WCBD CH143

Chapter 143: Finding Another Path

When Siles woke from his dream, it was 4:00 AM Bethune time.

…Despite the change in time zones, he actually still woke up punctually at four in the morning. Was this the power of an Old God? Truly incredible. He stared at the ceiling, thinking to himself.

At the same time, a notification from the dice sounded in his mind: [Knowledge +1.]

One point of Knowledge?

He couldn’t help but freeze slightly, a bit puzzled as to where this point of Knowledge came from.

…Could it be the revelation that Chendo’s dream contained the Tauohetia Cemetery?

He felt Enoch Gielgud’s story wasn’t enough to grant him a point of Knowledge, because the information he had obtained so far was still lingering on the periphery of the truth, unable to truly lift the veil on what had happened.

…If Chendo could truly find Enoch Gielgud’s soul in the Tauohetia Cemetery, perhaps they would be able to learn the truth. However, that was a matter for later, and he couldn’t pin all his hopes on that possibility.

In any case, this journey through dreams had indeed brought Siles some gains, and Chendo’s side was an even more unexpected pleasant surprise.

This one-point increase in Knowledge also pushed Siles’s Knowledge stat past 70 to 71. Compared to his Knowledge stat when he first arrived in this world, his Knowledge had already increased significantly—and of course, he understood this world more and more.

He focused his thoughts on the matter of the Tauohetia Cemetery.

The Tauohetia Cemetery was the very graveyard within Chendo’s dream. This revelation felt utterly unexpected. Neither of them had ever considered such a possibility before.

Because dreams clearly fell within the domain of Akamara’s power.

How could Ligadia’s paradise appear here?

It carried a very distinct implication… as if Ligadia had intentionally “hidden” His paradise here.

Moreover, even though the Tauohetia Cemetery was situated within the dream of Ligadia’s Scion, in the current era, it required someone who had inherited Akamara’s power to assist this Scion before he could possibly enter the Tauohetia Cemetery.

Before Chendo, the several bloodline descendants of the Praia family didn’t seem to have been this fortunate; otherwise, relevant records would certainly have been left in the Praia family archives.

…Hence, the Tauohetia Cemetery vanished without a trace alongside Ligadia’s disappearance. Even if believers successfully died in a foreign land and met the conditions to enter the Tauohetia Cemetery, they would only be faced with an empty graveyard and a vast, desolate space devoid of human presence.

Because no one now knew how to enter the Tauohetia Cemetery, including the successors to Ligadia’s power.

Siles deeply suspected one thing: namely, when Ligadia departed, He didn’t tell anyone how to enter His paradise at all.

Otherwise, during the Age of Shadows and the early Age of Silence, Akamara had not yet fallen, and She certainly would have known that Ligadia had “deposited” His paradise within a dream.

If believers had known of Ligadia’s actions, they would definitely have sought Akamara’s help, or drawn closer to Akamara’s followers. But neither of those things had happened.

Furthermore, Akamara had no intention of proactively informing Ligadia’s followers about this; in fact, in historical records, Ligadia and Akamara seemed completely unrelated.

…So this was a secret affair, Siles thought. Ligadia had indeed “hidden” the Tauohetia Cemetery within the dream of His Scion, as if… hiding from something.

Hiding from the “Shadow”?

This was a logical deduction, but Siles couldn’t confirm it either.

That Ligadia embarked on His journey to confront the “Shadow” had already been proven by plenty of information. However, what kind of act “embarking on a journey” truly was, and how one was supposed to confront the Shadow—these questions yielded not a single clue.

Why would embarking on a journey allow Him to fight the “Shadow,” or was He searching for a way to combat the “Shadow” along that journey?

Regardless, Ligadia’s sense of entrusting His legacy and orphans grew ever more pronounced.

He entrusted His Scion to Antinam, though it was unknown how Antinam learned of this; perhaps Antinam also took over this task from another deity.

Furthermore, before leaving, He also had His believers notify Amois in the ocean. Evidently, He intended for Amois to learn certain information, which was why He instructed His believers to do so.

Not to mention, He placed His paradise, the crystallization and embodiment of His power, within the realm of Akamara’s paradise; in fact, only with the help of Akamara’s power could the successor of Ligadia’s power possibly find the Tauohetia Cemetery.

