Ashes Of Deep Sea-Chapter 374 - 378 Trapped

Chapter 374: Chapter 378 Trapped

Chapter 374: Chapter 378 Trapped

The shadows within the Spirit Realm receded, and the pervasive cacophony and overwhelming malevolence that filled the whole space quickly dissipated.

Agatha raised her left hand and quietly “watched” the emaciated heretic who lay at the edge of the triangular area, writhing in agony on the ground. The black chains that extended from his body had already shattered, and the broken links were billowing with dust, weathering into sand before her eyes.

After the death of the Profound Demons they hosted, the life of this heretic was also drawing close to its end—but at least for now, he was still able to answer some questions.

Although Agatha had little hope that this stubborn heretic would truly cooperate with her, she still walked slowly towards him and stopped at the edge of the triangle, looking down at the dying Heretics.

“You have completely corroded and replaced a piece of ecclesiastic infrastructure right under the nose of the Church, even replacing all the priests… This surprises me,” she said slowly, her voice seeming to mix with the deep echoes from a tomb, an overwhelming sound that could weaken the wills of most, “How did you do it?”

The dying heretic struggled to lift his head but only revealed a mocking smile, his gaunt face now devoid of fear, “You guess?”

Agatha remained unmoved, “Your nest is within the City-State of Frost, isn’t it?”

“Heh…” The Heretics’ head trembled as he forced his body to lie back on the pale ground, facing up to Agatha’s gaze, “Don’t waste your efforts. What does it matter if it’s in Frost… You won’t find it… When you find the sacred site, that will be the day of our success, foolish priest…”

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Agatha’s face was expressionless as she gently lifted her staff and touched its tip to the Heretics’ chest: “What exactly is your goal? To contaminate the City-State with the so-called ‘Prime Element’? Or are you planning to replace the living beings in the City-State with those ‘fakes’ that can’t even maintain themselves? What is your connection to the powers of the Mysterious Deep Sea? Does it have to do with the Abyssal Project?”

A cluster of pale flames ignited at the end of the staff, the fire burning flesh and soul, bringing immense pain that made the Heretic convulse and spasm. Yet this fanatic, already engrossed in his beliefs, clenched his jaw and glared at the guardian before him with a click of his teeth, forcing out an eerily creepy laughter, “Heh… heh… The promised one… is coming… No one… no one can escape…”

Agatha finally frowned as she slowly raised her arms. The Heretic was lifted into the air by her staff, the pale flames burning his body, already twisted from long-term Demon Symbiosis, making him like a piece of tattered cloth floating in the fire.

Her voice was cold, as if it circulated within a tomb: “One last question, you heretics… Why can you speak the name of the god of death?”

In the midst of the pale flames, a smile slowly spread across the wretched face of the Heretics, seeming particularly pleased. Seeing the guardian of the Church perplexed by this question, even the pain from the “Cremation” seemed to dissipate by half.

“The Profound Saint has brought forth revelation… All the faiths in the world point the same way… We who have received the revelation have already crossed the so-called boundaries… Guardian, do you really think there is any difference between your god and The Saint?”

Agatha’s expression changed instantly, the Heretic daring to put the Profound Saint on the same level as the god of death with such blasphemous words, fueling her anger. However, the Heretic revealed a final smile of liberation amidst the flames consuming his body, not giving her any further chance to interrogate him. He breathed his last, his body rapidly turning to ash.

“…Madman’s ravings, all topsy-turvy.”

Agatha’s expression darkened as she slowly lowered the staff. Her rage lingered, but these emotions did not interfere with her normal judgment—after controlling her emotional fluctuations, she immediately began to ponder.

Putting aside the Heretics’ final blasphemous equation of the Profound Saint and the god of death, this diehard heretic had actually revealed quite a bit of information worth conjecturing on.

They indeed had a “nest” within the City-State of Frost, and they called this nest “sacred site,” which meant it was indeed a place for conducting rituals, coherent with what was already known. The sacred site was also “hidden” by special means, making it very difficult to find, and he mentioned that finding it would be their moment of success… so, the method of hiding the place might well be related to their “ritual” progress. The closer the ritual is to completion, the more obvious its hiding becomes…

Was it because carrying out the ritual would inevitably leak some sort of aura? Or was revealing the site an indispensable part of completing the ritual?

