Chapter 462: Chapter 463: Hybrid Chapter 462: Chapter 463: Hybrid Duncan leisurely walked to the edge of the deck of the Holoss, peering down at the sea below.
At this mont, both Holoss and Exiled Fleet had exited the Spirit Realm state, on the calm blue sea, the water around the Holoss was clear as a mirror while the Black Oak, shrouded in fog and darkness, reflected on the water like a shadow—faint and hazy, with dim lights flickering deep within.
After a long while, Duncan finally withdrew his gaze from the ocean and spoke in a low voice with a hint of awe, “Interesting phenonon, Lawrence, you’ve had an incredible adventure.”
“Indeed… it’s incredible,” Lawrence replied from the side, in a respectful and cautious manner, “I’ve made a living on these seas for decades and encountered many unthinkable things, but Frost’s experiences far surpass anything before. Regardless, I brought Martha back, and it was all worth it.”
“Your wife, Martha—what exactly is her state now? How have the two of you managed to establish a connection between these two ships?”
“She and her Black Oak are essentially the shadow of the Holoss,” Lawrence answered honestly. “As you see, she is on the ship that is reflected in the water, but when needed, the Black Oak can enter the real world as a phantom, sailing alongside the Holoss, or allow both ships to undergo a photonegative conversion. In that case, we can navigate deeply in the Spirit Realm, avoiding obstacles in the real world—we did this once when passing through the battle zones around Frost, and it worked very effectively.”
“Did your wife tell you all these? I an, these…techniques.”
“Yes,” Lawrence nodded. “Martha wandered in the mirroring subspace below the Frosted Sea for over a decade. She understands many things. In the previous missions, she effectively served as our guide.”
Duncan didn’t say anything for a while, just quietly observing the reflection below. After a long ti, he suddenly broke the silence, “May I speak to her alone?”
Lawrence hesitated for a mont, a hint of surprise mingled with nervousness and hesitation showing on his face, “Um… may I ask…”
“Don’t worry; I just need to understand every one of my subordinates. The Black Oak is indeed a bit peculiar, but no ship on this sea is more peculiar than the Exiled Fleet. I’m quite tolerant of these matters—as long as there are no secrets on the Black Oak.”
Lawrence then relaxed slightly, though still sowhat hesitant, he finally nodded, “Alright, I’ll arrange it and tell Martha in the anti.”
Duncan nodded slightly, then turned to look at sothing nearby.
Alice and “Sailor” were crouched on the deck nearby, enthusiastically poking at a small insect they had caught with a little stick and heatedly discussing whether insects have souls or not—
Alice believed they did not because she couldn’t see any threads on the insect’s body; “Sailor” insisted they did, claiming that in Bartok’s garden there are also insects, he even believed there are “little gatekeepers” as big as insects, specially responsible for guiding the souls of mosquitoes that die in the sumr to their resting places, those who are buried in June or July…
Both “people” were baffled by each other.
This scene, almost like watching two imbeciles.
Any more observation felt intellectually contaminating.
Duncan silently watched the undisturbed scene on the deck, with Lawrence remaining silent as well, after a long ti, Duncan shook his head, “Let them play.”
“…I think so too, better than having them continue to hang on the flagpole wailing like ghosts,” Lawrence replied.
…
Soon, Lawrence had a secluded room prepared on the Holoss and set up a large mirror in it.
After unrelated personnel left, Duncan turned around and quietly stared at the man-sized mirror.
“I need to talk to you,” he addressed the mirror.
In the next second, the mirror surface turned pitch black, as if a dense ink-like fluid suddenly covered the whole mirror, and amid the darkness, a fluctuating shadow gradually ford a contour.
A woman in a white blouse, brown vest, and trousers erged from the fluctuating shadows.
“I heard from Lawrence that you wanted to speak with alone,” the lady ca to the front of the mirror, calmly responding to Duncan’s stare, “it seems… you’ve noticed.”
“Too many impurities. Repeated overlapping shadows are obscuring details not belonging to the Black Oak, but that’s not enough to deceive my fla,” Duncan spoke slowly, then reached to grab a chair beside him, sitting down, facing the mirror’s figure—and the chaotic, tangled backdrop like a phantom curtain, “How much of ‘Martha’ is in you?”
“Less than one-thousandth.”
“One thousandth, a very small number,” Duncan stared at her, and the massive “hybrid” boldly t his gaze, “Even so, you still claim to be Martha, and it seems… you truly identify with this identity.”