The more he thought about it, the more Siles felt this was an incredible level of trust.

If entering the Tauohetia Cemetery required a lock, then that lock was guarded by the power of Akamara.

From this perspective, what secret was hidden within the Tauohetia Cemetery that made Ligadia conceal it with such profound care?

And why Akamara?

The puzzle of this choice lay in the fact that before leaving, Ligadia specifically instructed His believers to seek out Amois; in other words, Amois was also a deity He trusted deeply.

Yet in the end, the Tauohetia Cemetery appeared within Akamara’s paradise. This was a deliberate choice, and Siles did not yet know if there was a deeper meaning behind it.

Ligadia and Akamara… souls dying in foreign lands and dreams…

Dreams?

…Dreams of the living?

Siles suddenly froze. The next second, he abruptly sat up in bed.

He had previously attempted to search for the dreams of the dead within the deep-sea dreams, because the dreams of the archaeological team could never be found, leading him to suspect they had already perished.

Back then, Siles had specifically tried searching for the dream of the definitely deceased Professor Denton Calverley to confirm this idea of his. He hadn’t received any response either.

At that time, he even thought that within the domain of Akamara’s power, people who didn’t dream were just like the dead.

But… what if the dead also had dreams?

Earlier, Siles had only managed to enter the mysterious farm through “searching for Akamara’s dream.” Yet Akamara had already fallen.

Although that was a god’s paradise, likely vastly different from a true dream of the dead, Siles had nevertheless entered the farm via the method of “searching for a dream.”

On this point, the dreams of the living and the dead seemed, to some extent, unified.

He hadn’t carefully considered this question before, but now he suddenly realized where the issue lay. Still, he had only ever found Akamara’s dream, never the dreams of other dead people.

…The only difference was that when he searched for Akamara’s dream, he was outside the deep-sea dream.

He couldn’t find the dreams of the dead within the deep-sea dream; what if he tried again outside the deep-sea dream?

What if he tried searching for the dreams of the dead within Chendo’s dream?

…Matryoshka nesting dolls?

Siles realized this with amused exasperation, but it didn’t seem entirely impossible. It was a marvelous association, and he wanted to give it a try.

He decided to leave this matter for the deep-sea dream the night after tomorrow.

…Calculating it this way, he had quite a lot to do the night after tomorrow.

He had to follow up on Garrett’s investigation and make an attempt in Chendo’s dream, and meanwhile, if those three kids had dreams, he would also have to drop by and say hello to them.

Even far away in a foreign land, his tasks remained endless. Siles couldn’t help but sigh.

Daylight broke gradually. He got up and walked over to the window, gazing at the sunrise over the sea. The magnificent scenery and vibrant colors filled him with wonder. He suddenly felt a twinge of regret that he couldn’t record this spectacle.

He could only gaze at it with rapt attention.

And at this moment, as his thoughts stepped outside the question of the relationship between Ligadia and Akamara, he abruptly realized another relational question.

His relationship with Chendo.

Ligadia’s paradise lay within Akamara’s paradise, so why was it such a coincidence that Ligadia’s Scion actually met Akamara’s successor?

His meeting with Chendo felt like an arrangement fated by destiny, he thought.

From this perspective, what Chendo had once said—that his very birth seemed meant solely to wait for Siles’s arrival—actually held a certain plausibility now. The flavor of an “arrangement” was simply too obvious.

But could “Destiny” have foreseen the romance between him and Chendo?

…Honestly, could his meeting with Chendo have been a “blind date” that neither of them knew about?

For a moment, Siles didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Leaving aside the topic of destiny, Chendo was Chendo. He wouldn’t doubt Chendo because of these suspicious speculations, not to mention that Chendo obviously had no understanding of such a possibility. Siles simply wanted to understand everything a little more clearly.

Then again, since he was connected to the power of destiny to a certain extent, it would actually be rather strange if his lover had nothing to do with destiny’s arrangements.

Everything around him ultimately fell within the purview of destiny.

Only when the sun had completely risen did Siles snap out of his reverie. He decided to find an opportunity later to share his thoughts with Chendo; perhaps Chendo would even feel delighted by such speculation.

A fated romance. At this moment when they had already confirmed their relationship, this notion of being “fated” felt all the sweeter, even if neither of them had realized it when they first met.

