Rubble was still rolling down from the sanatorium's outer wall.
The underground passage was filled with billowing dust. The masked man was long gone, leaving only the expanding breach yawning before them.
Vere led his men to the edge of the hole. Before they could jump down, Orphal raised his hand to stop him.
“Don't pursue.”
“The load-bearing structure below has collapsed.”
Vere glanced down into the hole.
Dull thuds of falling masonry occasionally echoed from the depths of the darkness. It was indeed not a path suitable for a blind pursuit.
The other side had prepared so thoroughly that no one could guarantee this wasn't a diversion to lure them away.
Moreover, Cecil was still here.
He had watched this student grow up, and in his heart, she was no different from his own granddaughter.
He wasn't so old and muddled as to leave her in a recently attacked sanatorium while he crawled into an underground tunnel that could collapse at any moment.
“Seal the entrance.”
Cecil did not waste time on pursuit.
“Vere, take two squads and verify the sanatorium's underground pipeline map.”
“Track that metal case from both the main sewer canal and the coastal drainage outlet simultaneously.”
“Once you find it, confirm the surrounding structures first. Do not make direct contact.”
“Understood.”
Vere quickly led his men away.
Cecil arranged for guards to watch over the patients and evidence before returning to the armored carriage.
Inside the carriage, the copy of the Velen Industrial Post was still resting on the seat.
She folded the newspaper, pulled out a notepad, and wrote down the final restrictions passed by the Council.
First, only a single supernatural artillery shell would be unsealed in the first batch.
The target must be independently observed by the Navy.
Before attacking any invisible spiritual target, a ruling must be obtained from the Storm Inquisition's onboard judge.
The Seventh Agency retained the right to board the ship and monitor the entire process.
After writing the last line, Cecil slipped the note into the newspaper and put it in a mail pouch.
“Send this to Moon Bay.”
She handed the pouch to the messenger, attaching a stamp tainted with Elias's spirituality.
“Recipient: Elias Rockland.”
Beside her, Orphal patted the dust off his trench coat.
“You're going out of your way to deliver good news to your informant?”
“It's hardly good news.”
Cecil sealed the mail pouch.
“But he deserves to know that his efforts weren't in vain.”
A short while later.
On the lighthouse reef twenty nautical miles away.
Elias was sitting in front of his cottage, basking in the sun.
After returning from Hastings Port last night, he had collapsed onto his bed and barely managed to wake up near noon.
Having caught up on most of his sleep, his physical fatigue had mostly recovered.
As for his mental state...
As long as he didn't think about the missing Robert, the mysterious Moon-Returning Boat, or the "special free transcendent" that the Ascetic Society was searching for, he felt today's sunshine was quite pleasant.
The sea breeze blew past his door.
Elias leaned back in his wooden chair. Just as he was about to doze off again, two knocks suddenly sounded in his ear.
Knock.
Knock.
He instinctively looked back.
The cottage door was right behind him, and there was absolutely no one knocking.
Elias's hand had already pressed against the elemental revolver at his waist.
Yet, without warning, a narrow rift tore open in the air before him.
A crow formed of spirituality perched nearby, looking exactly like the one that had spoken to him before.
“Why are you here again?”
Just as Elias recognized it, a rolled-up newspaper smacked into his chest.
Following the newspaper was a sealed mail pouch.
“What is this?!”
He almost threw the newspaper back, mistaking it for an attack.
However, the crow was not linked to Ms. Cecil's consciousness this time. It turned its head, preparing to leave.
“Wait.”
Elias called out to it.
“Why does a messenger like you act like a ghost?”
“You don't even give off a shred of spirit world fluctuations before popping out!”
But this meant absolutely nothing to the crow.
The rift closed.
It flew away.
Feeling ignored, Elias looked down at the newspaper in his lap.
The front page of the Velen Industrial Post was still Ophelia's article, Who Extinguished the Lamp of Hope in Hastings Port.
In the other letter, Wayland's response to the incident was detailed.
The company admitted to administrative oversights regarding lighthouse affairs.
The responsible managers were suspended.
The compensation for the deceased keepers was increased.
And starting today, the wages of all lighthouse keepers would be increased by thirty percent.
“A pay raise?”
Elias's eyes lit up.
This was actually a good thing.
He originally received twelve gold crowns every half month.
A thirty percent increase would be fifteen gold crowns and twelve Shillings.
This time, to make the announcement look good, Wayland uncharacteristically didn't round down and directly set the biweekly salary to sixteen gold crowns.
According to his current shift rotation, he would be able to collect four pay periods at once the next time he returned to port.