“Because ‘Martha’ is the only complete personality,” the “Adventuress” in the mirror replied, “Without a personality to anchor, mories are just pale scrolls, flipping through them isn’t enough to form a ‘self.’ Massive, chaotic mories have undergone countless reorganizations in blind disorder, eventually, I believe ‘Martha’ is the only ‘representative’ capable of managing it all—I need to beco Martha; Martha needs to exist.”
“So, you’re a hybrid, and what you’ve mixed is much more than what you’ve told Lawrence; considerable parts of consciousness that fell into that sea in the past fifty years have flowed into your ‘body’, or to put it another way… have you devoured those consciousnesses?”
“Devouring… That’s an aggressive way to put it, but I don’t feel that way. I have never devoured anything, nor am I interested in souls. It is the imnse force deep within the mirror space that devours everything, and those ‘mories’ that constitute are rely the remnants left after being crushed by that imnse force. Fine tributaries co together, like dust coalescing into a mass. I did not exist before those fragnts; rather, they ca together to form —Martha, just a spirit awakened from the fragnts, belatedly taking on the role of The Lantor.”
“The remnants left after being crushed…” Duncan furrowed his brows, “Why wasn’t Martha crushed?”
“Because Lawrence ca to this sea,” the woman adventurer in the mirror showed a slight smile, “He had your favor, so Martha also had your favor.”
Duncan didn’t speak; he fell into deep thought, and after a long ti, he finally broke the silence thoughtfully, “The world in the mirror is discontinuous…”
“Yes, the world in the mirror is discontinuous, space is discontinuous, ti too—outcos are born before the start, You created Martha, and now Martha is answering your questions.”
Duncan breathed a sigh of relief.
“A huge amalgamation of data… This could explain why you know so much,” he steered the conversation back, “Not just because you have wandered that mirror space long enough but also because you have encompassed enough ‘mories’… Going back to the original topic, is less than one-thousandth of ‘Martha’ truly enough to support your stable personality, to maintain your current self-awareness forever? Could there be a day when this ‘Lantor’ personality is subrged in that vast ocean of mories, might you forget your na and beco a chaotic, massive, dangerous lost soul?”
The woman adventurer lifted her gaze, her expression calm yet seemingly mustering great courage, “Like you once were?”
“No, I went further than you, Subspace is a place deeper and darker than the mirror world—thus I was indeed more dangerous then,” Duncan maintained his composed tone, unperturbed by her bold words, “and so, I understand better the havoc an uncontrolled lost soul can wreak—even if this soul is a ‘bit safer’ than I was.”
The woman adventurer in the mirror fell silent for a while.
After a long ti, she suddenly spoke, “Do you think I can now be considered ‘Martha’?”
Duncan thought for a few seconds.
For this vast, jumbled amalgamation, Martha was but one-thousandth, but for the personality that self-identifies as “Martha,” this amalgamation contained her entire one hundred percent.
Who exactly this vast amalgamation was, and in what state its future personality would be, seed completely “pending”—while there was a chance of losing control, it was undeniable that its current personality and self-awareness existed.
Duncan fell into brief hesitation, but just as this flicker of doubt surfaced, a scene, vivid yet surreal, suddenly erged in his mind—
The sea breeze was gentle, the waves gentle.
He stood above the water, the blue under his feet spreading.
Fish leapt out of the water, swimming through the air around them under the brilliant sun, circling leisurely.
He looked down at his feet.
The water, spreading ripples slowly, seed clear and transparent, yet its depths were shrouded in mist, ambiguous, hard to see through.
More creatures leapt from the depths, circling around him.
They were fish.
Duncan startled back to awareness and looked at the mirror in front of him.
The shadows in the mirror ebbed and writhed, as if awaiting an answer.
“…Miss Martha,” after a long ti, Duncan finally broke the silence, “Welco to the Exiled Fleet.”
The chaos and entropy-filled mass, completely lacking any tangible shape, suddenly contracted and again took the form of the woman adventurer dressed in a white shirt, brown vest, and trousers.
The chaotic shadows behind her had now cald.
At the sa ti, on the deck of the White Oak, Lawrence, acting like a temporary guardian watching over the puppet Alice and the mummified “sailor” poking at insects, also puzzledly looked down at his own body.
The uncontrolled, spreading green flas were rapidly receding, and the body that had been passively maintained in a ghostly state since three days ago was also rapidly recovering. In his perception, the “Phantom Fla” that would occasionally activate for inexplicable reasons seed for the first ti to truly attain peace and beco a controllable part of his body.
It seed as though so kind of stimulus that had been passively triggering the Spiritual Body’s flas had suddenly disappeared.
“…Under control?”
Lawrence blinked, murmuring to himself in confusion.
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