Having settled this, he went to the washroom to freshen up, pondering today’s itinerary. It was Tuesday; they were going to Bethune University to exchange ideas with the professors there.

He was very curious about what academic topics he would hear here.

At eight o’clock, when almost everyone had finished breakfast, they set off for Bethune University. An empty lecture hall had long been prepared there for their academic visit.

Bethune University had also found a more professional translator to accompany this academic conference, which relieved Johnny. After all, he knew little about these academic subjects.

On Lamifa University’s side, they had each prepared information from their respective fields to present; Bethune University, on the other hand, sent two professors specializing in history and philosophy, who would also introduce their own fields.

Siles was slightly surprised, as he suddenly realized that in Bethune, philosophy was a remarkably popular discipline.

He quietly asked Foster Ronchi about the popularity of philosophy. Right now was an intermission, and the philosophy professor was about to take the stage to give his presentation.

“It’s actually also due to my great-grandfather. I mentioned to you before that my great-grandfather was once the president of Bethune University,” Foster answered. “My great-grandfather believed that ‘the relationship between humanity and the world is the most important subject in our lives.’

“…It doesn’t literally just mean the relationship between humanity and the world; I’m putting it simply. I mean philosophy, because it’s hard to translate into the Konstan language… In the Middleton language, philosophy encompasses a much broader scope.

“Like humanity and the world, humanity and civilization, humanity and the gods… our relationship with these vaster, grander themes is Middleton’s philosophy.

“So, at least in universities, philosophy is very popular. Perhaps because it’s a topic frequently discussed in Middleton’s cultural circles.”

Foster’s explanation sounded a bit excited. It was obvious that he was naturally captivated by these topics.

Siles nodded thoughtfully. He suddenly realized that in Middleton, people’s perspectives tended toward extremes: either they were indifferent to the world, solely immersed in the small corner of their own daily lives,

or they obsessively pursued these vastly profound subjects.

This phenomenon had become increasingly palpable to him after arriving in Bethune, though before discussing philosophy, he hadn’t clearly realized it.

Discussing philosophy, pondering the relationship between humanity and the world, civilization, and the gods—was this a good thing?

Siles thought for a moment and then suddenly remembered that when he had once mentioned the duality of destiny to Chendo, Chendo said he shouldn’t worry about such things but should focus on finishing the lunch before him first.

…Although he knew Chendo probably meant “Please don’t starve yourself,” he unexpectedly drew a trace of comfort from those words.

He recalled even earlier, when he first arrived in Biedel City, reading books and newspapers alone in the inn at night. He had looked out at the city ruins destroyed by the mist and looked at the mundane trifles of everyday life in the newspapers.

The duality of destiny. The duality of the world. The lives of ordinary mortals, and those deeper, terrifying, grander topics.

…They didn’t necessarily have to be ranked against one another, did they? he thought.

Now he wielded immense power, such as dreams and destiny, and understood the complex and elusive truths of this world, yet he still missed that idle, leisurely life of a novelist on Earth, blissfully ignorant of the world’s true nature yet delightfully carefree.

This world is vast enough.

“…This world is vast enough.”

He heard the translator’s words and abruptly looked up.

On the lecture podium, an unfamiliar man was recounting Middleton’s philosophical lore. The translator rendered his speech word by word: “In Middleton’s philosophy, this world is vast enough; therefore, our exploration and defiance of the world are accommodated by the world just as abundantly.”

Siles couldn’t help but be taken aback. The meaning of these words was clearly somewhat different from what Siles had just been thinking.

Still, he reminded himself not to let his mind wander at such a moment, as that would be disrespectful to the professor. He reined in his thoughts and listened intently to Middleton’s philosophical ideas.

Unsurprisingly, he found that despite framing it as humanity and the world, in Middleton, the most frequently raised topic was ultimately the ocean, especially the Fuliou Sea.

People’s conceptions could never transcend the regions in which they lived. The people of Middleton were no different. In a positive sense, their philosophical outlook was perpetually imbued with an optimistic spirit of actively exploring and boldly forging ahead in the face of storms and unknown oceans.

This fit the daily lives of Middleton people quite well—almost stereotypically so, as if Middleton natives were born to be nothing but sailors. Couldn’t they do something else?

