国产乱子伦农村xxxx

Chapter 690: The Keeper of Truth and The Sailor

The city quieted down. Street lamps emitted a faint, murky glow throughout the night, while vigilant guardians patrolled the alleys, their long shadows stretching across the streets. The earlier event of the sun vanishing now seemed like a distant memory.

However, Duncan sensed that the “nightmare” was far from over. Despite the surface calm, a suffocating heaviness filled the air. In these peaceful neighborhoods, a tangible tension thickened the darkness, reminiscent of a dense, sticky swamp.

From her spot by the living room window, Shirley murmured, “Every house has their lights on, yet the air feels so oppressive I don’t want to step outside. It’s almost suffocating.”

Beside her, Dog shook his head and said, “The number of guards has more than doubled. If you go out now, the night patrol will detain you quickly. Then our captain will have to bail us out again, making it even harder to breathe…”

Vanna, leaning nearby, glanced down at Shirley on the windowsill and remarked, “I wouldn’t have pegged you as sensitive to the atmosphere.”

Shirley responded, “I know this feeling well. In the lower city, the gas lamps always light up later than elsewhere. As night falls and many homes can’t light their electric lamps, a tense mood emerges with the darkening sky—until the gas lamps finally light up, and the whole street seems to exhale in relief. Only then do we feel we can sleep peacefully.”

“But tonight, despite the city being fully lit, many will still lie awake,” Duncan added as he approached and gently patted Shirley’s hair and ruffled Dog’s head. “After witnessing the sun disappear for the second time, even the most optimistic among us can’t help but worry—will the sun rise again tomorrow?”

Shirley tilted her head and then, with a sudden look of alarm, gazed up at Duncan: “Ah! What if it doesn’t rise tomorrow?!”

Duncan, looking somewhat bewildered, replied, “…How would I know? I’m no oracle.”

“Oh,” Shirley muttered, scratching her head, “that makes sense…”

Lucretia entered the room and announced, “There’s a message from the ‘Observatory’. The signals from the luminous body have completely ceased. They’re planning to send a team to investigate the interior of that ‘stone sphere’.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow in surprise. “A night operation?”

Lucretia, gesturing, explained, “Around the ‘glowing object’ in the sea, it’s effectively always daytime. The sunlight stabilizes the strange forces at play in the Boundless Sea. Thus, research around the glowing object continues non-stop.”

Duncan nodded in understanding. Then, his gaze drifted to Alice, who was nearby, carefully winding Luni’s back.

Alice, doll-like, sensed his gaze and looked up, offering a simple, innocent smile.

After the sunlight had returned, the malfunction indicators in Alice’s “eyes” had stopped, and she resumed her usual routine as if the earlier events hadn’t affected her.

But Duncan’s curiosity was piqued… What would happen if he brought her close to that “stone sphere”? This doll, presumably a creation of the Nether Lord, when confronted with a fragment of Vision 001 – also a product of the Nether Lord – would she perceive things invisible to the average person?

Previously, Duncan had accompanied Alice to observe the glowing object, but at that time, no one had considered the potential “kinship” between Alice and Vision 001. Therefore, no specific experiments had been conducted, and Alice hadn’t paid particular attention to the glowing object. Now, however, Duncan was eager to conduct some intentional “experiments.”

Turning to Lucretia, Duncan said with a pause for emphasis, “…Lucy, I have a favor to ask.” His voice took on a serious tone as he continued, “I’d like to take Alice to see that ‘stone sphere.\'”

Lucretia appeared surprised at first, but quickly understanding Duncan’s intent, she nodded her agreement: “Understood.”

Duncan acknowledged her response with a hum, then his attention shifted to an apparently empty space beside him. Under his gaze, a faint green flame flickered into life, transforming into a corpulent dove ablaze with spectral fire. The dove flapped its wings vigorously, declaring, “Teleportation successful! Teleportation successful!”

Remaining calm, Duncan suggested, “We should also bring the ‘Truth Keeper’ with us.” He added, “Go to Lawrence’s place—use the White Oak as a beacon. You know the way, don’t you?”

The dove paused thoughtfully then excitedly blurted, “Air wife! Fantasy wife! Air wife! Fantasy wife!”

Duncan, slightly annoyed by the dove’s nonsensical chatter, warned, “Don’t say that around Martha, or she might turn you into a stew.” He looked at the plump dove and made up his mind, “I’ve decided; you’ll go later. Then bring Ted Lir directly to the stone sphere; I need to have a word with him.”

The dove, brimming with enthusiasm, chirped, “Talk therapy, abbreviated as ‘therapy’~”

Duncan responded with a silent, exasperated stare at the dove’s antics.

