“Is this ‘massive problem’ my problem, or yours?” Elias asked earnestly.
The contract master looked at him.
“Yours.”
“...”
He looked down at the blank letter paper in his hand.
The stamp had already melted into it, leaving only a faint indentation.
“Explain.”
The contract master walked over to the clock dial and examined where the rift had just appeared.
“That mailman didn't pass through a spirit world station.
“It merely used the summoning ritual as a coordinate to enter reality directly from another path.
“Normal messengers must respond to the ritual first, and then the clock dial establishes the connection.
“It didn't.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that before you even arrived at the Society of Freemen, someone had already written your spiritual coordinates into a certain letter.”
The contract master looked at the paper in his hand.
“That mailman didn't come to find a contractor.
“It merely used those coordinates to confirm the recipient in advance.”
The casual look on Elias's face faded slightly.
Someone knew his spiritual coordinates.
And they had even prepared a letter for him in advance.
Most importantly, they had used a mailman that wasn't even registered with a spirit world station.
No matter how he looked at it, this didn't seem like a friendly neighbor sending a package notification.
“Could it use its sending privileges to curse me?” Elias placed the blank letter paper back on the desk.
The contract master pulled out a silver probe and gently touched the indentation left by the stamp.
The tip of the probe lit up with a pale gray glow.
After a few breaths, the light remained unchanged.
“No pollution has been detected for now.”
“What about a curse link?”
“None either.”
“Spiritual parasitism?”
“No.”
Elias stared at him.
“You're not going to investigate further?”
“The Society of Freemen isn't the Seventh Agency.”
The contract master shrugged. As he spoke, he pulled out a disclaimer document covered in fine print from beneath the desk and slid it over to Elias.
“The Society is only responsible for registered messengers.
“Spirit world creatures that enter reality on their own without registration fall outside the scope of our management.”
Elias glanced down at it.
Well, well.
This disclaimer was incredibly specific.
“Have you run into this before?”
“No.”
“Then how are you so practiced at writing this?”
“Scribes should possess the ability to summarize risks.”
Reasonable, Elias could only agree.
The Society of Freemen was originally meant to provide a trading ground for all kinds of free transcendents.
They didn't ask for real names, nor did they investigate backgrounds.
If they reported every unidentified messenger to the Seventh Agency, this place would be converted into a police station reception desk by tomorrow.
“What about the three soul coins for the guiding fee?” Elias suddenly remembered something far more important.
“Two have been returned. The remaining one was taken by it.”
“No refund?”
“That coin is not in our possession.”
“Aren't you responsible for that?”
“You may ask it for it yourself next time,” the contract master's tone was calm.
“...”
Dammit.
Trying to demand a coin from a bizarre mailman who could bypass spirit world stations was probably harder than asking Wayland for overtime pay.
Initially, he had only wanted to sign a messenger contract.
Now, the messenger was indeed usable.
Except there was no contract, its origins were unknown, and it had casually swiped one of his coins.
But looking at it from another perspective...
A standard secret delivery already cost one soul coin.
Spending one coin to unlock sending privileges didn't seem too bad.
As long as it could deliver the mail.
Operating without a license wasn't entirely unacceptable.
Elias decisively picked up the pen and signed “John Constantine” at the bottom of the disclaimer document. Then, he folded the letter paper bearing the stamp's indentation and tucked it into the inner pocket of his trench coat.
“At least it can deliver mail.”
The contract master couldn't help but warn him: “I advise you not to accept that letter of unknown origin.”
“Refusing to accept a letter before it even arrives would be too disrespectful to the sender.”
Elias spoke casually, but his guard was already up.
Someone knew his spiritual coordinates and had prepared a letter for him in advance.
No matter how he looked at it, this didn't bode well.
“Let's go.” He pulled down his derby hat. “I still need to earn some postage for my mailman.”
The two walked back up the stone steps to the first-floor lobby.
Just as he pushed open the side door, Elias noticed a female physician standing before the information desk. She wore the grayish-white uniform of the temporary relief shelter, her cuffs stained with dried liquid medicine, and dark circles under her eyes from a prolonged lack of sleep.
A leather bag stuffed with documents sat by her feet. Several sheets of paper covered in messy lines peeked out from the opening of the bag.
The female physician was currently registering a commission with the night-shift scribe.
“Three hundred for the basic investigation fee.
“Another three hundred upon confirming the source of the anomaly.
“And an additional six hundred to resolve the anomaly and locate the missing persons.
“A total of twelve hundred gold crowns. The deposit has already been paid.”
Elias's footsteps suddenly halted as he walked through the lobby.
How much?
Twelve hundred?!
He had already taken two steps forward, but he casually retraced his steps, his ear almost pressed against the information desk.
The return time limit was still ticking, and the matter of the bizarre mailman remained unresolved. However, the radiant glow of twelve hundred gold crowns temporarily eclipsed all these difficulties.
