Chapter 73: Behind the Door

Chapter 73: Behind the Door

Although the voice from inside the telegraph office had nothing especially unusual about it—it was only slightly intermittent and lacked any obvious rise or fall in tone, which normally should not have made anyone feel afraid—a surging, overwhelming fear erupted inside Verdu’s heart.

It was like a bullet trailing flame firing into an arsenal and striking a barrel of easily ignited gunpowder with absolute precision, instantly detonating all the fear Verdu had accumulated earlier and forcibly suppressed.

The terror sweeping through every corner of his body was like a hand clutching his heart and wiping his mind blank. He abruptly turned and madly fled toward the ruined pier where the pirate ship was docked.

During that process, Verdu completely forgot how to think. He no longer remembered that he was wearing a classical robe capable of “Teleportation.” He only relied on his two feet, stumbling and staggering through the ruins. At times, he tripped over debris and fell heavily. At times, the robe strangled him until his face turned purplish, forcing him to stop and gasp for breath.

Yet every time he recovered slightly, Verdu would climb back to his feet and continue sprinting. He looked as though he had lost all reason and had only pure instinct remaining.

Without the power he supplied, the wooden door could no longer maintain its balance. After sliding a little along the collapsed, broken wall, it dropped to the brick-and-stone-covered ground with a slap.

The grayish-white fog and the indistinct houses within it disappeared along with it.

Five or six minutes later, Verdu ran back to the pier beneath storm clouds and pouring rain.

His eyes stared blankly, filled with panic and helplessness. He completely failed to notice that a figure stood on the pirate ship’s deck, quietly looking down at him.

It was the cold-faced young man in the half-height silk top hat and long black trench coat.

Without even thinking, Verdu used the gangway to return to the pirate ship, rushing all the way into the cabin, up to the second level, and into his room.

Bang!

He slammed the door shut, shrank onto the narrow bed, tightly wrapped himself in the blanket, and trembled.

Only after another rib snapped and intense pain assaulted his mind did Verdu recover slightly. He discovered that his limbs were sore and weak, his body feverish, and every breath he took thundered in his ears.

He struggled and worked hard before finally removing the classical robe and collapsing back onto the bed. He felt dizzy, nauseated, and short of air no matter how he breathed.

Outside the cabin, the cold-faced man suddenly raised his hand and took a human-skin glove out of thin air, putting it onto his left palm.

In the next instant, the man vanished from where he stood and appeared in a corner of the ruins, beside that ordinary wooden door.

He then bent down, pulled the wooden door upright, and made it stand once more before a wall that had mostly collapsed.

Immediately afterward, the man in the black trench coat simulated Verdu’s actions. He extended his palm, grasped the handle, and twisted it downward.

Then he pushed the wooden door forward, causing it to swing back and lean against the wall.

Almost at the same time, he saw a grayish-white fog. Within the faint fog, he saw a street and houses, blurry and indistinct.

Among those houses, the most prominent and clearest was Bansy Harbor Telegraph Office. The others all seemed more or less indistinct.

At that moment, from inside the telegraph office, the calm voice spoke through the open door:

“Who… are… you?”

“I… am… Gehrman… Sparrow.” The young man in the half-height silk top hat replied in the same intermittent voice.

Inside Bansy Harbor Telegraph Office, silence suddenly descended, as if someone were soundlessly walking toward the doorway.

Just then, Gehrman Sparrow turned and looked to the other side.

From the depths of that indistinct street, a figure walked over. He wore a straw hat, had a towel around his neck, and was bending forward while pulling something.

As that figure approached, the outline of the thing behind him was gradually revealed.

It was a black, two-wheeled cart with a canopy that could block the harsh sun and rain.

Seated inside the cart was a lady holding a round fan painted with flowers and birds, wearing a waisted long dress.

Both she and the cart-puller were covered by relatively thicker fog, making it impossible to see their exact appearances clearly.

Only when they passed before Gehrman Sparrow did he barely make out a few details through the mist.

The man bending over to pull the cart had a face so rotten that bone was visible, and pale-yellow pus flowed from it. The parts of the lady not hidden by her flower-and-bird fan, clothing, or jewelry were swollen until they shone, studded with many bluish-black patches.

With a ding, a bell rang, and a blue train with only two carriages raced out before Gehrman Sparrow.

Only then did Gehrman Sparrow discover that the street was paved with iron-black tracks, and that, overhead, long wires corresponded to them one after another.

From the top of the train’s front, a somewhat complex metal bracket extended upward, sliding along those wires.

Through the train’s glass windows, Gehrman Sparrow saw the passengers inside.

They all faced the street, yet only their heads remained. Each head dragged behind it a bloodstained spinal column.

Gehrman Sparrow’s pupils dilated slightly. He quietly watched the scene and did not move for a long time.

Nearly a minute later, he stepped forward, attempting to enter the blurry street shrouded by grayish-white fog.

But the fog blocked him. No matter what method he used, he could not pass through it.

