Ashes Of Deep Sea

Chapter 326: Chapter 330: Legacy

Chapter 326: Chapter 330: Legacy

Maurice fully utilized his skills of persuasion, subtly confirming many issues during the seemingly casual conversation with Garland.

During their talk, he and Duncan gradually confirmed the status of this female apprentice.

Regarding the shipwreck that Brown Scott encountered six years ago and all memories related to the death of her mentor afterward, they had completely vanished from Garland’s mind.

No, it wasn’t just the memories that had disappeared, but also the entire cognitive system that went with them—

The death of a person triggers a chain of reactions, including ripples within social circles, the handling of affairs after passing, long periods of reminiscing and emotional fluctuations, and the various subtle changes within this house over six years. These were not issues that could be solved simply by deleting and replacing a segment of memories.

Yet, in Garland’s perception, “No such thing as Brown Scott’s death in a shipwreck six years ago” had ever occurred. The series of subsequent consequences that such an event should have triggered left not the slightest trace behind. She just felt it was natural for her to have lived in this house for six years, calmly waiting for her teacher to return—and now, her teacher had indeed come back and was resting in the room upstairs.

The sharp whistle of the kettle suddenly broke the silence in the living room, and Garland immediately rose and walked to the kitchen: “Sorry, I’ll go turn off the stove.”

Seizing the moment the Senkin lady left, Duncan looked up at Maurice sitting across the couch: “Her cognition has been interfered with.”

“We should check the entire building,” Maurice whispered, “If Brown is really here, he certainly would have left something while he was still lucid—he wrote me a second letter not long ago, by then he had clearly realized some truth.”

“…Let Garland rest for a bit,” Duncan said softly.

Maurice nodded, and during their exchange, Garland had already returned from the kitchen—holding a large tray with body-warming ginger tea and some cookies. The lady with stone-grey skin set the items on the coffee table, looking up at the two guests: “Please wait no longer, have some ginger tea to warm yourselves.”

“Thank you,” Maurice said while gesturing to the couch beside him, “Garland, you sit down here first, settle in, I have something to tell you.”

“Ah… Okay, Mr. Maurice,” Although Garland felt a bit perplexed, she promptly obeyed and took a seat before her mentor’s close friend, “What is it you wish to say?”

Maurice gazed into Garland’s eyes: “Romonosov’s Inequality Set.”

Garland’s eyes widened suddenly, as a vast flood of knowledge, memory, and complex logical problems instantly overwhelmed all her thoughts. Before she could even grasp the outlines of this “information storm,” a strong, self-protective drowsiness had already surfaced.

She fainted without a sound, breathing calmly, resting in a peaceful position.

Duncan watched the scene emotionlessly and after a two-second silence, he asked, “How long will she sleep?”

“It depends on her intelligence. Heidi once slept for twelve hours, Garland should take a bit longer,” Maurice shrugged, “Folklorists usually aren’t very good at math and logic.”

For a moment, Duncan didn’t know what to say, eventually venturing, “Why did you use that trick on your own daughter?”

Maurice’s expression turned subtle: “Heidi insisted that her hypnotism skills had surpassed mine—as a father, one sometimes has peculiar competitive desires.”

Duncan thought about it and felt there was no need to continue the subject. He stood up, his gaze turning toward the staircase leading to the second floor.

“Now we can take a closer look—if Garland wasn’t lying, her teacher should be in the bedroom on the second floor.”

The creaking of the old staircase sounded as the bright electric light illuminated the upstairs hallway. Maurice and Duncan ascended the stairs, beginning their search for the “returning” folklorist.

The second floor layout wasn’t complicated: a straight corridor connected each room, most of which were unlocked. Duncan and Maurice quickly accounted for most of the house and stopped in front of the last room on the left side of the hall.

It was the only locked place on the entire second floor.

Maurice went up to tug at the door handle, frowning slightly: “It’s locked—from the inside.”

“Locked from the inside?” Duncan felt a slight discomfort, then remembered something, “Garland said earlier that she would bring food to her teacher’s room every day…”

“Impossible, this door hasn’t been opened for many days—maybe a week or more,” Maurice declared immediately, his eyes slowly scanning the door in front of him as if a faint glimmer was flickering in its depths, “There are no signs of the lock being forced.”

