Detective Agency of the Bizarre
Chapter 690 - 690 Two hundred and nine

690: Two hundred and nine.

Running towards the destined ending 690: Two hundred and nine.

Running towards the destined ending Barren Lands.

Once, oases dotted this barren land like stars.

But after the plant calamity, the desert completely enveloped it like a shadow.

The natives unwilling to leave were covered in yellow sand, and those who wished to depart migrated to cities and ports like ants.

A vast, scattered caravan crossed the hills that had once been oases, where withered bushes had not yet been buried by the sand, strangely progressing deeper into the Barren Lands.

Only the tumbleweeds passing with the wind accompanied them.

“There’s nothing here but wind and sand,” Copeland complained, spitting out the sand that had blown into his mouth.

He was about to have enough of the sharp sting of the coarse grains against his skin.

“You forgot one thing, Rand,” McDonald said as he stopped beside the complaining Copeland.

“And the weirdness.”

“That joke’s not funny, gentlemen,” the squad leader Heinz turned back and sternly said, “Focus and don’t forget our mission.”

“Of course, my respected Nightwatch, sir,” McDonald stroked his chest and bowed like a nobleman, waiting for Heinz to turn back and continue the journey before shrugging at Copeland.

“Nightwatch are all like this, unromantic.

You’ll get used to it.”

Copeland and McDonald were the only two investigators in this five-person squad, burdened with the tasks of collection and exploration, though not yet.

The large caravan had moved a few miles when the front slowed down.

Copeland turned his head, seeing the native leader shouting something as he ran over: “We’re about to enter its range, everyone be quiet after this.

If you hear the bell, stand still and do not make any sound.”

A new disaster might occur at any moment, so remaining silent was a useful but crude method.

Heinz took a deep breath, turned back to the squad, and said, “Check yourselves, throw away or put anything that can make noise on the wagon.”

“Already got rid of it,” Copeland said.

The lowest rank performing the mission was also a second-tier Exorcist; no one would do anything foolish.

The native guide who had reached the tail of the caravan returned to the front, and a few minutes later, the caravan resumed moving.

The quiet caravan became dead silent, the sound of wagons rolling over sand and stepping into sand dissipating in the blowing wind and sand.

The third calamity was unknown as to when it might occur.

Or perhaps it was already present, just lurking among the caravan, waiting for an opportunity.

Copeland again got bitter sand in his mouth, unable to spit it out, he could only purse it up to his dry lips then lift his hand to wipe it off, which only ended up getting more sand stuck to his lips from his hand.

After a period of silent journeying, the sky began to darken, and the caravan stopped again as the native leader came from the front with a raised hand gesture.

That was the signal to camp.

Heinz was unhappy with the arrangement and didn’t understand why they should rest amidst potential disasters when they should be rushing to locate it.

However, she could only let her squad members follow through.

The surrounding Exorcists built fires, laid out bedding, everything happening in silence.

Occasionally someone would accidentally make a noise, freezing in place.

Only after tens of seconds when nothing happened would they take a deep breath and move even more cautiously.

Heinz lit the squad’s fire, tossed in some wood, and then stood up to look around.

Evening was approaching, and the distance turned into vague silhouettes.

The caravan stopped in a depression behind the hills, the windblown sand blocked outside.

For the desert with its great diurnal temperature range, having a shelter from the wind made a huge difference.

Those far from the fire already felt the desert’s chilly night air.

The Exorcists sat by the warmth of the fire, taking bites of food and sips of water, muffling the sound of their chewing.

There were no activities to pass the time at the dinner gathering; even reading was forbidden—it would make the sound of turning pages.

Everyone crawled into their bedding, hoping for an earlier dawn.

The campsite’s eerie silence hung heavy; those not asleep could only hear the distant sounds of wind over sand, the crackling of the fire, and the snorting of horses nearby.

Copeland quietly lay down on the bedding spread over the warm, dry sand and then covered his head.

He didn’t want to die from snoring or from unconscious mutterings in his dreams, nor from being smothered by sand.

Despite this, Copeland, having overheated, soon emerged from under the covers.

…

In the cold morning, Copeland slowly awoke.

He subconsciously tried to turn over and get up, when a hand pressed him down.

Confused from just waking up, Copeland instantly became alert as if doused with cold water and looked up at the guard Hefelson who pressed him down.

He put a finger to his lips but made no sound.

Copeland understood what he meant and kept his body rigidly still, his eyes glancing around.

The campfire was burning weakly, and he saw Heinz and others had awoken, observing their surroundings just like himself.

The camp had woken up but was forcefully frozen in silence.

So…

had the catastrophe struck them this morning?

Who had died, and how many…

Copeland was very aware that the discovery of a new catastrophe certainly meant that someone had met with misfortune.

Fortunately, it wouldn’t last too long, usually leaving after ten minutes or so.

The awakened camp was forced to maintain an hour of deadly silence.

Snap—

A clear clapping sound echoed over the camp, and after a few seconds, an elderly voice rang out.

“It’s gone, get up, children.”

As the voice fell, those who were already awake crawled out of their bedding and began asking around about what had happened.

“Sir Erwin, do you know what happened?” Heinz asked the elder who had made the sound, respectfully.

“It was Neil’s squad…” Scholar Erwin sighed.

The others learned the details from Cass Neil.

Neil was the first to awaken, but the bedding opposite him, where Louis had been, was empty.

The vigilant Neil waited a few minutes, and when Louis did not return, he quietly got up, went to wake the leader, and then one by one the group leaders around each campfire.

Nearby, Copeland looked over at the fire where Louis’s bedding was still neatly spread out, seemingly still retaining some warmth.

Accidental turnovers or mutterings in sleep became unimportant.

The Exorcists needed to remember to be cautious.

If a True Vision Nightwatch could silently die from the disaster, so could they.

The third catastrophe that had left would not return for a while, and the camp busied itself during this break.

The Exorcists counted their numbers, only to find that not only Louis, but three other Exorcists had also quietly vanished in the long night.

Heinz and Copeland returned to the fire, Copeland silently gathered his bedding, ignoring the bothersome sand that clung to the bottom.

Heinz pulled out a Parchment map and spread it, locating the hills where they were stationed.

They were nearly thirty miles away from the marked oasis.

They hoped to reach the oasis and deal with the catastrophe before the next camp.