Siles cracked a dry joke to himself in his mind, though he knew full well he was merely trying to alleviate the heavy mood brought on by contemplating such profound subjects.

Meanwhile, in a negative sense, the Middleton philosophical outlook was inevitably tied to oceanic storms, fickle weather, the freezing glaciers of winter, and the like.

They viewed nature and the ocean as a tyrant. They could only accept and could not resist, forced to submit to the cold severity and majesty of the gods, unable to determine their own destiny.

Their ancestors of the past had been so, and their descendants of the future would be no different. From millennia ago until today, their lives had never seen any real change.

In concluding, the philosophy professor spoke a concise sentence, which was then translated into a lengthy statement:

“A storm may strike at any time; all we need to do is be prepared.”

These words sounded somewhat familiar to Siles. He quickly glanced toward Johnny, remembering that when they encountered that storm in Kingsley, Johnny had expressed a similar sentiment. This seemed to be a common saying in Middleton.

Siles thought to himself that this seemed to be a more balanced perspective, carrying an implicit philosophy of taking things as they come and dealing with whatever arises.

They believed that humanity ultimately could not alter the minds of the gods, and thus could only resign themselves to fate.

After this philosophy professor, a literature professor from Bethune University took the podium. He introduced Middleton’s literature to the visiting professors from the Duchy of Konst.

Poetry and fiction were inescapable cornerstones of Middleton literature. If travelogues, biographies, and other documentary literature formed an important component of certain research in the Duchy of Konst, then in Middleton, non-documentary fiction was paramount.

That rugged, sweeping grandeur—like the ocean, like glaciers, like nature itself—seemed steeped into the souls of Middleton’s artists. In their poetry, they invariably extolled the surging waves of the sea; in their novels, they unfailingly depicted captivating epics of heroes.

Yet beneath this temperament lay grievous sacrifices underpinned by tragic tales. Almost every person in Middleton was accustomed to death—from the sea, from famine, and from bitter cold. To them, this world was one grueling ordeal.

This ordeal even diluted the influence of the gods over them.

Throughout the entire lecture, Siles noticed that the word “gods” was actually rarely mentioned.

The power and majesty of the gods had long since permeated the daily existence of the people of Middleton, woven inextricably into the “ocean” they so fervently revered. The gods were the world, and the world was suffering.

Here, the lofty gods seemed to have become part of the will of the Middleton people as well, jointly forging the foundational soul of this nation.

Evidently, Middleton’s culture and philosophy brought a degree of shock to the visiting scholars from Konst.

In Konst, gods were gods, the world was the world, and the daily lives of ordinary mortals seemed entirely detached from the gods and those grander cosmic powers.

Yet in Middleton, the situation swung to the opposite extreme. The people of Middleton rarely spoke the word “gods,” but their minds were completely shackled by them.

After the morning speeches concluded, they went together to the Bethune University dining hall for lunch. Several professors conversed enthusiastically, and Siles was no exception, even though their exchanges had to be conducted through a translator.

The pace of such conversations was inevitably slow, but it provided ample time for thorough reflection.

Alongside the discussion, Siles did not forget to inspect the dining plates. Whether because a different batch had been used or because they were dining in a standard cafeteria, there was nothing unusual about the plates at lunch.

In the afternoon, it was time for the professors from Konst to present their respective specialties. In comparison, Konst’s cultural concepts brought even greater confusion and perplexity to the Middleton audience.

They seemed unable to comprehend why secular culture flourished so vigorously in Konst, to the point where humanity had completely cast off divine influence to create arts and culture belonging strictly to mortals.

Siles was the last to take the podium, and his presentation centered naturally on the literature of the Age of Silence—or more precisely, Konst literature during the Age of Silence.

The ebb and flow between sacred and secular texts dealt an intense intellectual shock to the professors of Middleton.

One professor stood up and asked loudly, his voice carrying across the room. The translator explained, “He is asking why, in Konst, humanity and the gods can be separated so cleanly.”

The room grew slightly chaotic for a moment; interrupting a speaker was rather impolite. Yet while the scholars from Konst frowned, the Middleton academics all shared a similar expectant demeanor.

They awaited Siles’s answer.

Siles deliberated for a moment. He understood that the answer to this question was deeply rooted in the divergent histories of Konst and Middleton.

