The twilight bell and steam whistle, harbingers of day giving way to night, *echoed faintly through the depths of the damp slope and vertical shaft*, their distant sound haunting the narrow, dark sewer. The approaching nightfall only served to further dismay the heretics hidden in the abandoned rest area.
One of them had a severe, mysterious illness, and now he was about to die—die in this dimly lit underworld.
"He is still alive now..." hesitated a heretic, glancing at the "comrade" lying on the ground, *seeing his eyes half-open*, the eyeballs slowly rotating in their sockets. This unfortunate fellow could still hear the sounds around him, *but he no longer had enough strength to open his eyes*.
"But only for now," another heretic said in a deep voice, "The twilight bell has already rung, and he must not die in this room—*the Lord's shelter will bless him with peaceful rest in the darkness.*"
The man lying on the floor twitched his fingers twice, clearly aware of his situation. He did not want to die like this, but death had clung tightly to his shadow. From what it looked like now, his dear "Sun Brethren" had already contemplated moving this "liability" out of the shelter before true death could arrive.
An oppressive silence engulfed the room, so profound that the dying man's weak breaths became a clearly audible sound. After an interminable stretch of deathly stillness, the man in black who had been previously cursing the Storm Church suddenly broke the silence: "Let's wait a bit longer, at least... a person won't change immediately after their last breath."
"...then we'll wait," the heretic with the deep voice relented a bit. He glanced at the struggling man once more and couldn't help but mutter, "But why did he suddenly fall ill? Are you sure this is just a normal illness?"
"I know him... he owns an antique shop in the Lower City District, *the kind that's about to close down and sells nothing but fakes*," spoke up a heretic who hadn't said much before, "He was already sick, his health has always been poor. Probably staying in the sewer for too long, coupled with a recent fright, led to the worsening of his illness."
Listening to the explanation from his companion, the heretic with the deep voice finally relaxed somewhat—although he was not a high-ranking "priest." He had been devoted to the Sun for many years and was now somewhat of an "expert" in esoteric knowledge. He knew all too well about the long-lasting and hidden dangers that remained after a failed sacrificial ritual. Each believer who participated in that ritual could potentially become a "vessel" for these hidden dangers, and now this man, suddenly weakened, could be such a "vessel."
If it wasn't for the constraint of "All children of the Sun are siblings," and a few hesitant fellow believers watching, he would have thrown this unfortunate soul into the vast darkness outside long ago.
After a lengthy silence, the heretic in black robes *finally made a move*. He pulled a pale golden amulet from his breast pocket and tucked it into the chest of the barely alive "comrade."
"What are you doing..." inquired a curious heretic nearby.
"This holy amulet, I exchanged for it at great cost from a messenger," he said subdued, his tone earnest, "May the grace of the Lord protect our brethren. *The light of the Sun might stave off further corrosion in the darkness.*"
The two heretics next to him had no doubts, and looked at the senior church member who had "given" the amulet with admiring eyes. They clasped their fists to their foreheads and chanted in a low voice, "All children of the Sun are siblings..."
The heretic with the deep voice did the same, chanting softly, "All children of the Sun are siblings."
...
After the sun had completely set below the sea level, the starless, moonless sky reappeared before Duncan, with pale cracks stretching across the heavens, illuminated by the cold light shining over the Endless Sea and the Homeloss sailing on it.
Duncan stood near the aft deck, *retracting his gaze from the sky*, and sighed softly.
No matter how many times he looked, he would never see the stars that simply weren't there in that pale, cold light.
But compared to the last time he saw this starless night, his mood was much better today.
On one hand, he had come to terms with the strange aspects of this world and was actively adapting to his current life. On the other, the fish today had indeed been excellent.
He was an optimistic person; any small improvement in life was a cause for happiness for him—when nature's gifts were more plentiful than he had imagined, all the more so.
*At this rate*, even if they couldn't establish stable contact with land in the short term, he at least could improve the living conditions onboard the ship.
As he mulled over this, he turned to look at the pigeon perched on his shoulder and said light-heartedly, "What do you say... wouldn't it be simpler if I did something a pirate captain ought to do? Like robbing a busy sea lane or something..."
The pigeon cocked its head, its two eyes seemingly looking in different directions: "Does that sound right, *does that sound right*, *does that sound right*..."
"True, it's not in my nature," Duncan smiled, "And easier said than done—robbing also requires finding a sea lane with merchant ships to begin with."
The vast sea stretched empty, and the Homeloss floated to who knew how far from civilization. Since that collision with the ship transporting anomaly 099, he hadn't seen any other ships on the horizon—it was as if he wished to commit robbery but had no clue where to find a victim.