“Is this correct?” the night-shift scribe confirmed with the female physician.
“Yes. The relief shelter can pay the basic investigation fee first. The subsequent rewards will be covered by the relief fund.”
Elias's eyes lit up slightly.
Talk about perfect timing.
The dream lotus dew was precisely the promotion material he needed. Commissions involving dream anomalies often allowed one to come into contact with dream-soothing supernatural items. Even if he couldn't find any dream lotus dew, twelve hundred gold crowns would be more than enough to purchase it through other channels.
It seemed his Scale One potion was finally within reach.
Elias pulled down the brim of his hat and quickly stepped forward.
“John Constantine.”
The night-shift scribe glanced at him.
The man had just said he wanted to start building his reputation tonight, and now he was delivering himself right to a job. His efficiency was commendable.
Elias pulled out a chair and sat opposite the female physician.
“Tell me the details.”
The female physician was slightly startled. “Are you willing to take it?”
“I need to understand the situation first. Some money is worth earning. Other money is just the client preparing my funeral expenses in advance.” Elias looked at the drawings peeking out near her feet. “What happened at the relief shelter?”
“The survivors are all having the exact same dream.”
Elias tapped his finger lightly on the table. “How many people?”
“Initially, it was one hundred and thirty-six people.” The female physician paused. “Last night, it became one hundred and thirty-seven.”
The tapping stopped.
Most of the joy in Elias's heart instantly evaporated.
One hundred and thirty-seven people falling victim at the same time could no longer be explained away as a coincidence.
As expected, a high payout was never due to the client's generosity. It was simply because the danger had been factored into the price beforehand.
“Start from the beginning.” Elias didn't sign immediately.
The female physician placed her leather bag on the table and pulled out the relief shelter's records.
“After the sea beast invasion, the relief shelter took in many wounded and survivors.
“They mostly developed sleep disorders.
“Whenever they close their eyes, they dream of being dragged into the deep sea by sea beasts.
“Some don't dare to sleep the entire night. Even after waking, they still feel as if their lungs are filled with seawater.”
The female physician rubbed her temples.
“Three days ago, a man claiming to be a relief deacon from the Ascetic Society came to the relief shelter.
“He delivered two crates of 【Dream-soothing Paper】, saying they were soothing supplies donated by the Ascetic Society for the refugees.”
“What about the paperwork?”
“Everything was in order. Identity documents, a relief pass, and the church seal were all present.”
“Who opened the crates?”
“I did.” The female physician didn't dodge the question. “I even inspected them personally. The paper wasn't damp, the seals weren't damaged, and the spiritual reaction was identical to ordinary 【Dream-soothing Paper】.”
“How long after the first sheet was used did things go wrong?”
“That very night.”
“What were the specific symptoms?”
The female physician fell silent for a moment.
“They stopped dreaming of sea beasts.”
Elias didn't let down his guard. If things had ended there, she wouldn't be sitting in the Society of Freemen, posting a commission for twelve hundred gold crowns.
Sure enough, the female physician continued:
“Everyone dreamed they were standing on a pitch-black sea.
“There was no ship beneath their feet, nor were there any reefs.
“The seawater supported them as if it were solid ground.
“In the distance, there was an unlit lighthouse.”
The voices near the information desk gradually quieted down. A few free transcendents who were browsing the commissions also glanced in their direction.
A lighthouse was supposed to guide the way, yet the one in the dream had no light.
“Does everyone see the exact same scene?”
“Not entirely.”
The female physician pulled several sheets of paper from her leather bag and laid them out on the table one by one. Drawn on the papers were twisted coastlines, reefs, and blurry waterways.
The brushstrokes varied in depth. Some lines resembled a child's scribbles, while others were meticulously detailed.
Elias's fingertips paused at the edge of the paper for a moment. Though the lines differed, they all carried the same stiffness.
“Everyone's position is different. Some are to the east of the lighthouse, some to the west. And some are very far from the coast, only able to see a blurry outline.
“Yet when they wake up, they can all draw a section of a coastline they have never seen before.”
Elias picked up one of the sheets. “Have these people been there before?”
“No. Many of them don't even know how to read a nautical chart.
“At first, we thought it was just collective post-disaster trauma. Until last night, when someone discovered that the edges of several drawings could be pieced together.”
The female physician pulled out a large folded sheet of paper from the very bottom of her leather bag and spread it open.
The drawings from different survivors had been cut out and pieced together. The originally chaotic coastlines locked into one another. Reefs, shallows, and several hazardous waterways gradually took shape.
Some areas remained blank. The unlit lighthouse sat at the very edge of the entire map.
“We pieced together all the drawings that could overlap,” the female physician said in a low voice. “And we obtained a fragmented nautical chart of Moon Bay.”
Elias stared at the jigsaw map on the table, his brow slowly furrowing.
A lighthouse?
This sounded like something he couldn't afford to ignore.
Rate on N.U.
