“These people weren't seeing one hundred and thirty-six fixed positions.”
Elias pointed to the drawings that were approaching the lighthouse in sequence. “These perspectives were attached to something moving, one after another.”
His finger traced the waterway that did not exist in reality, slowly moving forward before stopping on the drawing left by Robert. “It was moving.”
“The people at the start saw the coast, the ones in the middle saw the waterway, and finally, it was Robert’s turn to see the lighthouse.”
Dr. Hall looked down at the table. Even though the drawings that had been pieced together into a nautical chart were now scattered, the coastlines on them hadn't vanished.
However, those observation points no longer looked like a row of fixed eyes. It was more as if an invisible object had borrowed the perspectives of different people in sequence as it passed by.
Theolan pressed the 【Dream-soothing Paper】 back into the evidence bag. The fine silver lines on the paper hadn't completely faded; they were pulsing slightly in rhythm with the breathing of the one hundred and thirty-six people.
“The anchor Robert left behind is the deepest,” Theolan said. “If this waterway required someone to see the finish line clearly, he was likely used as the navigator.”
“Then let's head to the coast where he went missing first.” Elias folded Robert’s shift log and tucked it into the inner pocket of his trench coat. “If we can't find the person in the dream, there should be something left in reality.”
“I cannot leave,” Theolan said, shaking his head.
Elias paused and looked back at him.
“One hundred and thirty-six dreams are still connected.” Theolan pressed his hand against the evidence bag. Silver light threads extended from the paper, sinking into the hospital beds one by one. “I can only temporarily suppress the circuit; I cannot dismantle it immediately.”
“As long as even one person falls asleep, the ritual could restart through them, dragging everyone else back in.”
As if to prove his point, a wounded man nearby let out a yawn, and the person next to him immediately poked him. “Don’t sleep!”
“I was just yawning!”
“That’s what you said last time!”
Throughout the entire relief shelter, everyone was staring at each other's eyelids.
Dr. Hall looked out the door. “Then what about the investigation outside?”
“The commission belongs to Mr. Constantine,” Theolan answered quite plainly. “The Ascetic Society is only responsible for handling pollution involving our society's rituals; we do not accept payment for commissions from the Society of Freemen.”
Elias looked at him with newfound respect. “Very good. Whether you’re funny or not, you’re as reliable as they come.”
Theolan clearly didn't realize how that comment related to him. He simply took out a blank investigation document, signed his name at the bottom, and pressed his spiritual mark onto it using a Waning Moon holy emblem.
“The Seventh Agency has commissioned us to handle the ritual pollution here. This document only proves that you are assisting in the investigation.”
“That’s enough.” Elias took the document. “As long as it gets me onto the scene.”
He didn't delay any further, walking out of the relief shelter alone and boarding a public carriage at the street corner. The wheels rolled over the post-disaster roads that hadn't been leveled yet, making the carriage rattle constantly.
Night had fallen over Hastings Port, but the streets were far from quiet. Relief vehicles, coal wagons, and industrial carriages were crowded on both sides of the road, their gas lamps illuminating the mud that hadn't been cleared away yet.
The walls cracked by sea beasts were covered with tarps, though blackened water stains could still be seen in the gaps. As the carriage passed the Cathedral of the Holy Dawn, Elias glanced out the window.
The priests were holding funerals for victims whose bodies hadn't been found. The bells rang low. On both sides of the steps stood buckets of purified water and wooden crates of relief food; the line of people waiting to receive supplies stretched all the way to the street corner.
A few employees in Wayland uniforms were hanging company flags on the relief vehicles. As soon as a flag was unfurled, a priest would walk over and untie the knot. There was no arguing. One side took a flag down, and the other side hung another one up. Their movements were polite, yet they looked more practiced at this than if they were actually fighting.
The driver followed his gaze and said, “Wayland donated so much coal and grain; what’s the harm in hanging a flag? The stuff ends up in the victims' stomachs anyway.”
Elias didn't respond immediately. He noticed a relief voucher tucked next to the driver's seat. The front was printed with bags of coal and flour, but the back was densely packed with different content.
“They made you sign that when you got the relief?” Elias asked.
“It’s just a signature,” the driver said dismissively. “They’re still fighting to get warships for Hastings Port! Look at it this way, sir—those councilors in Landon are hiding far away. If the sea beasts actually make it onto land, they aren't the ones who have to hold them back with their lives. If Wayland is willing to pay and the Royal Navy is willing to sail, isn't that a good thing?”
“Did you read what’s written on the back?” Elias asked.
“Support for port defense authorization,” the driver said, flicking the reins. “Isn't that just letting the Octowin protect the port?”
Elias looked at the long line in front of the cathedral. For these people who had just lost their homes, jobs, and loved ones, Wayland’s propaganda was indeed very effective. They could see the cranes being re-erected, the coal being delivered to the neighborhoods, and the food in the wooden crates.
As for the extinguished tower lamps, the polluted keepers, and where exactly Thomas wanted to point the Octowin’s cannons—all of that was hidden where they couldn't see.
