The confrontation that unfolded within the gloomy confines of the alleyway was intense but fleeting—mere minutes elapsed from the instant the pair of shadowy cultists revealed their presence to the conclusion of their bitter fight. Vanna was firmly convinced that the brawl that erupted during this brief interval had undoubtedly echoed loud enough to rouse the night patrol guards of Frost.
Despite this, Vanna harbored no fear of Frost’s nocturnal protectors. Her status, as well as her abilities, far outmatched the average city guardian. Regardless, she had no desire to further convolute the situation at hand.
Just as she was pondering over the best way to establish contact with Duncan and inform him of the fight, a sudden commotion from the folklorist’s residence drew her attention. The front door swung open abruptly, revealing Duncan and Morris stepping out into the moonlit night.
With a brisk gait, Duncan moved toward Vanna and Alice, waiting in the alley, while Morris secured the door behind them. As he did so, he was drawing peculiar, antiquated symbols in the air, as though invoking the god of wisdom for a potent blessing.
“The disturbance outside caught my attention,” Duncan informed Vanna and Alice as he approached, surveying the scene in the alley with a quick glance. A hint of concern marked his features. “What transpired here?”
“We suspected cultist surveillance on this location, and Alice confirmed it. A brief skirmish ensued,” Vanna answered without hesitation, “The heretics have been eliminated, with no escapees. However, the clamor of our clash may have already alerted the night patrols, who should arrive shortly.”
“Alice detected them?” Duncan turned to the doll standing next to him with a look of surprise. He then noticed a certain peculiarity in Vanna’s countenance and quickly discerned that the situation might be more complex than he had anticipated. Despite this, he chose not to inquire further, responding with a simple nod. “This isn’t the time for elaborations. We need to mobilize.”
“I have effectively erased any evidence of our actions here,” Morris chimed in, having completed his task. “Garloni will have no recollection of the past twenty-four hours when she awakens. Even an expert mind physician would struggle to piece together the events.”
“That’s good to hear,” Duncan replied, showing a hint of relief. He had never overly concerned himself with covering their tracks, but fewer disruptions at the commencement of their mission would undoubtedly prove beneficial.
Raising his hand, he gestured into the darkness. The silence of the night was suddenly ruptured by the sound of fluttering wings. A dove, previously perched on a neighboring rooftop, swiftly took flight, soon disappearing into the black of the night. A green flame briefly illuminated the alleyway before the calm returned, disturbed only by the faint echo of the dove’s departing wings.
A few minutes later, the sound of hurried footsteps and the sway of lanterns in the distance signaled the arrival of the anticipated night patrol.
…
Ai, the departing dove, hadn’t flown far, landing near an abandoned factory just a block away, inside a dilapidated tin shack.
The shack, nestled close to the factory, bore a sizable hole in one of its windows. Ai flitted through this opening, and as its spirit flame flared, the forms of Duncan and his companions materialized within the shack’s confines.
Vanna’s gaze swept over the grimy, dust-covered interior of the makeshift refuge. A threadbare wooden bed, along with a crude table and chairs, huddled in one corner, while the other side of the room was heaped with a jumble of random items. A chill wind moaned outside, and the broken window whistled eerily in response.
“This was initially intended as a temporary shelter for the pump room maintenance crew. Usually, it remains vacant outside of the maintenance period. We don’t know when the next maintenance is due, but for tonight, this place will suffice as a temporary refuge,” Vanna said, turning her attention to the window. Through the grime-streaked glass, she could make out the silhouette of the old factory in the distance. Its lights shone brightly, and the hum of machinery was audible even from where they stood. “The factory is still operational, and there’s bound to be a priest on duty round the clock. If any supernatural conflicts occur nearby, the alert levels at the factory will inevitably escalate.”
“That’s not an issue. Just ensure we don’t light any lamps. They won’t detect our presence here,” Duncan replied, seemingly unconcerned. “We’ll hold out here till dawn and then proceed. Is everyone okay with that?”
His gaze swept over his companions. Alice was a cursed doll, Vanna was an accomplished young warrior, and Morris, though seemingly frail, was an extraordinary individual gifted with divine powers. Duncan was confident in their collective strength, but he did worry that the bone-chilling winter nights of the northern city might not be kind to the elderly Morris.
