Chapter 1 The Beginning

It had been sunny in the morning, but now the sky had inexplicably turned gloomy again—gray clouds and mist covered the city-state of Pland from top to bottom. The distant clock tower and chimneys seemed to have turned into vague ink paintings against this hazy background, and gusts of cold wind blew in erratic directions.

Two cars drove out of the Underwood family's mansion. One sped straight onto the avenue, heading towards the city center, while the other turned onto a shortcut leading to the lower city, driving into the distance under the gloomy sky.

Morris sat in the driver's seat, cautiously maneuvering the car along the narrow road while peering at the weather outside.

The sky was even gloomier than before, and the chaotic wind was almost howling, wildly flapping the colorful flags on the nearby towers.

This sudden turn for the worse made him feel vaguely uneasy, and it reminded him of the last time he went to that antique shop.

The weather seemed to be just as bad back then.

The old man raised his right hand and patted his forehead, trying to invigorate himself. He also glanced at the string of stone beads on his wrist.

Only four colorful stones remained on the intricately knotted string. These stones, blessed by divine grace, shimmered with a faint light under the dim sky, bringing a sense of peace to the mind.

Rahm's blessing could temporarily save scholars when facing knowledge beyond comprehension, but this blessing had limited effect against the truly dangerous shadows of the subspace. Morris didn't know what awaited him at the antique shop this time, nor whether these stones could protect him as they had before.

But he still embarked on the road to the antique shop.

As long as he controlled his curiosity, as long as he didn't activate his "Eye of Truth" again, as long as he didn't court death by observing Mr. Duncan and everything around him, he would be safe—that subspace shadow was friendly (though it was unbelievable). As long as he didn't cross the line, she wouldn't harm him.

She might even be able to provide assistance.

Morris took a deep breath, letting his pounding heart slowly calm down.

He knew that he had touched upon some terrible truths beneath the peaceful facade of the city-state, and as a historian, he had a rough idea of what those truths were. However, he had not chosen to report the matter to the church himself, but instead was heading towards an indescribable being from the subspace.

This was undoubtedly an act of rebellion, even heresy.

But he still made this bold decision.

Heidi had gone to the cathedral. Her actions in seeking shelter and the veiled message she conveyed should alert Bishop Valentine. He had also offered a brief prayer before setting off. If Rahm was still with him, then he had fulfilled his responsibility of warning the church. Now he was going to the antique shop—taking three paths at the same time would at least increase the chances of success.

Vanna might be in trouble, and she was an Inquisitor of the Deep Sea Church. If even she could get into trouble, Morris dared not put all his hopes on the church.

He could only hope that the cathedral itself hadn't fallen, hope... that his choice to have Heidi seek shelter and give a warning at the cathedral was the right one. Suddenly, a thunderclap rang out. After a loud boom, noisy sounds came from the distance.

Morris, who was driving and contemplating the situation, was startled by the sudden commotion. He subconsciously looked in the direction of the noise and vaguely saw thick smoke rising above a building in the distance.

It seemed a lightning strike had ignited the roof—bad weather, bad luck.

The building was in the direction he was heading. Morris couldn't help but mutter a curse, then chose another small road next to it and drove into it.

However, he hadn't driven far when he saw several rabid dogs suddenly darting out of the alley ahead. A drunken man with a club followed behind the mad dogs. When the drunk saw the car driving into the alley, he immediately cursed and rushed up, waving the club wildly, as if trying to intercept it.

"Where did this lunatic come from..." Morris frowned, honking the horn hard, trying to make the drunk sober up and get out of the way. However, after hearing the horn, the man became even more reckless, cursing loudly as he rushed in front of the car and smashed the club on the hood.

Morris was shocked by the bang. He seemed to suddenly realize something, stared at the drunk's eyes, and rebuked in a low voice, "Morda Zolo Geometry Law!"