“…So, it’s only Garland ‘believing’ she brings food to her teacher’s room daily, but in fact, her teacher hasn’t opened this door for several days now,” said Duncan, glancing back at the stairs leading to the first floor, “The cognitive manipulation has been ongoing.”

Maurice didn’t speak, he just raised his hand and gently tapped on the pale yellow door.

There was no response from the room.

“Brown, it’s me,” Maurice said, “If you’re in there, open the door—don’t worry about your current state, whatever it is, we can work through the trouble you are in.”

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Still, there was no response from the room.

Duncan watched the door quietly, feeling that the situation … was not unexpected.

Finally, he let out a soft sigh, “Let me do it, Maurice, we might still be a step too late.”

Maurice’s expression stiffened for a moment. It seemed as though he wanted to say something, but his lips quivered twice and he didn’t make a sound. He simply stepped aside in silence.

Duncan didn’t use any fancy tricks, just stepped forward and shouldered the door. The ordinary wooden door, which was not very sturdy, had its lock broken with a loud clatter and swung wide open.

A room almost entirely shrouded in darkness was revealed to them.

No lights were on in the room, and the windows facing the street seemed to be blocked by something, so that the street lamps’ glow couldn’t penetrate indoors. Only the light spilling from the hallway illuminated a small area around the doorway, and in the places untouched by light, one could faintly see something shadowy covering the ceiling and the floor.

Duncan was the first to enter the room, lifting his right hand with a ball of pale green Spectral Flame supported in his palm, while his other hand felt for the light switch by the door.

When the light turned on, everything in the room finally became clear.

“This is…” Maurice, who followed into the room, saw the scene within and exclaimed in astonishment.

A gray-black substance, similar to mud, was spread in patches throughout the room, covering the floor, staining the walls, and even firmly clinging to the ceiling. There were also “mud” formations that seemed to be half-melted, suspended in mid-air from the ceiling’s filth, resembling twisted, swollen blood vessels or some sort of strange stalactite formation.

In an instant, Duncan associated the sight with the one he had encountered in the hull of the Obsidian.

These bizarre and terrifying “muds” … looked exactly like the situation in the bottom of the Obsidian!

Maurice’s facial muscles tensed.

Honestly, from the start, he didn’t believe his “old friend” had truly returned to the world of the living. He knew there had to be some kind of out-of-control Transcendent phenomenon behind it all, and it might even relate to a Deep Sea Curse, but … even with a vague premonition before opening the door, the sight still hit him hard.

“Replicas from the deep sea… It seems they all end up like this,” Duncan’s voice interrupted Maurice’s daze, “We are indeed a step too late, unfortunately.”

Maurice blinked, then shook his head vigorously as if trying to clear the chaotic thoughts from his mind. He walked deeper into the room, carefully avoiding the “mud” clusters on the floor, and it took a while for him to stop by a desk.

The desk too was covered in mud, with one of the largest clumps accumulated between the desk and the bed.

“…He wrote two letters; at least at that time, he still had some rationality,” Maurice said softly, “He must have noticed something wrong with himself …”

“His rationality lasted at least until the moment he locked this room from the inside. After that, he could no longer control the course of events,” Duncan also approached the desk, observing the hardened mud while thoughtfully saying, “These replicas from the deep sea seem … all a bit different. Some have no rationality whatsoever, others retain their original memories and can live like normal people for a while, and some … like the captain of the Obsidian, are completely twisted into a different form, but possess a soul from beginning to end.”

“Like some sort of unstable experimental product?”

Maurice said offhandedly, and just then, something suddenly caught his eye.

A piece of paper was squeezed at the edge of a clump of hardened mud with a vague outline of an arm.

“This is…” the elder scholar’s eyes widened, softly gasping as he carefully extracted the paper, “Mr. Duncan, look at this!”

Duncan immediately leaned in, on that dirty piece of paper, some words that were not very clear came into his sight—

“To the investigators, the following is the last stage of changes in my body:”