“Rest assured,” Morris responded, seemingly aware of Duncan’s concern. A soft smile graced his lips as he traced the sacred rune of Lahem, the god of wisdom, on his chest. “Until a couple of years ago, I frequently braved ancient ruins and cursed wastelands on perilous seashores. The challenges there were far more dangerous than our current situation. Scholarly pursuits have never been easy, especially when they involve delving into history.”
Duncan contemplated this and found himself agreeing with the old gentleman. In their world, historians and folklorists truly represented the hardcore professions. Even those confined to their homes had to possess extraordinary skills to confront the subjects of their studies, be they cursed manuscripts or possessed relics that refused to lay dormant in exhibit halls.
Regarding an all-around scholar like Morris, Duncan mused he probably mastered combat and survival skills before venturing into the realm of history.
“We might also reach out to Captain Tyrian’s informants stationed within the city,” Vanna suggested. “They could potentially arrange for lodgings and provide us with useful intel.”
“I will get in touch with them, but not right now,” Duncan waved his hand dismissively, his expression sobering. “Henceforth, we need to be cautious with anyone we come into contact with in Frost, and this includes Tyrian’s so-called ‘informants’.”
Taken aback, Vanna quickly grasped his implication, “You’re confirming that ‘Scott Brown’…”
“He was a deep-sea replica, and he self-destructed before we could reach him. We were a step too late and only managed to uncover a handful of clues he left behind,” Duncan stated, shaking his head ruefully. “However, we did anticipate this scenario. Additionally, we found a female apprentice suffering from cognitive disorientation and memory loss in that house. She was an ordinary individual.”
Vanna’s expression hardened at this revelation.
“That was Brown’s student, Garloni. She has absolutely no recollection of her tutor’s shipwreck incident,” Morris added. “Based on our assessment, this situation might not be an isolated incident in Frost.”
“Tyrian started receiving odd, contradictory reports over a fortnight ago. These reports sometimes mentioned instances of ‘the dead returning’ in Frost. At other times, they dismissed these incidents as mere rumors, claiming that the so-called deceased was, in fact, long-time residents of Frost. Occasionally, we’d receive conflicting reports from the same source,” Duncan continued. “Initially, Tyrian thought that the Frost authorities were manipulating the information flow and that the Death Church was acting to minimize the effects of these bizarre incidents on its residents. But now, it appears… it’s more likely the result of cognitive distortion.”
“You’re implying that this cognitive and memory corruption has infected the entire city-state?!” Vanna comprehended the gravity of the situation. “So, in this city-state right now…”
“It’s hard to gauge the ratio of replicas to originals. But that’s a secondary issue, as I can swiftly distinguish the replicas upon meeting them. The real concern is the ordinary folk who are no longer… ordinary,” Duncan said, pausing briefly before shaking his head. “In any case, Tyrian’s informants in this city are no longer reliable. Some may have been replaced, some might have had their cognition distorted, and some could even be spies for the cult of obliteration… We need to exercise caution while dealing with them.”
Vanna nodded gravely, but deep within her eyes, a flicker of joy was kindling.
The mysterious northern city-state, plagued by an undercurrent of replacement and suspicion. Former spies deemed unreliable. Seemingly harmless citizens gradually experiencing distortions in memory and cognition. Deceptive voices echoing throughout the city, with the corruption spreading like a hidden blight.
She found this promising, as it all fell within her domain of expertise – purging heresy and cleansing corruption.
She began to understand why Pope Helena had dispatched her to the Vanished.
Even though the nightscape in Pland now bore a tranquil visage, she would always have a role to play as long as she stayed with the Vanished.
Duncan regarded Vanna with a curious expression.
“Is it my imagination, or did your mood just improve significantly?”
“Ah, I was just contemplating the continuation of our crusade against heresy, and that makes me rather happy.”
Duncan was momentarily at a loss for words, not sure how to assess the young inquisitor’s enthusiasm. However, he quickly shifted his attention to another matter.
His gaze landed on the doll who was daydreaming nearby.
“Now that Morris and I have shared our updates, it’s time for you to fill us in on your side of things.”