…

Ted Lir, clad in a thick, warm coat, walked slowly across the stern deck. The crisp night breeze, filled with the scent of the sea, brushed against him, and the gentle, rhythmic sound of waves against the hull provided a soothing background.

With the sun having reignited and set as usual, the night unfolded serenely. Even the alien light of the World’s Creation seemed strangely comforting.

“For someone who just returned from subspace through a swim, you’re looking remarkably well,” a grating, unpleasant voice remarked.

Ted turned toward the source and saw an unsettling sight: an ugly, mummified corpse dressed in a sailor’s outfit, sitting on a coil of rope with a nightmarish grin.

The eerie smile was enough to haunt anyone’s dreams.

With a slight frown, Ted approached the mummy, leaning casually against the railing.

“That thick coat seems rather unnecessary for you, doesn’t it, Mr. Truth Keeper?” the grotesque Sailor remarked, eyeing Ted’s coat. “As I understand, ‘Saints’ like you are made differently from us ordinary people. A brief dip in the sea shouldn’t make you feel cold… Or maybe it’s the residual chill of subspace you’re warding off?”

“This coat is a gesture of kindness from Captain Lawrence,” Ted replied casually, glancing at his coat before becoming thoughtful. “It seems you know quite a bit about ‘Saints.\'”

“I have my sources,” Sailor replied with a raspy chuckle, his sinister smile growing wider. “I know that once you receive the blessing, you’re not entirely ‘alive’ in the usual sense. I’m also aware of your supernatural abilities: skin impervious to blades, bones that can crush and regenerate, hearts that keep beating even when destroyed, the ability to survive without air for days, and immunity to extreme temperatures, diseases, and various toxins once ascended… even for ‘scholars’ like yourself.”

He paused, casually taking a beer from nearby and swinging it lightly. “In essence, you ‘Saints’ are like living ‘anomalies’ in an uncontained state. The main difference is that while ordinary anomalies become uncontrollable once unsealed, you… remain under the control of those who blessed you.”

As Ted listened, his expression turned serious. “Where do you get such detailed information?”

“I’m a sailor, and it’s our nature to know many strange and arcane secrets. We are the roaming souls of the Boundless Sea, drifting in life and beyond. You learn a lot when you wander as long as I have. The Boundless Seas hold no secrets for those who sail them long enough,” Sailor replied, lifting the beer with a grin, “Care for a taste? It’s Storm Brew, a specialty from the Storm Church. Snuck it from the captain’s private stash.”

“You actually dare to take something from the captain’s collection?”

“Ah, stealing from the captain’s stash is a time-honored tradition among sailors—and being strung up on the mast as punishment is part of the charm,” the mummy chuckled with a coarse rasp, lifting the bottle to his decayed lips. He tilted the bottle back, and the beer poured down into his throat, only to gush out from the various holes in his chest and neck, splashing onto the deck. “Ahh—nothing beats the taste of a good brew.”

Ted Lir, however, remained unfazed by the mummy’s grotesque display. He continued to scrutinize this enigmatic figure, officially classified as a “Special Uncontrolled State” anomaly. After a moment of contemplation, he inquired, “Were you ever human?”

Sailor shrugged nonchalantly, “Who’s to say? A ‘person’ can transform into an anomaly under certain conditions. If you believe I was once human, then perhaps I was.”

Noticing Sailor’s evasive and indirect response, Ted Lir chose not to pursue the topic further. After a brief pause, he adeptly changed the subject: “Where is this ship headed?”

“We’re en route to Lansa. The captain has accepted a significant contract to collect twelve sealed items and transport them to another city-state in the north.”

“…Twelve items?”

“Yes, twelve.”

Ted Lir appeared surprised, “But even large transport ships, when escorted by Saints, usually handle no more than eight anomalies at a time. Aren’t you worried about the strict containment protocols for anomalies and the risk of them interacting and causing problems?” He was genuinely taken aback. “Who authorized such an operation?”

“It was the Storm Church’s decision,” Sailor replied, giving Ted a glance. “No need to be alarmed. We’re part of the ‘Vanished Fleet,’ and we transport twelve because that’s the number of sealed items in Lansa that meet our criteria for transport. Regarding concerns about the items becoming uncontrollable…”

He paused, gesturing to himself, “I’m the only ‘uncontrolled’ anomaly aboard, always on duty. When I’m off the ship, I fight; when I’m on it, I clean the decks. And when someone swims back from subspace, I fish them out. Given the choice, I’d prefer to remain in my shroud rather than waking up like this. The anomalies that require ‘transferred transportation’ for enhanced containment are somewhat aware. When they see me in this state, they calm down immediately once on board. Those that can move independently even learn to be helpful—like closing doors after the captain checks the containment chambers…”

Listening to this peculiar and somewhat grim explanation, Ted Lir could only respond with a look of bewilderment.