The Goat Head was now very anxious, extrely anxious—even though the captain had told it not to panic, its head almost went into vibration mode the mont it heard the news.
Beside it, Alice, having listened to the captain’s news, actually lost her head—literally lost it, and had not yet put it back on.
"You are saying... that every individual of the Ancient Crete Kingdom was replicated from a part of my remains," Goat Head’s eyes widened, "and it was The Saint who did the replication?"
"Yes," Duncan nodded, "This also explains many historical puzzles about the Ancient Crete Kingdom that have always plagued scholars. For instance, why this ancient kingdom has almost left no systematic cultural materials—because they were a fleeting tribe created for ’Creation’, having no cultural system of their own; like why the remains of the Cretes are found on islands that are utterly unsuitable for habitation, even shrouded in mystical phenona, because all the ancient Cretan cities were established as foundational infrastructures for the Creation, they weren’t ant to serve as settlents..."
Goat Head’s tone grew increasingly complex, "You know I’m not concerned about that..."
"...To suddenly learn that an ancient tribe is actually your ’offspring’ is indeed quite shocking," Duncan paused, his face strained, "Honestly, I was quite surprised when I first heard this news..."
At this mont, Alice, who had not been interjecting much, suddenly spoke up, "But... but... but... Mount..."
"Put your head back on before you speak," Duncan sighed, giving the doll-like Alice a helpless glance, "Sitting there holding your head is quite frightening."
After Alice’s head had been scared off, she had not reattached it but had instead been holding it while sitting intensely engrossed beside Duncan. Reminded, she hurriedly responded with an "Oh," quickly pressed her head onto her neck, and imdiately spoke more smoothly, "But wasn’t Goat Head originally the Elf Main God anyhow? If we really have to say it, all elves in the world could be considered his offspring, he should be able to accept that..."
"That’s easy for you to say," Goat Head imdiately turned its head away, its resentnt seeming to erge from its base, "I an, I was just sleeping and half of my body was taken away to serve as a culture dium! And if it were just an ancient tribe, I might have coped, but it ca with a bunch of Doomsday Preachers! I always felt those preachy ’preachers’ were off, kissing the deck as soon as they boarded. I tell you, I would have had goosebumps if the materials allowed it—I’m getting goosebumps now! What a situation, wake up from a sleep and..."
Seeing that Goat Head had rapidly entered complaint mode, Duncan had to knock on the table twice to quieten his sowhat agitated deputy before clearing his throat to break the silence, "Cough cough, the Doomsday Preachers were once normal Cretes."
Goat Head paused, reluctantly turning its neck, "I know that now... even now, not all of them are crazy... but the thing is..."
It "but"ted for a long ti, unable to articulate a clear reason, only murmured for a while, and finally all turned into a long, resigned sigh, its head drooping, no longer uttering a word.
Alice, unable to resist, glanced at Goat Head a couple of tis and then looked up at Duncan sowhat helplessly, hesitating before speaking, "Captain... the First Mate doesn’t seem very happy."
"It’s not about being happy or unhappy, just suddenly receiving very shocking news. It needs so rest and ti to calmly think," Duncan sighed softly, rising from behind the navigation table, "Let’s not disturb him."
"Oh," Alice nodded, obediently rising from her chair and following Duncan out of the captain’s cabin. As she passed by the edge of the chart table, she stopped, hesitated for a mont, then reached out to pat Goat Head’s head, "Rest well... you still need to teach how to make Southern cuisine..."
Duncan, standing by, couldn’t help but twitch the corner of his eye, but this ti he said nothing, silently shaking his head and turning to walk out toward the deck.
The sea breeze was gentle, the waves choppy, the distant sea shimring, still promising good weather.
Duncan and Alice slowly walked onto the deck and then noticed Fenna, who had arrived on the deck at so unknown ti, leaning on the rail, blowing in the wind, gazing into the distance as if deep in thought.
The sea breeze blowing from the border direction lifted Fenna’s silvery hair. Hearing movent behind her, she turned her head, lifting her long hair, her face breaking into a smile, "Captain, Alice."
"I thought you might want to talk more with Helena," Duncan nodded, casually walking to the rail, "such significant intelligence must be quite shocking for everyone."