The Duchy of Konst was established at the transition between the Age of Silence and the Age of Mist. From that era onward, the gods had gradually retreated from the stage of world history. The founding of Konst had been accomplished entirely by its own people.

Middleton was quite the opposite. Having endured continuously from the Age of Silence to the present day, it had directly witnessed the fall of deities; furthermore, its immediate proximity to the Fuliou Sea made it nearly impossible to escape divine influence.

The Age of Silence. That era had fundamentally shaped the world into what it was today.

From Siles’s own perspective, however, he could hardly endorse Middleton’s present state of mind. He recalled Garrett’s account of how, over thirty years ago, the people of Kingsley had sought to publicly behead Enoch Gielgud purely because of his madness.

That was in Kingsley—one of the wealthiest and most flourishing cities in Middleton. Yet even its citizens remained trapped in such self-deceiving backwardness.

Siles had no wish to judge Middleton’s reality with condescension. He recognized the complexity of the matter; in a world where gods truly existed, humanity required a long time to adapt to their departure.

In the end, he simply said, “Perhaps humanity and the gods were separate from the very beginning.”

He was met with the bewildered gazes of the Middleton academics.

Siles paused, then continued, “I am a scholar of literary history, and I know little about other fields. But regarding literature, when it comes to the relationship between mortals and deities… I believe many have overlooked a fundamental truth from the start.”

The audience watched him in total silence.

Siles said, “I have heard some argue that the gods determined mortal literature. Yet in reality, the most fundamental prerequisite for any literature is the written word. Did the gods invent writing? No. Mortals invented writing.

“Mortals created writing because they sought to express their own concepts and philosophies, and with those written words, they authored literary stories. The gods took no part in that process.

“Literature is merely one small dimension of human civilization. There are countless other fields and achievements in which the divine never intervened. Those belong solely to humanity.

“You wonder why Konst separates mortals and gods so distinctly. My answer is simply this: humanity and the gods were separate from the very beginning.”

His tone was composed and even, yet everyone present seemed to hold their breath. They stared at the man on the podium in stunned, dizzying disbelief.

No one had anticipated such an answer. It bordered on sheer defiance, as though on this ordinary afternoon, this man named Siles Noel had stepped forward to challenge the authority of the gods.

A few listeners even glanced discreetly at the members of the Church of the Past in attendance. To their astonishment, the church members remained entirely placid, without the slightest hint of shock or disapproval.

Siles waited a moment, and seeing that no one wished to pursue the point further, calmly resumed his planned lecture.

When he stepped down from the podium and returned to his seat, Lorenzo leaned over and shot him an admiring glance.

Siles paused, then smiled quietly.

They did not converse right then, but once all the presentations wrapped up and they were walking back toward the dining hall, Lorenzo marveled, “You truly are daring, Siles.”

“Am I?” Siles asked.

“Didn’t you see the looks on their faces? The Middleton scholars looked completely flabbergasted—they never imagined anyone would outright deny the relevance of gods to humanity,” Lorenzo said.

Siles nodded slowly. “I noticed. But I stand by that view.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Lorenzo replied. “It’s just the location… You know this is Middleton, not Konst. Even back in Lamifa City, there are old traditionalists clinging to divine authority.”

“Yet the world must continually move forward,” Siles said. “And it requires that progress.”

Lorenzo nodded in agreement.

They let the topic rest.

Siles reflected that the world’s progress was inevitably fraught with obstacles, not least because cultists and Old God followers would always emerge from the shadows to proclaim their ongoing existence.

He sighed softly to himself.

That concluded the day’s official schedule. At dinner, Professor Bella announced the itinerary for the following day: they would have the morning off to spend as they wished, followed by an afternoon session of academic visits at Bethune University.

For many professors, this was welcome news; after a day of dense cultural exchanges, they needed time to rest and process what they had heard.

As for Siles…

After dinner, Bunyan approached him privately and whispered, “Bishop Elizabeth seems to have uncovered some information regarding the ceramic materials. We can speak with her tomorrow morning.”

Siles was slightly taken aback, then nodded.

Even abroad, a genuine holiday was out of reach. The realization was rather tiring.

Still, he was genuinely curious about what Elizabeth had uncovered. Tomorrow night he would meet Garrett in the deep-sea dream, and synthesizing information from both ends might yield valuable breakthroughs.

