Chapter 151: Different Predicaments

Chapter 151: Different Predicaments

Seeing her lady display obvious interest in the ghostly rumor, Annie glanced at the other maids preparing hot water, combs, and similar items, then continued, “The doctors and nurses wanted to invite a bishop from the Church to hold Mass, but the remaining patients strongly objected. They’re all hoping to encounter that ghost. They call it the Clown Angel. They say that although its terrifying appearance looks like a clown deliberately dressed up to frighten people, it is actually an angel that resolves pain and torment.”

“That title is very interesting…” Audrey commented with a faint smile.

Had this been in the past, she would definitely have been filled with curiosity. She might even have been eager to use Dream Traversal to stand watch in that hospital for one night, just to find out what the so-called Clown Angel truly was. But the outbreak of war had left her emotions rather heavy. She felt there were far too many proper and important things that needed to be done, and she truly had no mood for investigation.

In truth, if she had not personally experienced the air raid and seen those who had been injured because of it, Audrey might have felt over these last few days that war had never broken out at all, that Backlund remained peaceful.

After that air raid, the Loen Kingdom’s airship forces had joined the war, and the air defense standards of every coastal city had been raised. Backlund had not been attacked again. At present, the fighting between Feysac and Loen was concentrated in three places: the Amanda Mountains in Winter County, the heavy industrial cities along the eastern shore of the Intersea, and several major ports along the Sonia Sea. All fronts remained locked in stalemate. Neither side had gained any overwhelming advantage. Even if there were casualties, they had no truly substantial effect on Backlund. Aside from rising prices and constant news in the newspapers, the city seemed to have returned to calm in just a few short days.

But Audrey would not think that way. Her father and elder brother had been busy recently, always returning home late at night, or privately gathering groups of nobles, members of Parliament, and clergymen at home. Through other charitable organizations of the Evernight Church, she had learned the specific numbers of dead and wounded from Pritz Harbor and the Amanda front. She had even seen some photographs from the battlefield. She was working hard to raise funds, contact major pharmaceutical companies and regular hospitals, and organize matters such as battlefield rescue and charitable medical aid.

Who could have imagined that the adventurer known for madness not only donated the extra food from his manor, but also added 7,000 pounds in cash… Audrey sighed inwardly and began letting the maids busy themselves around her.

…

Backlund Bridge South, Rose Street.

Emlyn White casually donated a ten-pound note to a fundraiser from a charitable organization, pressed down the top hat on his head, climbed the steps, and entered the Church of Harvest.

At that moment, there was not a single believer inside the church. Only Father Utravsky, who resembled a half-giant, sat at the front, praying devoutly.

Emlyn did not hurry to change into his priest’s robe. He sat down beside the priest, originally wanting to say something, but when he opened his mouth, what came out instead was a “heh.”

“It must be that standard Feysacian face and build of yours that made the believers too afraid to come in,” Emlyn said in an apparently casual tone, his gaze fixed on the altar ahead.

Bishop Utravsky lowered his hands, opened his eyes, and said, “I can understand them.”

“What’s the use of understanding? If the war grows any fiercer and the number of fallen soldiers increases, maybe those believers will flood in here, burn down the church, and hang you.” Emlyn still looked at the sacred emblem of life as he spoke.

Father Utravsky shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“No. They won’t. They sincerely believe in the Mother Goddess. They will not burn the church. At most, they will expel me. If I state that I have already renounced my Feysac nationality, someone will always understand me and accept me.”

Emlyn clicked his tongue, his gaze unmoving.

“What if Feynapotter joins the war as well and attacks Loen’s territory in the Disi Bay region?

“What if the Church of the Earth Mother calls upon all its clergy to oppose Loen?

“Will you obey the Church’s orders and abandon the believers here? Or will you pretend to know nothing and continue preaching as you do now, saying that life is precious and harvest is joyful? Or will you directly organize those believers and make them fight against their own countrymen, using blood and sacrifice to prove their faith?”

Bishop Utravsky slowly turned his gaze toward the altar and the sacred emblem of life upon it. For a long time, he said nothing.

Emlyn did not raise any more questions. Like the priest, he fell silent.

The entire Church of Harvest sank into stillness.

…

On a colonial island, Alger Wilson, who had not yet had time to return to Pasu Island, followed his cautious instincts and did not leave the Blue Avenger. He only sent sailors ashore in shifts to gather intelligence.

“Captain, there’s still no message summoning us.” A sailor reeking strongly of alcohol reported the day’s gains to Alger.

Alger waved, dismissing the subordinate from the room. Only then did he frown slightly and mutter soundlessly to himself, “The Church doesn’t seem to be placing that much importance on this war…”

As Alger understood it, this should be an intense war with broad repercussions. As the invaded party, the Church of Storms would inevitably mobilize every force to defeat the enemy, including driving the “captains” scattered across the seas and assigning them corresponding missions. Yet even now, Alger had still received no orders from Pasu Island.