“At least read the words on the back before you sign next time,” Elias said.
The driver laughed. “Sir, things that fill the belly are usually more believable than newspapers.”
Elias leaned back into his seat and didn't argue further. It wasn't a pleasant truth, but for someone living off relief vouchers, it was indeed more practical than grand principles.
The carriage continued toward the coast. The next three streets were blocked by the Alchemy and Craftsmen Association; craftsmen in leather aprons were dismantling water pipes. A crane arm hung in mid-air, and several copper pipes lay across the road.
Some people were scraping silver-white deposits from the sea beast remains and silt, carefully placing them into lead sampling bottles. Those things glinted coldly under the lights, sticking to the scrapers like a layer of metal that hadn't solidified yet.
“Blocked again,” the driver cursed, quickly pulling the reins. “They say they’re checking for some leakage of unknown elements. I reckon if they keep digging for two more days, the sea beasts won't have destroyed the city, but they’ll have dug up every water pipe in town.”
Elias took a closer look at those sampling bottles. This clearly wasn't a normal deposit. However, the pocket watch against his chest ticked away, reminding him of the time. The shift worker hadn't been found yet, and the 【Moon Gate】 wouldn't stay open any longer just because another strange thing appeared on the road.
“Take a detour,” Elias said.
The driver immediately turned the horse around, ducking into a nearby narrow street that was still passable.
By the time they reached the cordoned-off coast, the sea breeze was making the nearby gas lamps flicker. Two harbor personnel stood by the barricades. Seeing Elias approach, one of them immediately raised a hand.
“This area is temporarily closed.”
Elias took out the temporary investigation document. The man first looked at the Ascetic Society’s Waning Moon mark, then verified the Seventh Agency’s commission number, before finally moving the barricade aside with a hint of suspicion.
“Investigator?”
“Correct.”
“Please, go ahead.”
Elias tucked the document back into his trench coat. With the proper paperwork, things were twice as efficient. This advice really should be written into every free transcendent’s handbook.
He followed the harbor personnel toward the stone steps. “What was the initial assessment of the scene?”
“Sleepwalking and drowning,” the man said. “We haven't ruled out being dragged away by a sea beast either.”
“What about the spirit measurement results?”
“It’s a mess,” the man replied helplessly. “The spiritual residue from the night of the sea beast invasion hasn't cleared out yet. Pollution, blood, spells, and sea-folk aura are all mixed together. You get four different directions if you measure three times.”
In other words, supernatural methods were temporarily unreliable.
The stone steps extended from the embankment all the way into the sea. The footprints left by Robert, the shift worker, had already been circled with wooden frames. Elias crouched down, examining them starting from the first one.
Barefoot. The soles landed completely, and the toes were consistently pointed toward the sea. The distance of each step was almost identical. There was no running, no stumbling, and no signs of a struggle. It truly looked like someone still in a dream, quietly walking toward the water.
However, there were no bloodstains near the footprints. There was no slime, scales, or claw marks left by sea beasts. No drag marks from a human body could be found among the gravel either.
“The lack of traces only lowers the possibility of a sea beast attack,” Elias said, standing up. “It doesn't rule it out completely.”
The harbor personnel nodded. “That’s what we wrote too.”
“What was the tide level when he disappeared?”
“Near high tide.”
Elias walked back down the stone steps. The further down he went, the shallower the footprints became. By the second-to-last step, only a single footprint blurred by the moisture remained.
Strangely, that footprint didn't continue toward the sea. Instead, the front of the foot had turned nearly a quarter-circle to the left. There was no path there—only a mooring ring embedded in the edge of the stone steps.
Elias stared at the footprint for a moment, then looked down to observe the salt line on the steps. A clear horizontal line of white salt frost had formed below the second-to-last step. When the tide rose last night, it had just submerged the bottom step.
If a small boat had pulled up, the deck would have been level with the second-to-last stone step. Robert wouldn't have had to step into the water at all. He only needed to turn around following the footprint and take one step to the side.
Elias felt along the outer edge of the steps and soon found a fresh scrape on the corner. The damaged area was darker in color and hadn't accumulated salt frost yet. A few damp wood splinters were embedded in the crack.
He pinched a piece and brought it to his nose. It smelled strongly of seawater, but the wood wasn't rotten; the edges were very fresh. It didn't look like it had fallen off the old wooden pilings of the embankment.
Elias turned to the mooring ring. The iron ring had been corroded by sea breeze for years, its surface covered in reddish-brown rust. However, a small patch of dark, bright metal had been rubbed clean on the inner side.
He used the tip of his cane to poke at the gap. A few strands of pale yellow hemp fiber were flipped out from under the rust layer; the frayed ends hadn't been soaked apart by the seawater yet.
The footprints turned toward the mooring ring. There were fresh scrapes from a hull on the stone steps. And the iron ring had been used by a rope last night.
Maintaining his crouching position, Elias slowly raised his head and looked out at the pitch-black sea.
How did this look like he was picked up by a boat?!
Rate on N.U.
