Ashes Of Deep Sea
Chapter 758 - Chapter 758 755 Chapter Crossing the Border

Chapter 758: 755 Chapter Crossing the Border Chapter 758: 755 Chapter Crossing the Border This was a brilliant “Light Burst.”

An arc equivalent to one-quarter of a Sun Rune Ring disintegrated in the sky, then transformed into several larger glowing structures. For a short initial period, they still ascended and moved across the sky according to the normal trajectory of vision 001, as if each glowing structure still possessed residual power and navigational functionality, but in just a moment, their movement displayed clear signs of being out of control.

The glowing structures began to shatter into pieces, large and small luminous bodies scattered like fleets torn apart in a storm, carving bright, gradually distancing lines across the sky, and from these larger bodies split many smaller sources of light–compared to the large fragments, they were as inconspicuous as fireflies, falling from the sky with twinkles and a series of small explosions.

The light poured down like rain from the clouds, illuminating the night from the eastern border to the western islands with a strong and eerie golden sunlight, making the entire sea shimmer.

And those larger fragments fell at relatively slow speeds, continuously spilling glowing debris while following their own trajectories towards the entire world. Most of the fallen bodies were directed towards the southwestern sea domain, with a few smaller fragments falling towards the central and northern regions.

It was now the eighteenth hour after “nightfall,” and the Endless Sea was briefly illuminated by another great disintegration of the sun, as one-quarter of the rune arc was sufficient to light up the sky. Thus, this meteor shower that signified the approaching apocalypse instead brought about nearly an hour of “daylight” to this world–during which the entire world plunged into silence.

Duncan stood at the window of the second floor of the antique shop; he opened the narrow window at the end of the hallway, allowing all the wind and sounds to enter the building–the neighborhood was silent, neither the noise of horses and carriages nor human voices could be heard as if they had completely disappeared in the city, yet in reality, now, there were many people outside.

Men and women, young and old, left their homes or leaned out of their windows, staring at the trails of light falling through the sky. Crowds gathered on the streets, which even included squads of emergency assembled sheriffs and guardians.

Everyone seemed like their necks were being clutched, maintaining the same posture looking up, all frozen under that falling sunlight.

The only sounds between heaven and earth were the roaring and whistling as the luminous bodies slashed through the clouds and the periodic sounding of the church bells from afar.

Then, after an indeterminate amount of time, the sky gradually darkened–the last of the glowing bodies had also crossed the highest point between the clouds. They had briefly lingered in the sky, seemingly struggling to fulfill their original command to illuminate the world, but soon lost momentum, like the other fragments, plummeting towards the great sea, dimming in a spectacular trail of light.

The night reclaimed the sky, plunging Prand back into darkness.

The entire world returned to darkness.

A whistle sounded, suddenly breaking the silence in the neighborhood. The crowd gathered on the streets woke up at the sound of the whistle and began to orderly return to their homes.

Before closing the window, Duncan still heard other sounds–there were children questioning their parents about what had happened, asking why they couldn’t continue to go to school, why they couldn’t go out to find friends; some were cursing in low voices, others sighed, and some cried softly.

And the last sounds that came from outside were the foghorns from the direction of the docks and the church bells–as if the warships had received orders, preparing to leave the harbor.

Frem withdrew his gaze from the window and continued with a very steady hand to inscribe the last few symbols on the ceremonial stone tablet.

Under the lamplight, the figure of the Pope of the Flame Transmitter resembled a statue standing amidst light and shadow, his face with a rocky texture showing no trace of emotion, as if all his attention was wholly focused on the “Parchment” in his hands.

The fire in the sanctuary blazed fiercely, a cleric in a black robe stood next to the fire basin, reporting to the pope the latest developments: “…The patrol fleet located in the southwestern sea domain has noted several major luminous bodies’ falling directions and is dispatching high-speed vessels to search…

“Currently, there are no reports of fallen bodies directly landing near the City-State. It seems that this time’s Sun Shards all fell into the sea… There are also no reports of sea vessels encountering fallen bodies.

“The Creation of the World has reappeared in the sky… In the past eighteen hours, three city-states have reported a significant increase in Transcendent Erosion incidents within their cities… They currently do not need reinforcements but hope that the nearby fleets can draw nearer…

“At Mosara port, there have been Profound Demon attacks, and it is currently unclear whether this is due to the demons invading because of the nightfall, or if there are lingering annihilative cultists making moves amidst the chaos…”

Listening to the clergyman’s report, Frem nodded slightly, then handed over the now completed gray-white stone tablet, “I’ve noted everything down–take this to the archives.”