The Heretics also mentioned, “The promised one is about to arrive,” perhaps corresponding to the ultimate “prophecy” in their belief system—that the power of the Profound Saint would overturn the real world and the Mysterious Deep Sea, originally lying deep in the world, would become the new “reality.” The fanatic followers of the abyss always regarded the Mysterious Deep Sea as their promised land; that was doubtless.

But how would this process be realized? Merely by continually introducing “Prime Element” into the City-State? Obviously, that would not suffice… Those “fakes” found it difficult to maintain their own stability, how could they contaminate the entire City-State?

Unless… these annihilation followers had a way to stabilize the “fakes” for a long time, they could create such an environment, or… transform Frost into such an environment…

Agatha frowned slightly, quickly ending her train of thought, and looked around her.

She was still in the Spirit Realm, the surroundings illuminated by the soft, pale light streaming in from a fissure in the ceiling, creating shadowy outlines. Slight noises again permeated from all directions, the insatiable shadows of the Spirit World stirring again—a single feast could not keep them quiet for too long.

The young gatekeeper shook his head, raising his left hand to reposition his eyeball back into its socket.

The faint noise around him vanished in an instant, and the space comprised of vague light and shades of black, white, and gray regained color in the blink of an eye as the breath of the real world came rushing in.

Agatha let out a sigh of relief and reached into her clothing for eye drops, but suddenly, her movements froze.

There was an unnerving silence all around, not a soul in sight.

Agatha looked up and surveyed her surroundings; she could not see the black-clad guards she had brought with her, nor the fleeing manager of the sewage treatment plant, nor the three heretics, or even the ashen remains of the dozen or so “counterfeit” beings—

In theory, after she had vanquished those heretics and the “counterfeits” in the Spirit Realm, their remains should have simultaneously appeared in the real world.

The silence around her was excessively eerie, to the point where she couldn’t sense the presence of any living person nearby.

Agatha furrowed her brows tightly. She rotated her eyes, easing their dryness while carefully observing her surroundings before slowly making her way to the gate not far off.

The slightly rusted metal gate was left ajar, as if someone had hurried out and failed to close it properly.

With creaking noises, the metal gate was pushed open little by little.

Behind the gate was a long corridor where the gas lamps burned steadily, brightly, yet with no warm reassurance the light should bring.

“Tap… tap… tap…”

The clear, hollow sounds of a cane tapping and heels clicking echoed down the corridor as Agatha walked slowly along.

The entire sewage treatment plant was deserted.

Yet there were no enemies in sight.

She passed straight through the factory area and came out onto the open ground outside.

The sky was overcast; dense, chaotic clouds hung over the City-State, with only weak light seeping through, barely enough for one to discern that it was indeed daytime. The buildings in view were shrouded in this dim Sky Light, enveloped in a chilling, deathly, bizarre atmosphere.

Agatha distinctly remembered that the weather was clear when she arrived at the sewage treatment plant—the sun was hanging high in the sky, and the City-State was cloudless.

The sun?

A sliver of doubt suddenly arose in Agatha’s heart, which then expanded into a clear sensation of cognitive dissonance. She snapped her attention back to the sky, observing carefully.

The sky displayed only an unidentifiable chaotic brilliance, without any celestial body that could possibly be called “the sun.”

Agatha struggled to recall the appearance of “the sun,” the concept of “the sun.”

She could not remember, as if a heavy veil shrouded her mind, preventing her from recalling what that “sun” in her memory looked like. But one thing was clear—there should be something in this world known as “the sun,” a presence that naturally hung in the sky, radiating light and warmth to everything!

“…Cognitive interference, capable of affecting the gatekeeper… incredible intensity, and it spans the entire environment…” Agatha muttered to herself. After a brief moment of astonishment, she had already regained her composure and started to scan her surroundings once more.

“It is the otherworld.”