初次尝了销魂少妇

Where this intuition originated from, Nemo could not fathom. Yet, he found himself instinctively bowing his head in involuntary respect, uttering his response with an inexplicable sense of reverence, “As you say.”

Duncan, in receipt of Nemo’s acquiescence, returned his nod. His attention then casually drifted towards the old man standing at a distance, resting his weary body against the wall and seemingly engrossed in deep contemplation.

In this moment, the old man’s ramblings about the Frost Queen were absent, as were his seemingly nonsensical mutterings about the second waterway and the rebels. He merely stood there, his mind apparently adrift in a temporal and spatial realm that was teetering on the brink of oblivion.

In the maelstrom of the old man’s chaotic recollections, did the Frost Queen still hold sway over this realm?

Pulling his gaze away, Duncan beckoned Alice, who was similarly deep in her thoughts. Together with Vanna and Morris, they made their way towards the concealed exit.

Soon enough, they emerged above ground, vacated the confines of the “Golden Flute” tavern, and stepped onto the bustling streets of Frost.

As the setting sun inched towards the skyline, its majestic silhouette along with the enigmatic dual-rune circle just touched the tip of several spires of the high city. Visually, it gave an impression as though the towering edifices built by mortal hands were supporting the chains binding the sun, suspending it in the city’s sky.

The onset of dusk signaled the imminent curfew. In response to the stricter curfew rules, the crowd rushed to their homes or the closest “night shelters”. Amidst this flurry, Duncan and his group, who were sauntering nonchalantly, stood in stark contrast.

Nevertheless, they barely garnered attention from the busy crowd.

With a sense of intrigue, Vanna whispered to Duncan as she drew closer to him, “What are your thoughts on this matter?”

Responding with a calm demeanor, Duncan queried, “Are you referring to the origin of the ‘counterfeits’?”

“It’s as if they materialized out of thin air. Neither Morris nor I could find any indications using our investigative techniques, and even you couldn’t uncover any clues,” Vanna concurred with a gentle nod. “We had always operated under the assumption that even these peculiar ‘counterfeits’ would abide by ‘normal’ operational procedures, with a definite source and a discernible course of transmission…”

Duncan eased his pace and tilted his head slightly, probing, “So, are you suggesting that these counterfeits could possibly possess some form of spatial capability, bypassing the bounds of reality to materialize directly at specified locations?”

“That is my hypothesis.”

Neither confirming nor denying her conjecture, Duncan paused for a few seconds before he abruptly inquired, “Did I ever share with you the story of Alice’s maiden voyage on the ship?”

Caught off guard, Vanna blinked, “No, you didn’t. What transpired when Alice first boarded the ship?”

“The puppet, ensnared within her coffin, had a penchant for returning to the Vanished. I tossed her, along with her wooden box, into the sea thrice, and on each occasion, she and her coffin made their way back to the ship,” Duncan conveyed in an unperturbed tone. “What is your theory behind her mysterious reappearance?”

Lost in contemplation for a moment, Vanna eventually voiced her unsure conjecture, “Could it be… the product of a curse? Some form of ‘recurring ability’ that stems from Anomaly 099? Does it also involve spatial powers?”

“No, her means of return were surprisingly simpler. She paddled her way back, using the coffin lid as a makeshift oar. Her speed was remarkable,” Duncan explained with steady calmness, “Once she reached the ship, she exerted considerable strength to climb directly up the hull from the stern. Due to her swift approach, I failed to apprehend her the first two times, only managing to do so on the third attempt.”

Vanna remained silent, processing this surprising revelation.

Simultaneously, the youthful inquisitor and Morris swiveled their heads to regard Miss Alice, the seemingly innocuous puppet, who was glancing around. Noticing their gaze, she responded with an innocent smile.

“I wouldn’t dismiss outright that those ‘counterfeits’ could potentially materialize directly within the city-state through some form of spatial teleportation. However, logically speaking, if they indeed possessed such teleportation capabilities, why would the ‘Seagull’ need to traverse the vast expanse of the open sea rather than just materializing directly in the harbor?” Duncan offered indifferently. “I am more inclined to believe that the counterfeits still necessitate conventional means of transportation, and the reason why the counterfeit in the sewer seemed to ‘appear out of thin air’ is likely due to our oversight, much like how ordinary folks wouldn’t anticipate that the true cause of a cursed puppet’s persistent ‘returns’ is her exceptional swimming speed and formidable strength.”

He paused, his thoughts trailing off before he continued, “It’s even plausible that the place where Crow ‘accidentally’ trespassed was also a result of this type of ‘oversight’.”

