside the triangle by an invisible barrier. Then, countless whispers appeared in the silence, as if hundreds of invisible voyeurs were gathering outside the triangle, endlessly telling the Gatekeeper something.

Agatha raised her hand, palm up, and scanned her surroundings with her eyeball.

Everything in the room, including the busy Guardians, the dust floating in the air, and the hands of the clock on the wall, were frozen in place like solidified amber, and quickly faded in color and plunged into darkness in the stillness. A strange, pale glow permeated in from outside the window, shining through the wooden boards blocking the window and casting shadows in the room.

In this strange, pale, static space-time, only Agatha in the middle of the triangle maintained the appearance and color of a living person. She closed her eyes, holding her eyeball in her left hand, scanning her surroundings and calmly speaking, "I want to speak with the dead here."

The annoying, countless whispers around her suddenly weakened a lot. Agatha turned her left hand, letting her eyeball look at the desk not far away.

That was where the folklorist Brown Scott, who left the "last testament," had last worked. In theory, if a soul had ever resided here, then some of its remaining radiance should still linger here.

Even though the "mud" visible everywhere in the room showed that what was most likely in this room was just a "monster" condensed by supernatural power, that "monster" clearly had humanity in it. Agatha had been certain of this after reading the record.

However, she found nothing beside the empty desk.

There was no lingering radiance of a soul, no projection formed by obsession, not even a glimmer of spiritual residue. There was only a table devoid of color, with black substances piled on it, and thin smoke rising from the substances.

Agatha's eyeball swayed slowly in her palm.

The Gatekeeper was thinking.

Was it because the time of death was too long, and the soul's remaining radiance had dissipated? Or was it because what had been in this room was just a "counterfeit," so there was actually no real humanity, but only simulated memories and personality? Or… had the soul passed through Bartok's gate and entered the resting place?

The last guess was especially unlikely—after all, judging from the current state of the room, even if that "Brown Scott" had ever had a soul left here, it had been severely contaminated, and a contaminated soul… could not pass through that door.

But where did the soul go?

The low whispers around her rang out again, even louder and more annoying than before.

The shadows of the spirit world were becoming restless. They had no good feelings about the sudden intrusion of an uninvited guest—even as a powerful Gatekeeper, it was best not to stay in this depth for too long.

Thinking of this, Agatha raised her cane and tapped it on the floor twice.

The tin cane made a booming sound as if thunder were rumbling.

"Agatha, the Gatekeeper of the mortal world, wishes to speak with the Gatekeeper of the world of the dead."