"Yes, such significant intelligence—so His Holiness the Pope probably won’t have much ti to chat with ," Fenna laughed, shaking her head, "She must be eting with the other Highnesses now... whether concerning the origins of the Ancient Crete Kingdom or the future of our world known as ’Shelter’, or those... mad ’Doomsday Surveyors’, it’s enough to make many people lose a lot of hair."
"Has there been any movent from Phenonon 004 after that?" Duncan asked.
"No," Fenna shook her head, "Since you left, we’ve kept a few surveillance personnel there. They report that up to now, there’s been no movent at the assembly site... while in the past, even if the Tomb’s entity didn’t appear, there would occasionally be so strange noises or shadows in the assembly site... it seems just as you said, Phenonon 004 has truly completely closed off from the outside world."
"... just like the ’Sun’ above us, the ’Tomb’ has reached the end of its life, its mission is over," Duncan said calmly, "The Tomb Guardian has warned us, even if ssages from the Tomb are received in the future, not to respond in any way, and certainly not to send anyone inside... If sothing cos out of the Tomb, even if it’s the Tomb Guardian himself walking out, do not respond, but leave imdiately... It’s no longer the phenonon 004 you know."
"We know, His Holiness has already warned all the Saints, from now on, phenonon 004 will beco a completely forbidden territory, apart from a team of monks in rotation monitoring the situation stationed at the edge of the gathering place, no one will approach the ’Tomb of the Naless King’..."
Fenna said softly, gradually falling silent again, and after a few seconds, she suddenly sighed: "... Another matter has ended."
Yes, another matter has ended—but what was she referring to? Was it this very special "gathering"? Or the millennia-old standard procedure of "surveillance-summoning-listening" regarding the Tomb of the Naless King that had ford within the Four Gods Church? Or perhaps... a legacy left by the ancient creators for this world?
Regardless, they had all ended.
"Did that Tomb Guardian ever ntion any knowledge about the ’Sun’ to you?" After a mont of silence, Fenna suddenly asked, "Did he ntion how the ’Sun’ was constructed, or... if there was any way to repair it, even just to extend its..."
Duncan gently shook his head.
"He was just a guardian, a guardian confined by the phenonon of the observation station after all systems had stopped, all engineers and designers had left, he has told everything he knows, but the Sun..."
Duncan paused, looking toward the distant sea.
Phenonon 001—the Sun was moving slowly across the sky, like an aged and frail old man, staggering towards his destination.
"The Sun was a massive project constructed by the ’Crawling King’ and the entire Crit Clans, it’s not sothing a guardian could comprehend."
"... I see," Fenna shook her head in self-mockery, "I expected too much."
"Yes, but that’s alright, because that is the problem I’m going to solve next," Duncan looked at Fenna, speaking softly, "We’ll find that ’Designer’ from the Deep Sea Age—starting with opening a door."
Accompanied by the end of his words, a faint squeaking and creaking noise erged from deep within Holoss at the sa ti, following which, Fenna felt a slight vibration beneath her feet, then, the translucent Spiritual Body sails slowly appeared on the mast—
Holoss began subtly adjusting its position, turning its bow, the vast and majestic Ghost Ship slowly pointing its bow toward the distant sea—the grand and boundless fog that stood hazily at the edge of the world.
...
Light Breeze Harbor, the solemn and sacred Storm Cathedral still quietly stationed near the coastline, a cleric in a blue and black robe rushed through the upper cathedral’s bridges and arches, almost sprinting to the door of the Pope’s prayer room: "Your Holiness! His Holiness! That ship—Holoss has moved! It suddenly changed its course ten minutes ago and accelerated away from Light Breeze Harbor!"
"I know," Helena’s voice ca from the prayer room, her tone magnetic with a calming magic power, "There’s no need for such a fuss, it’s just ti."
As her voice fell, the elegant lady turned her head back, refocusing her attention on the ceremonial fire basin before her.
Part of her spirit delved deep into the fire basin, still lingering in the pathway constructed by Spiritual Energy communication.
"... Holoss has set sail, Fenna just passed the ssage... Yes, ’Tide’ has already taken the escort fleet on the road, they will arrive in ti at the designated rendezvous point...
"Banster, what about your so-called live and die fleet?"
A gloomy voice entered Helena’s mind: "It’s ’Rest’ and ’No Rest,’ Helena."
"Alright, alright, more or less the sa... where are they?"
"They have also set sail, don’t worry—we will all arrive on ti."
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