Bunyan then added, “We used [Shadow of the Old Gods] to test the level of spiritual pollution just now. After dinner tonight, all the investigators showed a slight increase in pollution. It wasn’t drastic, but it was there.”

Siles frowned. Although the contamination from the plates was minor, its immediate effect was deeply concerning—especially since they had detected it, while the people of Bethune remained completely oblivious.

He sighed and said, “That is a problem. Tomorrow we can ask the Bishop if there is a way to address these plates.”

Bunyan nodded, adding, “Thankfully, the ‘Replicating the Self’ ritual you devised allows us to maintain our mental stability.”

Siles offered a faint smile. “I’m glad it proved useful.”

“You are always so modest,” Bunyan said. “In truth, you have provided immense help to this world.”

Siles paused, then smiled warmly. “I merely do what I can.”

The following morning, they headed together to the Church of the Past in Bethune.

Once again, only Elizabeth was there waiting for them.

Dr. Chester accompanied them as well. He planned to share lunch with Elizabeth at noon, as their group was scheduled to leave Bethune the following day.

Elizabeth appeared even graver than during their previous visit. Her expression softened slightly when she saw Chester, but she quickly turned to the matter at hand.

“Those dining plates…” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Among the distributor records, I recognized a familiar name.”

“Whose?” Bunyan asked.

Elizabeth fell silent for a moment.

They were gathered in her private office. Outside, heavy gray clouds hung low over the sky, signaling an imminent storm—or perhaps the lingering, bitter grasp of winter before its end.

“…Back when I was investigating my sister’s disappearance, I wanted to sail out and find that isolated island,” Elizabeth began. “The island Enoch Gielgud visited.

“You might not know the details, but he had sailed out with a full expedition. He was the sole survivor who returned. When he was still lucid, before his madness fully consumed him, people could still question him, and they gleaned some information.

“He claimed they were shipwrecked on an isolated island and encountered hostile indigenous inhabitants. His account was always evasive and fragmented, but the expedition certainly occurred.

“The authorities didn’t uncover much at the time… I can’t say for sure. But as I read through those case files years ago, I kept thinking I ought to sail out and investigate it myself.

“After all, I am a native of Middleton; I have sailed the seas and looked upon the horizon at the edge of the world. I was young and stubborn back then, and I fully intended to go.”

“…And then?” Bunyan prompted gently.

He realized this was the personal history Elizabeth had withheld before—the reason she had so vehemently opposed any church investigation into the Old God followers on the islands.

Elizabeth said, “I was warned. I was told to cease all inquiries into the matter, and I was forbidden from setting foot on a ship ever again.”

Everyone in the room was stunned. Elizabeth was an archbishop of the Church of the Past; who possessed the authority to issue such a command to her?

Elizabeth refrained from detailing that confrontation, clearly reluctant to revisit it. Instead, she continued, “The reason I bring this up is because I ran headfirst into a wall back then.

“And that familiar name among the distributors…”

Elizabeth drew a slow breath. “It belongs to the very person who warned me. I cannot openly give you his name, but he is a major figure in Middleton… not merely in Bethune, but in the highest echelons of the realm.”

The group looked solemn.

Bunyan murmured, “That is very bad news.”

It meant the distribution of the tainted ceramics was deliberate; a calculated push to spread spiritual pollution, perhaps deliberately targeting the elite circles of Bethune.

Moreover, the roots reached back more than thirty years, Siles thought.

In his mind, he pieced together the chronology:

Over thirty years ago, a consortium of merchants, folklorists, and artists chartered a fleet out of Kingsley to explore the Fuliou Sea and its outlying islands.

Given the civilian nature of the expedition, the ships would have stuck to chartered, safe routes rather than venturing into hazardous waters.

Yet they were struck by an immense tempest and driven onto an uncharted island. A violent clash with the native inhabitants forced the survivors to retreat to their vessels, and in the end, only Enoch Gielgud returned alive.

He reached Kingsley bearing a crude earthenware bowl—an item of dubious provenance, rumored by some to have been pulled from the sea, though more likely salvaged from the island itself.

The harrowing ordeal drove Enoch mad, drawing widespread attention. Eventually, high-ranking investigators from the capital transferred him to Bethune, where he vanished from public record.