But just then, a voice suddenly came from the side, interrupting Duncan's wandering thoughts: "Captain, are we going to commit a robbery?"
Duncan looked in the direction of the voice and saw Alice sitting on a high plank nearby, curiously watching this way.
Under the glow of the pale scar in the sky, the Gothic doll, dressed in a courtly gown, sat high on the Ghost Ship, her mercury-like long hair shining coldly in the night. She sat with dignity, curiosity in her eyes—a scene that seemed like a classic and mysterious painting.
Duncan was momentarily surprised—after experiencing several chaotic "real-life matters," he had almost forgotten the noble, mysterious impression the doll miss gave him when she first lay in the wooden box. So much so that seeing Alice in her quiet state now somewhat startled him.
Alice, unaware of the captain's thoughts, simply asked again curiously, "Captain, are we going to commit a robbery?"
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This line definitely did more to damage her image.
Duncan looked at the doll with a wry smile, "Do you like to rob?"
"Not really," Alice shook her head, "It sounds pretty boring."
"But you were 'robbed' onto the ship by me," Duncan reminded her with a smile.
"…Oh, right," Alice pondered and nodded, then followed up with another question, "So are we going to rob someone now?"
"No," Duncan waved his hand dismissively and walked leisurely towards his captain's cabin, "I also find robbing to be quite boring—compared to that, a stroll is more suitable as an after-dinner activity."
Duncan returned to the captain's cabin. After briefly instructing the goat-headed man to take the helm, he entered his bedroom as he had done before and closed the door behind him.
He had already decided that tonight he would undertake his second spiritual walk.
But unlike last time, this time he wanted to test this ability through "Ai Yi," the pigeon.
A bunch of pale green sparks danced on Duncan's fingertips, and in the instant the flames leapt, the pigeon that had been strutting on the table vanished in a blink and reappeared on his shoulder.
Feeling the faint connection between Ai Yi and himself, Duncan calmed his mind. Then, calling to memory the "feeling" he had when he last activated the brass compass, he began trying to communicate with Ai Yi using the flame of the spiritual body in his hand—
An invisible green flame transformed into a thin thread, wrapping around Ai Yi's wings. In the next second, the white pigeon was suddenly engulfed in the fierce blaze!
In the midst of the flame, the pigeon's feathers were all turned into ethereal shapes, the rising green fire seemingly reshaping its flesh and bones. Ai Yi spread its wings in the flames, and the brass compass that hung on its breast popped open—with the dial, marked with many esoteric runes, glinting faintly, the central needle spun crazily before pointing straight toward the distance.
The surroundings crumbled and scattered, the familiar dark space emerging before Duncan's eyes, followed by those familiar streams of light, and countless pinpoints of "lights."
Duncan followed his intuition, looking toward the starlight, searching for the next most suitable "target" to contact.
Suddenly, a cluster of starlight caught his attention.
He didn't know if this was the "Duncan Captain's Intuition" that the goat-headed man always talked about, but he decided to follow that sensation—no matter who was behind that starlight, now, he was fated to Duncan the pirate captain.
…
On the periphery of the Plunder City-State, in the abandoned sewers, several Sun God heretics who had managed to escape from the church guards were silently sitting in silence.
The upper world had fallen into the deep night, while the underground world had only a faint light protecting the abandoned room.
Even the most ferocious and inhumane heretics felt tense and terrified in the dark that slowly drew closer.
Beside them, on the rag-covered ground, a dying man was about to breathe his last breath.
Listening to the increasingly faint and laborious breathing, several pairs of eyes looked over at the dying man unconsciously.
Their gazes bore into the figure on the ground, clear in the knowledge that this person truly would not survive the night.
And so, under the watchful eyes of several, the man on the ground took his final chest rise—he exhaled the last breath of his life.
"May the Sun God continue to shine upon your soul in the darkness," said the heretic in a black robe with a low voice, then with a wave of his hand, "Take him…"
The next second, his words were abruptly choked back.
Before his eyes, the corpse that had closed its eyelids began to breathe once again.
(It's time to recommend a book. The title this time is "My Journey as the King of Anime is Definitely Not Wrong," and it's a work from one of the readers. You can probably guess what it's about from the name? Here's the synopsis:
Xia Yu was a normal otaku, transported to a parallel world that was sorely lacking in ACG culture, carrying a system that was like an ACG encyclopedia. He aimed to spread ACG culture across the entire world, planting the flag of the otaku in every corner of the globe.
Starting with "Pokémon" and making a name for himself, what followed were Touhou, Magical Girls, Shipgirls, LL, Vocaloid, Gundam, and various other beliefs that started to emerge.
A new era has arrived.)
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