A quarter of an hour later, Gehrman Sparrow stopped trying. He closed the wooden door and dispelled the fog. Then he dragged the door with him and directly “teleported” back onto the pirate ship, completely unconcerned that he might suffer a curse.

He immediately stood the wooden door upright on the deck and once again stretched out his left palm, grasping the handle.

Suddenly, a crack sounded from Gehrman Sparrow’s neck. His head seemed to be lifted by an invisible hand, dragging out a bloody spine.

Gehrman Sparrow’s expression did not change. Coldly, he raised his right hand and pressed it down hard against the top of his head, forcing it back into its original position.

Immediately afterward, as though unaffected, he twisted the handle and once again pushed open the wooden door, making it lean against the ship’s railing.

But this time, no grayish-white fog appeared. No indistinct streets, houses, or trains emerged. There was no abnormality at all.

In the next second, the wooden door rapidly rotted and decayed into a heap of sludge, as though fleeing the fate of being experimented upon.

Gehrman Sparrow did not stop it. He first took a gold ring set with a ruby out of thin air and wore it for nearly ten seconds.

After making the ring vanish, Gehrman Sparrow stretched out his right hand and pulled from the void the same ordinary wooden door from earlier, continuing to perform all kinds of experiments.

Only after confirming that the wooden door lost its effect once it left Bansy did Gehrman Sparrow casually flick it away, causing it to vanish in midair.

Two hours passed. The dark clouds high above gradually dispersed, and the storm that had brewed for so long ultimately did not descend.

After the pirate ship left Bansy Harbor, Verdu, whose injuries had been treated, drank a bottle of medicine and quickly entered sleep to adjust his mental state.

In the gray dream world, he ran across a barren wilderness, frantically searching for something, yet gaining nothing at all.

Suddenly, from the depths of the wilderness, Verdu heard intermittent voices drift over one after another:

“Great… God of War…”

“Symbol… of iron… and blood…”

“Ruler… of turmoil… and strife…”

Those words repeated again and again, yet they did not startle Verdu awake or make him leave the dream.

After an unknown length of time, Verdu woke naturally and opened his eyes.

At that moment, morning light shone into the cabin through the window, bringing a somewhat hazy brightness.

Verdu slowly sat up and discovered that, without relying on an Astrologer’s abilities, he could still recall the three-part honorific name he had heard in his dream.

And his fairly abundant mysticism knowledge told him that it pointed toward a hidden existence at the level of a deity.

Did this come from the incomplete symbols and signs around the altar, or was it caused by witnessing that street in the grayish-white fog? Verdu slightly frowned and sank into thought.

He did not rashly attempt to recite the honorific name, because he knew all too well how quickly and miserably those who had done similar things died.

God of War… Verdu vaguely remembered seeing that divine name in one of the family’s ancient texts. He decided to conduct a certain amount of research before considering how to proceed.

…

Bansy Harbor, atop the collapsed seaside mountain.

Flames of different colors—scarlet, blazing white, and orange—rose from the gaps between broken stones and formed a human figure.

The figure wore bloodstained black armor and had half-long fiery red hair. He was young and handsome.

A blood-colored mark like a battle flag grew at the center of his brow, and faint traces of rot could be seen on his face. It was the Red Angel evil spirit, Sauron Einhorn Medici.

“If He didn’t have Sefirah Castle and the Attendant of Mysteries characteristic, letting His marionettes run all over the world without considering the limits of distance, I wouldn’t have had to be so roundabout,” the Red Angel evil spirit clicked His tongue, speaking to no one in particular.

In midair, a crow descended and landed atop a huge boulder.

Around its right eye was a circle of white. From its beak came a human voice:

“You actually used ‘He’ instead of ‘he.’ That does not suit your style.”

The Red Angel evil spirit chuckled.

“Because He wants others to call him ‘he,’ not ‘He.’”

As he spoke, Sauron Einhorn Medici glanced at the crow.

“Compared to your true appearance, this form is much cuter, isn’t it, little crow?”

The white-ringed crow responded without the slightest anger:

“Your sarcasm, like you yourself, still lives in the previous epoch.”

The Red Angel evil spirit smiled.

“Things have gone fairly smoothly. He has been deceived. Still, I think even if He discovers it, He will probably pretend not to see. If you people wish to become Old Ones, Door must return. The hypocritical He may still be hesitating over whether to do it, because one careless move could bring a tremendous disaster. Haha, I like disasters.

“Little crow, when will you pay the reward? Without sufficient strength, I cannot gain the trust of that brainless fellow from the Abraham family.”

“When he prays to you,” the white-ringed crow said. “If you are worried this state cannot be maintained for long, I can parasitize a Worm of Time inside you and help maintain it. There is no need to thank me.”

As it spoke, the crow spread its wings and vanished into the vast night sky.

The Red Angel evil spirit turned His head. Taking advantage of the terrain, His expression somewhat solemn, He looked down over the ruins of Bansy.