Chapter 1 Mary

Morris's wife, Mary, stared at the envelope for a long time before picking up a letter opener from the side and carefully opening it.

A folded, thin piece of paper fell out of the envelope. Before opening the paper, Mrs. Mary noticed the uneven traces on the back of the paper.

Those were the traces of handwriting—written with so much force that the pen strokes were clearly visible as indentations on the back of the paper.

The person who wrote this letter must have been extremely agitated at the time.

The old woman sitting in front of the fireplace adjusted her posture slightly and placed the letter she had finished reading on the small round table next to her. At the same time, she glanced at the date stamp on the envelope of this letter from Frost.

The letter was postmarked December 5th.

Three days after the first letter was sent—in just three days, the deceased "Brown Scott" wrote this second letter.

Mrs. Mary opened the folded letter. A few lines of scribbled, chaotic words came into her view—they were nothing like the elegant and neat handwriting of the first letter sent by the folklorist a few days earlier. The few lines of text were filled with the writer's great unease and panic: "My friend, the situation... is wrong. I don't know how to explain it to you. I am very confused now, even unable to think. My mind is being disturbed by something, memories... Don't come to Frost! In any case, never come to Frost! Even if you see other things I write to you in the future, even if you see invitations in other forms, never come!

"There is a huge conspiracy here."

Honestly speaking, the old watchman was just silent—he maintained a state of near-mental closure, not moving, not speaking, not responding to external stimuli. From the moment the church guards received the report and arrived here, he had been sitting quietly in this chair, like a breathing flesh sculpture.

The white-robed guard voiced his question, but Frost Sha just shook his head: "No, it should be a more bizarre situation."

All that surfaced in his mind was a jumble of chaotic light and shadows, and an overwhelming noise.

The old man's voice suddenly rang out in the cottage, interrupting the exchange between the white-robed guard and the gatekeeper. Frost Sha immediately looked towards the source of the voice, a faint smile finally appearing on his expressionless face: "You've recovered, good."

This was a disturbing night. The whole thing was filled with a terrible atmosphere from beginning to end. In this situation, this was enough to make the person involved run to the church for shelter.

The old woman silently threw the letter from Duan Liang into the fireplace next to her, watching it quickly burn in the dim flames, turning into ashes.

The old watchman tried hard to recall.

"They also went to..."

A white-robed guard pushed open the wooden door of the watchman's hut, came to Duan Liang Sha, bent down, and whispered something. The latter nodded slightly: "I understand. Send the samples to the cathedral first. Keep the scene as it is. Tonight may be crucial. We need to leave someone to guard it."

"Understood, recorded," Frost Sha nodded again. "Then what? What else?"

"Protective mental closure. He is using this method to resist and eliminate the pollution he has suffered, and may also be protecting us in passing," Frost Sha said in a low voice. "The gravedigger must have come into contact with something far beyond imagination last night. He seems to have struggled back from the brink of madness... But don't worry, he is an experienced warrior and has successfully stabilized his situation. He will be fine."

"Enough," Frost Sha nodded. "What happened yesterday?"

Church personnel in white coats were walking around the cemetery, examining all the remaining traces—every path, every coffin, every street lamp, was marked and sampled in the hope of recreating what happened here last night.

"Why are you so sure?" the white-robed guard asked subconsciously.

They couldn't be the reason for the old watchman's mental closure. Even if the demons behind us lost control, they wouldn't be at that level.

The white-robed guard pondered for a moment, then looked up at the window. Through the slightly dirty glass, he could see the busy church personnel on the path outside.

Mrs. Mary's gaze swept over the small round table next to her, over this letter from the Ship of the Lost…

"An indescribable visitor?" Frost Sha couldn't help but frown. "Can you be more specific?"

He murmured softly, then got up and took ink, a pen, and stationery from the shelf next to him, and began to write—this was to be sent to the antique shop in the upper city.

"I wouldn't say I've fully recovered," the old watchman said slowly, gradually stabilizing the various senses that had been slightly distorted after regaining his rationality. He looked into Frost Sha's eyes, consciously shielding himself from the overlapping shadows behind the other person. "But at least I can distinguish which part belongs to reality and which part belongs to madness."

