Capítulo 1169: Chapter 9: Land of Obsession Epilogue
Afterword
During the long period before Vena Ice-Free Port went underground, I ran an inn on Old William Street where most of the ti there were more staff than guests — it was left to by my mother. Although she disappeared more than twenty years ago, with only a cenotaph in the cetery of Wensel Street Church, her family’s care often brought generous nobles to this otherwise desolate inn. At the sa ti, I was also a writer who had published a few novels — this stemd from my father’s expectations, as he too disappeared with my mother and is buried next to her cenotaph.
I had no expectations for the future; going to the inn to catch lazy staff and writing in the attic were the only two things I did each day. I wasn’t a pessimist, but what is there to smile about in this miserable world without hope or sunlight, where not even seagulls defecate on bay windows?
The only good news was that the world couldn’t get any worse, like how there is no food worse than rotten at — I used to comfort myself this way until absolute darkness enveloped the sky, spreading from the north. As people on the streets scread and ran in the apocalypse, I realized the world could indeed get worse… food worse than rotten at could be decomposed human flesh.
I ought to be thankful because, that day, I arrived at the inn earlier due to Pete the staff breaking a decorative vase. When darkness descended, I quickly hid in a nearby refuge, due to my mother’s family being settled in the Inner Ring of the refuge. As social creatures, our sense of security cos from our companions around us; here, it ca from being in the Inner Ring near the core — the hungry wolves always eat the lambs on the outermost first.
Although I lost the inn my mother left , the skills my father left allowed to trade new stories each day for food that prevented malnutrition and luxuries like coffee beans mixed with wood shavings, tobacco mixed with wood shavings, or dicine mixed with wood shavings — I guess even wood shavings would increase in price due to scarcity here.
I thought my remaining days would end in this underground existence, akin to living dead. But after a few months, I started to have the sa dream, gradually and intermittently. Initially, they were chaotic fragnts like the foam atop scalding coffee, but over ti the story’s outline erged, finally becoming clear into a story about an Exorcist in Midnight City.
From then on, I couldn’t resist the urge to see everything with my own eyes; the impulse was so strong it tortured day and night. Even Old Eugene, with whom I shared a room, soon noticed my anomaly. Maybe it wouldn’t be long before he reported to the Patrol Officer. Of course, I could voluntarily find them and confess the truth, but I dared not do so — hallucinations had tornted for a long ti, bringing bizarre and frightening inspiration. Confessing to the Patrol Officer would only lead to being cast out of the refuge like an infected person. They wouldn’t care about my identity as a writer.
But the call seed to originate from blood, from deep within the soul, intensifying day and night. Finally, one night, I quietly bade farewell to Old Eugene, who feared yet did nothing, and, under the sympathetic gaze of guards, left the refuge. I understood the aning of that look — going out ant never being able to return here. I’m not sure if I made a mistake, but upon returning to the shadowy surface, I felt the joy of long-lost freedom, as if returning to an unfettered childhood.
Furthermore, so mysterious force favored so I wouldn’t vanish in the vast darkness. This allowed to paddle across the strait with only an abandoned wooden boat stranded on the shoal, reaching the Barren Lands—sothing unimaginable to anyone, including myself. I dared to do such a thing. Then I crossed the plain with wandering ghouls of forgotten mories, was hosted at an Unnad Feast, and traveled with migrating Ghouls. Finally, I arrived at the first town on this journey, Cotton Town.
Then here, from the local population, I learned the terrible, shocking, and maddening horrifying truth — Midnight City lost contact at the dawn of The Dark Era, which was completely different from my dream! Yet the various rumors from the old sewers convinced that Midnight City indeed was no more — otherwise, they wouldn’t allow these rumors to spread freely in the human town.
In the morning, under the townsfolk’s gaze as if looking at a fool, I left the small town and traveled alone to Midnight City, dozens of miles away, stopping at the Bloody Farmland that appeared in every dream. Scarecrows stood in the knee-high wheat fields, preventing from approaching, only daring to gaze afar at the Midnight City lurking in darkness, towering with five black towers, standing the shadow-casting World Tree. At that ti, a long-lost drowsiness struck; I lay wantonly on the wild, entering slumber. Then, an unprecedentedly clear dream erged in my mind.
It was the story of the Exorcist Lu Li in Midnight City.
When the great story concluded with the Exorcist leaving Midnight City, I awoke from the dream, frantically running back to Cotton Town. Simply because I didn’t want to be on the road at dusk, letting this marvelous story be buried in the unknown Netherworld. Also worried about forgetting anything, but as it turned out, the worry was excessive; my mory had never been so lucid, not even at eighteen. The story could only partially be written due to its length. I even rembered every rational and calm word Lu Li spoke, every wrinkle on his trench coat, and I was sure — it truly happened.
Back in my room at the inn, I swiftly wrote down the Exorcist’s story while contemplating the aning of Midnight City: If His Excellency Lulian was trapped in the illusion weaved by the souls of Midnight City from the mont he received the invitation, what did they want? Was it the redemption they spoke of for Lu Li or the redemption of Lu Li? Or did they wish to impart knowledge to Lu Li? Why did they allow Lu Li to leave with the stone seal?
Then I fell into epileptic tremors because I realized I had discovered the truth: the illusion was false, but in reality, the bloody wheat field was there, the lord was there, Claire, who beca the Head Maid, was there, Claire, who beca the Viscount Deputy Dean, was there, all the people who disappeared with Midnight City were there — these souls hoped Lu Li would no longer let their bodies and spirits be desecrated by the strange.
And the true culprit that led the story of Midnight City off track was the Parchnt of the Swamp only His Excellency Lulian knew about. It usurped the souls’ efforts, becoming Lu Li’s trust in it, subtly influencing the Exorcist. But its plot ultimately failed when Lu Li, with restored mories — because mories carried the soul, a truth the strange Parchnt would never know.
As I wrote this, I felt my days were numbered… I was glad that in the final monts of my life, I was no longer futile and muddled, and a ray of hope thus shone upon my sinful body: you might ask, does hope truly exist?
I believe it does. In Old Belfast, now the Land of Light.
—— Clarence Wilkin, in the fourth month of The Dark Era.
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