Breaking his silence, Morris had an epiphany, “Could there be an unobservable ‘passageway’? Or a ‘rift’ that opens periodically?”

“It’s difficult to ascertain, but this issue is undoubtedly connected to those cultists,” Duncan concluded. “What Crow recovered on that fragment of paper caught my eye. It doesn’t resemble mere gibberish ‘heretical thoughts’; instead, it seems as if they’re employing a modern, yet indecipherable language to recount historical events. And such ‘records’ have always held a certain allure for those cultists.

“Perhaps it’s time we involved Dog and Shirley — the demon’s eyes may reveal secrets in dimensions beyond reality.”

…

A gust of gray wind infiltrated the entrance of the Harbor Defense Office, carrying within it Gatekeeper Agatha.

Seated behind his desk, Colonel Lister glanced up at the gatekeeper, who had materialized in his office without prior notice. “You’ve foregone even announcing your arrival this time.”

“Apologies for the abruptness, but we are dealing with an emergency,” Agatha uttered, her eyes then drifting to the shadowy circles under Lister’s eyes, “You forewent sleep last night?”

“It appears I’m not the only one who spent the night awake,” Lister replied, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We devoted the entire night to decoding the mysterious signal transmitted by the Mist Fleet. The scene was rather heated – our cryptographers and mathematicians nearly resorted to physical altercations with chairs and fists. I never imagined these composed scholars could descend to the level of slinging familial insults during a disagreement.”

A silence enveloped Agatha for a moment, her eyes holding an unusual expression. After a pause, she shared, “The cathedral may soon ‘borrow’ a handful of your scholars, specifically those specializing in cryptography and mathematics.”

Lister exhibited surprise, “Why is that?”

Agatha’s face remained impassive, with bandages obscuring half of it, “To unravel the unsavory secret bequeathed by another equally unsavory entity.”

“Seems like your predicaments match mine,” Lister sighed before regaining his composure, “Now, let’s address the crux of the matter. What information do you seek with this unanticipated visit?”

“It’s regarding the city-state’s blockade,” Agatha declared, “Under normal circumstances, the Silent Cathedral wouldn’t intervene in the city-state’s defensive matters. However, the current situation is exceptional, and I can’t ignore my worries.”

“I understand,” Lister nodded in affirmation, “Rest assured, the entirety of Frost is currently under an airtight seal. Should there exist any unsealed regions, considering the colossal Mist Fleet amassed in the adjacent sea, no one would dare to enter or exit. We’ve momentarily suspended all permits for harbor departure and alerted the nearby city-states as well as seafaring vessels to maintain a safe distance from Frost. All requests to dock at the harbor received to date have been denied.”

“That’s comforting, at least the issue won’t exacerbate,” Agatha sighed with visible relief, “And what about Dagger Island?”

“It remains under lockdown until the cathedral provides further ‘expert guidance’,” Lister mentioned with a slightly grave tone, “As of yesterday, the island has been dispatching ‘all is normal’ routine reports. Despite the cessation of material supplies to the island from the city-state and the cutting off of all communication responses, they’ve exhibited no additional reaction.”

“Do not lower your vigilance. The Seagull incident is evidence that the island’s contamination has an inclination to actively spread to the city-state… That ‘entity’ won’t merely comply,” Agatha warned gravely, “The cathedral is amassing a force composed of death priests and combat ascetics, but the unsealing of potent holy relics demands additional time.”

Lister gave a nod of understanding, and it seemed as though he was about to voice another thought when the abrupt sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor halted him.

A harbor soldier appeared in the doorway of the office.

Lister cast his gaze towards the soldier, who expressed distinct urgency, “What’s the matter?”

The soldier stood rigidly, promptly conveying his report, “Sir, a ship slated to dock at Frost hasn’t arrived as scheduled.”

“A delay in arrival? That’s unexpected,” Lister furrowed his brows, “Considering all the routes surrounding the city-state are currently sealed, it’s natural that no ships would be docking.”

“Sir, it’s not a matter of docking—the ship hasn’t appeared at all!” The soldier hastily clarified, “That particular ship was due to arrive today, and we had arranged to dispatch a notification regarding the city-state’s blockade to it. However, it failed to establish any contact. We reached out to Cold Harbor just a while ago, and they verified that the ship had fulfilled its supply replenishment and inspection there without any issues. But mysteriously, it vanished without leaving any trace upon nearing the waters surrounding Frost!”

At this news, Lister’s countenance turned gravely serious. He drew a deep, measured breath, rising from his desk, and pressed, “What’s the name of the missing ship?”

“It’s called ‘The White Oak’!”