He then withdrew his gaze and looked at the two corpses in the hut—two intruders who had been verified as Annihilation Cultists, obviously killed by the old watchman. Because the situation was still old, the two corpses were left in place for the sake of preserving the scene.

"...The offspring of the Deep Sea Embers really have a unique flavor, even more delicious than normal fish. The captain has mastered ordinary cooking skills, while Normal 099—that is, Miss Alice—has learned the essence of it. Perhaps you should try it too..."

After an unknown amount of time, the young man, whose body was mostly covered in bandages, raised his head and looked at the sky outside the window, seeing the sun gradually sinking, and a layer of slightly reddish glow floating over the entire city-state.

"He led the two here, killed them, the two on the floor, and was then preparing to go to the cemetery to kill the other two when the accident happened."

"Okay, then that's the complete answer," Frost Sha nodded. "An indescribable visitor visited the cemetery in the final stage, but did not actively cause any destruction... Are you sure you want to use the word 'visit' in the report? That word is neutral, even friendly."

"I vaguely saw that he left some... things behind, on the path at the entrance," the old watchman said as he recalled. "But I couldn't see clearly. At this time, his vision was still slightly damaged, and his cognition was also greatly affected. I'm not sure..."

"He must be talking about a pile of remnants burned after being backlashed by the Abyssal Demon. We found it," Frost Sha interrupted the old watchman excitedly. "If I'm not wrong, that doesn't seem to be the visitor's... carrier."

"Because the scene really only has traces left by a few heretical cultists, and a pile of corpses and wreckage of suspected 'Manic' that have no remaining transcendent reaction," Duan Liang Sha said lightly. "No observable traces remaining means..."

The white-robed guard nodded in acknowledgement, but before leaving, she couldn't help but glance at the old man sitting motionless in the chair. When she saw the old man's muddy eyes, which seemed to be frozen, the young guard's face showed obvious unease: "How long will he... maintain that state? Is it really okay?"

"Confirmed," the old watchman replied calmly. "She had a conversation with me, although almost no communication was successful—the visitor attempted to communicate, which is a neutral and friendly signal."

"I can't, I only remember chaotic light and shadows," the old watchman shook his head. "And even if I could describe what I saw, it would be meaningless to me—what I see is not necessarily the truth, and even if it is the truth, it is not necessarily the truth in the eyes of others. As human beings, our ways of perceiving are too limited."

The hasty mental closure eliminated the temporary pollution he suffered, but also cleared some useful memories.

"An indescribable... visitor came to visit. He stared at me for a while, maybe only a few seconds. My sense of time is off, so I can't be sure."

Mrs. Mary looked at these scribbled words, as if she could imagine a folklorist whose mind was fractured by a huge cognitive tear, using his last shred of sanity to write these words, and then struggling to walk into the cold wind, struggling to deliver it to the post office.

The end of the letter did not even have a signature, and the stamp on the envelope was crooked.

"Gatekeeper" Frost Sha stayed in the watchman's hut, sitting opposite the old watchman, who had a clear temperament and a hunched back.

He slowly folded the paper again and put it back in the envelope.

Speaking of this, Frost Sha paused and added: "As for how long that state will last... that's hard to say. He may recover in the next second, or he may have to wait until this time tomorrow. It depends on how long he was in contact with this terrible pollution."

Evening was approaching. The guards he had brought had been busy in the cemetery for several hours, and the old watchman in front of him had been silent for several hours.

"That letter!"

The old watchman looked up, looking towards the direction of the door.

What could this be? A weaker Abyssal Demon? An Annihilation Cultist's high priest? Or something else?

"It means that the visitor last night did nothing. Just existing in this cemetery for a moment was enough to bring this old fellow to the brink of mental collapse."

"The corpse you sent suddenly became manic, said a lot of words, and was as clever as a living person. Then four Annihilation Cultists entered the cemetery, wanting to take away this manic—they used the power of the Abyssal Demon to disguise themselves, skilled in the art. They were experienced summoners, deceiving my eyes, but not my intuition.