Ashes Of Deep Sea
Chapter 500 - Chapter 500 Chapter 501 Departing and a... What the fuck

Chapter 500: Chapter 501 Departing and a… What the fuck? Chapter 500: Chapter 501 Departing and a… What the fuck? For the “Counterfeit Agatha” born from the mirror, her life was split into two distinctly separate parts–

One part was warm, bright, fulfilling, filled with all her love and hate for this world and the emotional bonds she formed, which were essentially just a series of fabricated lies fed into her mind;

The other part consisted of merely three days, filled with pressure, fatigue, pain, and an eventual death-like liberation; yet, those were the only memories that truly belonged to her.

And now, as the deceased returned to the living world, the counterfeit had the chance to continue her journey. The problem that lay before her was this–the former was desirable but unattainable, and after a long time, all regrets would eventually turn into resentment, while the latter was real but frail, a pale and brief life insufficient to sustain her as a “complete person.”

Captain Duncan had given her a reminder before this inevitable difficult divergence arose, and after much contemplation, she concluded: to leave Frost.

The dark, cold depth of the sea was frightening, yet the process of “diving” had, for the first time, unveiled to her another possibility of “life,” just as the captain had described in the submarine–

“We fumble forward in endless darkness, civilization itself being a delicate and fragile rowboat. The light illuminates the area around the boat, and we use our shallow human wisdom to try to understand the silhouettes emerging from the darkness, to guess the appearance of the world…

“Most people spend their lives curled up in the safe corners of the rowboat, but someone must take up the duty of holding the light at the bow, of looking towards the horizon. This is a path that is bound to always move forward, because ‘the unknown’ is inherently a one-way concept, so… maybe I can give it a try.”

Agatha in the mirror spoke calmly, her black robe, which symbolized her role as a gatekeeper, had quietly transformed into an outfit that resembled that of a sea adventurer–similar to Martha’s, yet still retaining traces of the Death Church. She raised her hand to remove the hat that symbolized her priestly role, letting her long hair flow down. The wraps that covered her entire body slowly faded away.

She raised her head and gave Duncan a slight smile.

“Being a counterfeit, I have no real past, but I can have a real future. Let those precious memories quietly lie in the past; at least when I recall them in the future, they will still be bright and warm, not tainted with the murkiness of human frailties.

“This outfit was designed by Ms. Martha, what do you think?”

Duncan looked at Agatha in the mirror, and after a long while, he nodded seriously, “It suits you well.”

“Do you think I need a new name too?” Agatha continued, “If I plan to embark on a completely new path, shouldn’t I start by changing my name?”

This time Duncan was silent for a long period, but after a lot of thought, he shook his head, “No need, I think it’s good for you to still be called Agatha.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve gotten used to it, and changing it would be inconvenient,” Duncan casually answered, “Anyway, I can distinguish ‘you all,’ and ‘you all’ can distinguish each other.”

Agatha in the mirror looked deeply at Duncan: “…That doesn’t seem like your real answer, but it’s convincing enough for me, and I quite like the name myself–let’s consider it the last memento for my ‘past’.”

Duncan nodded, “Hmm, it’s good that you think so.”

“Have you already arranged things in the City-State?” Agatha asked again, “Do you really plan to be a ‘cemetery guardian’ in Frost from now on?”

Duncan raised his eyebrows, “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s not that there’s anything wrong… It’s just odd to think that Captain Duncan, who’s regarded like a Subspace Shadow to many, would be guarding a cemetery in the City-State,” Agatha honestly expressed her thoughts, “But as long as you are happy, that’s certainly a good thing–probably nowhere else will be safer than that cemetery in the future.”

“I think it’s great, I am also running an antique shop in Prandet, maintaining activities within civilized society helps me adjust my mental state well,” Duncan smiled, “Besides, maintaining an avatar’s life in the City-State requires expenses, at least being a guardian in the cemetery brings in some income…”

Duncan suddenly stopped.

He slowly raised his head and looked at the “gatekeeper” in the mirror, asking very seriously, “Will the Church give me a salary for this ‘new guardian’ role?”

It wasn’t until then that Agatha reacted, “You still need a salary?!”

“You don’t give salaries?!”

“Ah, normally we do, the cemetery guardian’s salary is directly paid by the Church…” Agatha said with a strange expression, “But a Subspace Shadow running to guard a cemetery is not a normal situation. I strongly suggest you go to the Church and talk seriously with the other Agatha about this, because from my understanding of ‘myself’, if you don’t bring it up, she absolutely wouldn’t think of it–or rather, wouldn’t dare to think of it.”

Duncan: “…Is it that outrageous?”