In Bethune, the incident caused a major stir. The presiding Archbishop of the Church of the Past at the time, Josephine Hosier, took note of the affair. She uncovered critical intelligence and intended to alert the wider dioceses of the church.

Before she could leave, however, mysterious operatives surfaced in Bethune demanding the return of that earthenware bowl. Josephine had likely fled the city with the bowl in her possession.

For reasons unknown, Josephine never delivered her warnings to the other church jurisdictions. Instead, she went into deep hiding in Konst, eventually giving birth to a son—which raised the question: who was Dr. Chester’s father?

The thought flashed through Siles’s mind before he turned his focus back to Middleton’s timeline.

Upon Josephine’s sudden flight over thirty years ago, her younger sister, Elizabeth Hosier, was appointed as the new Archbishop in Middleton.

Around that same period, merchants discovered a unique clay on an isolated oceanic island that could produce remarkably durable ceramic wares, spending several years refining the manufacturing technique.

Years later, as Elizabeth came of age, she suspected her sister’s disappearance concealed a deeper conspiracy. She combed through the archives and prepared an expedition to locate the island, only to receive a severe, chilling warning that barred her from the sea and forced her to keep the church away from maritime investigations.

Now, having learned that those very ceramics harbored spiritual pollution and tracing their distribution network, she recognized that the figures orchestrating this trade were directly tied to the forces that had driven her sister into exile decades ago.

Siles pondered another detail: were the two isolated islands mentioned across these accounts actually the same place?

The island where Enoch Gielgud was shipwrecked, and the island where the unique clay was mined.

Even if they were distinct locations, did they share the same nature—both serving as ritual strongholds for followers of the “Shadow”?

The answer carried immense ramifications.

Middleton was far more treacherous beneath the surface than its quiet exterior suggested. Undercurrents ran deep, and sinister factions operated unchecked in the dark.

“Neutralizing the plates is simple enough,” Elizabeth said abruptly. “We stage an incident: someone claims they fell violently ill after eating from the plates, exhibiting signs of twitching madness. By the next morning, Bethune will be flooded with rumors.”

The blunt suggestion caught the room off guard.

Chester stared at his Aunt Elizabeth with newfound realization, understanding at last why their family had considered her remarkably unruly in her youth.

Seeing their stunned faces, Elizabeth let the silence hang for a beat before cracking a faint smile. “The mood was rather grim, so I made a joke.”

Bunyan sighed helplessly. “Bishop Elizabeth…”

Elizabeth cleared her throat and turned serious once more: “In truth, it is unwise for your group to get involved directly. You are foreigners; if you raise alarms about the ceramics, the locals will simply accuse you of spreading hostile rumors.

“I will instruct trusted church members to circulate warnings discreetly. I will also contact leaders among the inland clans to gauge their stance.

“The tribal chiefs will not tolerate tainted items circulating into their territories. Involving them will yield much faster, cleaner results.”

Siles asked, mildly surprised, “Whereas Bethune itself…?”

“In Bethune, nobody with authority will lift a finger,” Elizabeth replied bluntly. “It may be the nominal capital of Middleton, but governance here is… chaotic.”

Siles nodded in understanding.

Elizabeth added, “In any case, Mr. Noel… Professor Noel, your ‘Replicating the Self’ ritual has been invaluable to our clergy.”

Siles offered a polite nod. “I am glad it can be of service.”

With the immediate steps determined, Bunyan hesitated, then asked, “Does this mean any investigation into the Fuliou Sea is out of the question for us?”

“I strongly advise against it,” Elizabeth maintained firmly. “Middleton is inherently xenophobic. If someone of my position were silenced, you would face far worse.

“Unless, of course, you find locals who reject Middleton’s ocean worship. If you encounter such people, you could entrust the sea investigation to them.

“Over the past thirty years, the victims of this conspiracy must number in the dozens. They possess the motive and grit to pursue the truth. All they require is a catalyst—a confirmation that there is an orchestrator behind their grief.”

Bunyan nodded thoughtfully.

Siles felt a quiet spark of certainty. He thought of Garrett Gielgud. As Enoch Gielgud’s son, he had both the personal stake and the underlying drive to uncover what had truly happened.

And so, when Mr. Ghost entered Garrett Gielgud’s dream that very night, he laid the proposal before him.