Vast and chaotic knowledge and memories suddenly flooded into the drunk's mind, stirring up a brief storm of thought in his superficial consciousness. The ruffian probably didn't often use addition and subtraction of more than two digits, so he immediately let out a painful and terrified cry and ran away frantically.

Morris immediately restarted the car, drove straight past the mad dogs still barking wildly on the roadside, and rushed towards the increasingly gloomy street ahead.

Having shaken off the temporary trouble, Morris's face didn't relax at all. When a sudden large ditch appeared in his field of vision, and a steam pipe next to the road suddenly burst, blocking the way with hot air, his bad feeling was finally confirmed.

It wasn't that the weather had suddenly turned bad, it wasn't that trouble had suddenly appeared, it wasn't that he was having bad luck today.

Something was stopping him—stopping him, a "truth-seeker," from moving forward.

This wasn't a forceful obstruction, nor was it a directly lethal threat. The series of unexpected events was more like some kind of "stress response," like an automatically running warning rule.

How did this warning rule take effect? How did "they" find him? Was it because of his "awakening"? Or a specific action?

He had only vaguely perceived the truth, and hadn't directly confronted the mastermind, yet he had encountered this series of "obstructions." Then what about Vanna? What did she discover, and what did she encounter, that caused her to disappear from the real dimension?

Morris silently chanted Rahm's sacred name, glancing at the colorful stones on his wrist. He drove around the obstacle ahead and took a main road leading to the Fourth District.

On the open and straight avenue, how would "they" try to stop him? Morris blinked. Suddenly, he saw a figure other than himself in the rearview mirror.

A "person" wearing tattered hermit robes, as thin and gaunt as a skeleton, with a grotesque smile on his face, was sitting in the back seat. Through the reflection of the rearview mirror, this gaunt and eerie person was staring into Morris's eyes.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Morris," the gaunt and eerie figure suddenly said, quite politely, "Where are you going?"

"I should have thought... when Mr. Duncan and I discussed the 'Wilhelm Transmission Incident,' I should have thought it was you so-called 'missionaries'..." Morris slammed on the brakes and turned slightly to look at the figure sitting diagonally behind him, "...when did you sneak into this car?"

"Hard to say, maybe yesterday, maybe 1889—when you and your wife just bought this car," the emaciated person seemed to be smiling, his emaciated flesh wrinkled into a ball, "Are you in such a hurry, do you have something important to do?"

Morris responded with silence, but the emaciated Doomsday Missionary didn't mind, and continued to say politely: "No matter where you are going, I'm sorry I can't let you pass—but I won't take your life. After all, you once prayed to the subspace during that great fire, so you can be considered half of our compatriot... Ah, you don't know who you were praying to at that time, do you?"

Morris's face changed drastically twice, finally turning into a wry smile: "I see..."

"As we often say, the subspace is the promised land, it will respond to all the wishes of all living beings, and impart fulfillment fairly..." The Doomsday Missionary raised a hand, speaking piously and gently, then his eyes fell on Morris, "What are you going to do next? Try to expel me? I have learned about the power bestowed on believers by the God of Wisdom. It is said that your words can turn knowledge and memory into power, making the words you speak as powerful as bullets. I would really like to see..."

"Bang bang bang bang bang bang!"

Six deafening gunshots suddenly exploded in the car. The Doomsday Missionary's words were unfinished when he was blown into a corpse by a large-caliber revolver. Two shots were in the heart, and one was in the forehead.

The gaunt body quickly turned into pale fragments, and then drifted away like dust in the wind.

Morris took out his right hand from the angle shielded by the side of the seat. A revolver was still smoking.

"I have bullets, why am I wasting time talking to you..."

The old scholar muttered a few words, casually reloaded the revolver, and started the car again at the same time.

He knew that his journey was still not going to be easy, and there might be something else blocking him ahead—killing a brain-damaged Doomsday Missionary wouldn't end everything.

This Doomsday Missionary might even continue to pester him tomorrow—since this guy dared to get into this car, it meant that he didn't care about his death at this moment at all.

96.

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