Sixty-four gold crowns.
It sounded like a lot.
At least for ordinary people, this could no longer be simply referred to as a wage.
But Elias's joy lasted only a few seconds before the smile faded from his face.
In the circles of transcendents, sixty-four gold crowns wasn't even a fraction of the change from that twelve-hundred-gold-crown commission.
For other keepers, it was indeed a life-changing sum of wealth for their families.
Provided they could return alive.
A wage increase from twelve to sixteen would not make the dream demon curse disappear, nor would it make sea beasts bypass the lighthouses, and it certainly wouldn't make the things hiding beneath the waves suddenly become reasonable.
The price had gone up.
But the job was still the same trade-your-life-for-money gig.
It was just that Wayland was now willing to value that life at four gold crowns more.
Looking at the words "Protecting the Rights and Interests of Frontline Employees" on the newspaper, Elias couldn't help but tsk.
In truth, he had no right to lament on behalf of others.
Even he couldn't guarantee that he would still be alive to claim those sixty-four gold crowns the next time he returned to Hastings Port.
He held the letter and continued reading.
It also attached the several restrictions the Council had ultimately added to the authorization.
Then, his eyes fell upon the last two lines.
The Octowin had received authorization for a single supernatural artillery shell.
The warship would immediately resume its voyage toward Moon Bay.
“What the hell!”
Elias scrambled up from his chair.
The wooden chair behind him was knocked backward, nearly tumbling over the threshold and into the cottage.
“After all that effort, that ship is still coming!”
The restrictions had indeed taken effect.
But Thomas Wayland had accepted every single one of them.
He hadn't even bothered to bargain further.
This was the most unsettling part.
Either Thomas had a way to bypass those eyes...
...or, for him, as long as that single shell could be legally delivered to Moon Bay, it was already enough.
Elias stared at the words "single shell" for a moment, suddenly feeling that this was in no way a comfort.
Just then, footsteps echoed from the direction of the pier.
Jack walked over, carrying two fish.
The two fish had massive heads, outturned lips, and eyes pointing in completely different directions. One couldn't call them pleasing to the eye; it could only be said that their deaths were well-deserved.
These were Francis fish.
Legend had it that across the sea in the Republic of Arnova, there was once a Francis IV whose appearance was highly distinctive.
This king had accidentally fallen into the Leval River while out hunting and went missing.
Later, people discovered this fish in the sea and felt it bore a striking resemblance to the missing king.
When the king's nephew ascended the throne, in order to "commemorate his uncle," he officially named the fish after Francis.
Whether it was a commemoration or an insult, no one dared to ask to this day.
But though the fish was ugly, it was at least edible.
“Sir?”
Jack noticed the chair fallen behind the door and then looked at Elias standing at the entrance.
“Did something happen?”
“See for yourself.”
Elias handed him the newspaper.
Jack set the two fish by the door and took the newspaper.
He managed to remain calm at first.
But when he saw that the Octowin was resuming its voyage to Moon Bay, his expression instantly shifted.
“The Sunburst three-hundred-and-five-millimeter naval cannon!”
“Mother Goddess!”
Jack snapped his head up, staring at the distant sea.
“If that thing fires, the two of us will probably go to meet the Mother Goddess along with this entire island.”
“Let me correct you.”
Elias raised a finger.
“You go meet your Mother Goddess. I'll go meet my Moon Lord.”
Jack paid no attention to his banter.
“The power of that main cannon is comparable to a Scale Seven spell.”
“If it really targets the lighthouse, our current defensive measures won't stand a chance of stopping it.”
“Look on the bright side.”
He looked down to double-check the newspaper.
“At least they only approved a single shell.”
“To normal people, one is indeed a restriction.”
Elias took the newspaper back and folded it up again.
“But who knows if this single shell is of conventional power?”
Ordinary shells, of course, rely on quantity.
But that is a supernatural naval cannon.
Whether the payload inside is alchemical ammunition, a derivative of a containment object, or some gadget specifically crafted to pierce seals, nobody knows yet.
One sounds like very little.
But what if Wayland only needed to fire once from the very beginning?
The sea breeze fluttered the edges of the newspaper.
Elias raised his head, gazing at the seemingly tranquil sea in the distance.
He knew very well what was sealed beneath those waters.
He also knew that once that thing was awakened, the two men on this island wouldn't even have the chance to discuss which deity they would be meeting.
“Tsk, tsk.”
Elias shook his head.
“The wages have gone up, and the warship is coming.”
“Wayland's benefits are truly comprehensive. They've even prepared the cannon to send us to our graves.”
Rate on N.U.