This did not mean the Church of Storms was shirking its duties. The activity of Church forces within Loen’s army, the high-altitude defenses in every major city, and the movements of demigod powerhouses all proved that the Church of Storms was seriously resisting the Feysac Empire’s invasion. It simply had not gone all out.

“Could it be because the war is still in its early stage? The Church wants to reserve part of its strength for the critical moment?” Alger suppressed the ripples in his heart and waited for more intelligence.

That night, another group of sailors returned, but this time the news had nothing to do with the war.

“Captain, there seems to be some monster hiding on this island. A lot of pirates say that after drinking too much, when they went out to piss, they ran into terrifying things. Some of them were slapped hard by tree branches. Some saw fruit growing from their bodies, filled entirely with blood and flesh. Others encountered a long, thin ghost, a ghost with a face covered in grains of wheat…” One sailor who was still relatively sober described the rumors he had heard.

Ghost stories… Alger had no intention of finding out the truth. He nodded and warned them sternly, “Do not go out at night.”

…

After Backlund and Pritz Harbor had become sources of ghost stories, Klein no longer visited those hospitals, fearing that he might directly encounter one of Zaratul’s marionettes.

Relying on Creeping Hunger and its Travel ability, he expanded the range in which he created horror legends. At times, he appeared on the Sonia Sea. At times, in the Fog Sea. Sometimes he went to Lenburg, sometimes to Feynapotter, sometimes to East and West Balam, the Highland River Valley, and other places. He followed no pattern whatsoever, relying entirely on flashes of inspiration. In some cities, he went two or three times; in others, once was enough, and he never set foot there again.

During this process, Klein inexplicably developed a strange feeling. In the terrifying darkness, one invisible tentacle after another stretched out—some tracking his movements, others attempting to predict them and set up interceptions in advance. Silent and cold, once they tangled around him, the result would be beyond imagining.

Klein knew this was perhaps Zaratul’s “search.” His best method would be to temporarily halt his acting and lie dormant while waiting. Yet it was precisely this subtle feeling that made him hope to digest the potion as quickly as possible. Thus, he drew upon the power of the gray fog—each time, after randomly selecting a target location, he first went above the gray fog to divine the degree of danger and used a Paper Angel to interfere.

At that moment, with his digestion greatly advanced, he Teleported to Cookawa City in the Northern State of West Balam.

This was where he had killed Ince Zangwill, taking revenge for himself and for the Captain.

No sooner had his figure appeared on White Feather Square than Klein detected a trace of abnormality.

The general’s residence ahead, which belonged to Mesanyes, was far too quiet—quiet enough to chill the spine and make the hairs on one’s body stand up.

Mesanyes was the native general who had previously bought arms from Dwayne Dantès. He was himself a Beyonder of the Death pathway, and the force backing him was the Church of Knowledge.

Did something happen? Klein frowned slightly, considering whether he should go in and confirm the situation. After all, this was his “business partner.”

Moreover, if he encountered a reasonably strong enemy, this would be an excellent acting opportunity. Klein had just evaluated himself and believed that if he could create a few more horror legends with a saint-level demigod as the protagonist, his Bizarro Sorcerer potion would be more or less fully digested.

Of course, safety was the prerequisite for everything. He had to be prudent and careful… As Klein had his marionette Qonas Kilgor transform into Dwayne Dantès, he pulled out a gold coin.

This time, the revelation he received was that there was not much danger.

Strange… Klein did not grow careless. His body abruptly turned illusory, becoming a shadow and disappearing into the darkness of night. His marionette, Qonas Kilgor, wearing Dwayne Dantès’s face, slowly walked toward Mesanyes’s residence.

This was Creeping Hunger’s inherent Shadow Hide.

As for Klein’s other marionette, Enyuni, he was waiting about a kilometer away. Several “rats” belonging to that marionette were nearly another kilometer away from him, though they could not perform any actions.

Very soon, Dwayne Dantès arrived before the main gate of the general’s residence and activated his Spirit Body Threads vision.

What appeared in his eyes were countless disorderly black, illusory threads “growing” in all directions. They seemed to come from different people, yet carried an obviously similar “aura.”

Normal Spirit Body Threads did not exist at all.

Dwayne Dantès was silent for a few seconds. Then he extended his right hand and pushed open the front door, which had not been closed.

The scene inside was already different from Klein’s memory. The gold leaf wrapped around the pillars, the golden statues set into the walls, and the magnificent staircase had all been kneaded into one mass, like a giant hedgehog sprouting golden spikes. Sharp stone pillars had risen one after another from the floor, and broken glass lay everywhere.

Besides these, the hall now contained one illusory bookshelf after another, each lacking a sense of reality. In different places on those shelves, pools of black shadow were hidden. At times, they would curl and stretch like eyes.

As the front door opened, those liquid-like black shadows abruptly came alive and spoke in the same voice:

“It’s you!

“My prophecy truly was not wrong. You are the person who will help me resolve my troublesome predicament!”