The black-robed cleric bowed and received the stone tablet, which bore deep engravings of the year and month, along with records of the fall of the Sun Shards.

He recalled the teachings of the scripture–

Even at the end of the world, one should meticulously record to the very last moment, the last breath of civilization should end at the blade and pen of the Carvers of History.

The black-robed cleric left with the Parchment, and only the crackling fire basin kept company with Frem’s tall and silent figure.

After an unknown length of time, the Senkin pope seemed to sense something suddenly and turned his head towards the fire basin, “Helena, have you recovered?”

“I can only say my mental state feels alive; it’s far from what one would call ‘recovery,'” Helena’s voice trembled within the flames, sounding slightly distorted in Frem’s ears, “but lying in bed to properly recuperate is clearly not feasible now.”

“I’ve already heard from Rune,” Frem said, “It’s… quite astonishing development.”

“You mean the goddess descending upon me, or the ‘captain’s’ plan?”

“…Both,” Frem hesitated slightly and then said slowly, “Of course, the latter is more shocking.”

The sound from the fire basin quieted for a few seconds.

“Frem.”

“I’m listening.”

“…Are you still recording history?”

“Still am. I’ve always been keeping records of history as the scriptures require.”

“If the world ends and we don’t survive, will the stone tablets you carved be picked up and understood by new beings one day?”

“…If such a day really comes, it means the captain’s plan has failed, the gods have failed, even the age of fire has failed,” Frem quietly watched the flames dancing in the fire basin, “No one will understand that history because on that day, even the concept of ‘history’ itself will have vanished.”

“…But you still keep making records and guarding the totem of the Fire Transmitter.”

“Because recording history is meaningful in itself, even if there are no successors, ‘history’ itself at least proves that we were a civilization–just as the mad poet Puman described in his last verse:

‘Years grant me life, and I grant years memories.'”

“…I didn’t expect you to understand poetry.”

“Poetry is part of history.”

“…Is that so?” The voice from the fire basin paused briefly, then continued, “Now, please help me record something–next time you pray to the eternal flame, carve it on a stone tablet.”

Frem immediately took a piece of parchment from nearby and grasped his pen, “Speak.”

“…On January 21, 1902, New City-State calendar, ‘Sea Song’ is crossing the critical line of the Six Nautical Miles at the edge of the Eternal Veil. They are the pioneers of the civilized world.”

“Sea Song, January 21, 1902… Alright, I’ve noted it down.”

…

The fog seemed to have transformed into a strange entity, no longer a flowing, gentle air current. The steamship labored through the fog that seemed to fill the entire world, each step hitting against a thick wall, entangled, crushed, and bound by invisible forces.

In this dense clump-like fog, the boundaries of all worldly things imperceptibly vanished–the sea near the ship’s side had at some point become a kind of gray-white ethereal matter, the sky above no longer showed tangible clouds, and the muddled sky light enveloped everything, only very occasionally, the lookout could see seawater churning through gaps in the fog.

That seawater was as distant and surreal as a mirage.

A white pioneer exploration ship carrying the flag of the Deep Sea Church floated in the fog, and though its steam core thundered ceaselessly, due to the lack of any reference points and the ever-changing nature of the fog itself, the crew aboard could not determine if the ship was actually still moving forward–or if it had long been confined in place by this bizarre “sea area.”

“We have lost all contact with the Church Ark, and currently, we can only faintly sense the signal of the temporary lighthouse,” a Church sailor dressed in a dark blue cloak reported to the captain of the Sea Song, “The steam core is running at full power, and we are still maintaining our course.”

“Uh-huh.”

The captain of the Sea Song, a stern-faced lady who rarely smiled, nodded lightly. After hearing the sailor’s report, she turned her gaze toward an adjacent priest, “Can you hear more clearly in this direction?”

The captain’s question was directed at an elderly priest draped in a loose robe. His face wrinkled and sunken eyes, his hunched back, all suggested that neither his age nor his health condition was suited for such long voyages anymore. Yet, he sat closest to the captain, one hand holding an exquisitely crafted brass censer, the other tightly grasping an amulet carved from Sea Breath Wood.

The old priest leaned closer, as if listening to some signals beyond human perception. Everyone around quieted down, as if afraid to disrupt the old man’s task.

After a long time, the old priest finally slowly lifted his head.

He heard a voice, a dying echo; he smelled a scent, the stench of decay–he felt a guidance, the gentle admonition of the goddess.

“Over there,” the old priest raised his hand, pointing in a direction through the dense fog, “She is there.”