“Remember the string of numbers you wrote at the end of the whistleblower letter that almost drove a room full of cryptographers and mathematicians crazy? When transferring money to your bank account, the Church even set up a special operation team to monitor changes in the Spirit Realm–when dealing with ordinary humans as a ‘Subspace Shadow,’ please consider the ethical perspective of most normal human beings.”

Duncan twitched the corner of his mouth, rubbing his forehead: “…Alright, I get it.”

Agatha looked relieved, then curiously asked, “Now that affairs in Frost are settled, do you have any plans for what comes next?”

“I’m planning to return to the central sea area, and following some archaeological information provided by Morris, I will inspect the ancient relics and bizarre seas along the route that interest me. If possible, I’ll approach or even enter regions classified as ‘anomalies’ to explore and understand this world as much as I can,” Duncan clearly had plans in place and immediately spoke of his exploration plans with enthusiasm. “During this process, I will continue to maintain contact with the civilized world, and also see how the major churches react to my ‘warnings.’ If they show interest, I wouldn’t mind dealing with those mysterious Church Arks again…”

“It sounds like an alluring adventure,” Agatha said with pleasure and anticipation in her voice, “full of risks, but worth taking. It seems my decision was correct… So, shall we set out now, or do we still need to make some preparations?”

“Don’t rush; we need to arrange things for the White Oak first, and I must at least inform Tyrion,” Duncan smiled, “He should have returned to the dome office by now, it’s a good time for me to ‘say hello.'”

“Understood, then I won’t disturb you any further.” Agatha bowed her head, her figure gradually fading from the mirror.

Meanwhile, in the dome office of the Frost City-State administrative building, Tyrion had just seen off the last department representative–he had changed out of the ceremonial garb, grand but uncomfortable, and into his everyday attire, sitting back at his desk with a slight sigh of relief.

Next, he had a brief break–time to prepare for the rest of today’s work.

Managing a city was far more difficult than managing a fleet, especially a city mired in disorder. Even on his inauguration day, he hadn’t had a break from work. This morning’s events were crammed into his regular schedule, and he needed to catch up on everything delayed by the afternoon and evening.

Moreover, his responsibilities weren’t limited to those of Frost City-State alone.

The vast “enterprises” operated by the Mist Fleet over the past fifty years, his personal and delicate connections with other city-states, balancing the powers in the Chill Sea, and relations with his “family”… All these together were no easier than a Governor’s duties.

Tyrion sighed deeply, unlocking a drawer next to his desk to pull out many documents and records–there were archives related to the Mist Fleet, shared data from the Brilliant Starship, and personal letters from other city-states.

Rest time meant he could temporarily set aside the Governor’s duties and delve into another set of tasks just as demanding.

Glancing over the pile of documents, Tyrion couldn’t help but scratch his head.

Somehow, the bald head of his first officer, Aiden, suddenly popped into his mind.

A horrifying thought flashed through the new Governor, causing him to shudder involuntarily and abruptly stop scratching his head.

“Aiden shaved that himself, Aiden shaved that himself… He has regretted it for a century now…”

Muttering quietly, as though to shift the pressure he felt facing the pile before him, Tyrion was suddenly interrupted by a faint crackling sound nearby.

After an involuntary shiver, he quickly regained his composure and calmly looked towards the nearby mirror on the wall.

He was used to it…

Duncan’s figure appeared in the mirror.

“Son, I’ve come to say hello–are all well?”

“All is well, Father,” Tyrion stood up, cautiously meeting his father’s gaze but feeling more relaxed than usual, “Do you have any instructions?”

“Nothing much, just that I am about to leave…”

Duncan abruptly stopped.

Tyrion looked puzzled at his father in the mirror, only to see him staring intently at… the desk next to him, his expression unusually strange.

The shock in that expression tightened Tyrion’s heart. He hurriedly followed his father’s gaze and saw only a paper that had fallen from the pile of documents earlier; it was from Lucia, delivered from the Brilliant Starship.

It was a piece of “shared academic data.”

Duncan’s voice, very solemn, came from the mirror: “Tyrion, what is that? Bring it closer for me to see!”

“Ah… okay,” Tyrion quickly agreed, picking up the paper and bringing it in front of the mirror to show his father, “Is there any problem?”

“…Where did this pattern come from?”

“It’s from Lucia,” Tyrion replied immediately, his tone slightly nervous and guilty, “I haven’t mentioned to you before, but she has been researching something that fell from the sky recently…”

But Duncan didn’t speak, only staring intently at the paper. After a long while, he finally broke the silence with a whisper as if talking in his sleep: “…the moon?”