Chapter 237: The Day You Went Out to Sea

Chapter 237: The Day You Disembarked

From the moment the captain abruptly vanished and then returned with Marlo, Karen had sensed that something was amiss.

The primary tell was Richard's disappearance and subsequent return, in the midst of which Memphis—meaning Uncle Eisen—had muttered to himself, "Captured the wrong person..."

The ensuing disappearance of Memphis only served to validate this; the other party truly must have taken the wrong individual.

Yet the question remained: if they had captured the captain, why would they release him?

Could it be that they had snatched the wrong captain as well?

Did that imply the captain and Richard stood upon the very same level of competence?

Karen felt certain that even Richard himself would never acquiesce to such an assessment.

Even if one were to concede, for the sake of argument, that the captain had not been taken but had truly discerned the logic of this place and retrieved Marlo,

when had the captain ever spoken at such great length before issuing a command to his squad?

He had offered interpretations, explanations, and shared concepts, for all the world like a schoolmaster lecturing his pupils.

The captain much preferred to keep a whistle clenched between his teeth, delivering the most direct orders in the briefest manner possible.

You have no need to understand the reasons behind it; you need only perform exactly as I have instructed.

When the time came to prepare for the final cleanup,

the captain had actually sung the praises of the Great God of Order.

This carried an undertone of dark humor bordering on the satirical; for the captain—a man who could not even recite the *Regulations of Order* and who openly passed down experiences he had simply fabricated—to suddenly begin praying to the God when confronted by a perilous and unnatural situation?

Had it been an ordinary occasion with outsiders present, where everyone sat down over coffee to indulge in refined conversation, such polite banalities from the captain would have been entirely normal, but in this present moment, it felt profoundly dissonant.

As for the final inquiry, "Captain, may I remove my mask?"

That had merely been a jest Karen offered after his heart had already grown steadfast in the conviction that this captain was an impostor.

Thus,

the moment the barrel of the Sava-7 pistol pressed against the center of the captain’s brow, Karen did not harbor the slightest hesitation, acting purely to prevent that uncanny "disappearance" from recurring and instantly erasing him as well, for which reason Karen had not even explained to Richard the true cause of his "departure and return."

"Bang!"

The shot rang out.

Every single comrade ahead witnessed it with perfect clarity: Karen had blown their captain’s brains out with a single round.

The captain made no attempt to evade; a hole was rent cleanly into his forehead.

As that cavity appeared, a faint tremor of anxiety rippled through Karen's chest, for the captain occupied a singular position in the hearts of all the members, Karen included.

To say nothing of confronting a "living" captain, merely throwing darts at a photograph of the man would have carried a distinct weight of pressure.

Fortuitously, in the very next instant, the captain's form began to distort, as though a black hole had manifested to drag his entire being inward, an effect that obviously could never belong to a standard Sava-7 bullet.

Karen shifted his stance, stepping entirely out of the squad formation, and leveled his muzzle toward Marlo at the absolute front of the line.

In truth, Karen was uncertain whether his subsequent second shot would find its mark; though he had practiced marksmanship for a time at the warehouse club belonging to Fanny and Peg, his confidence in handling firearms remained less than absolute, particularly when raising his hand to fire on impulse during a sudden crisis, an act that relied far more heavily upon muscle memory.

Crucially, Marlo stood at the very head of the column while Karen remained at the absolute rear, separated not only by a considerable distance but also by a shrouding layer of white mist.

"Bang!"

Karen had aimed squarely for Marlo's head, yet the round ultimately struck only the man's shoulder.

Nevertheless, Karen's execution was flawless, the precision of the shot worthy of commendation; the failure lay chiefly in Marlo's lack of cooperation, as he had neglected to use his skull to actively catch Karen's bullet.

More than anything, the first gunshot had triggered a stress response in everyone present, prompting them to instinctively adopt tactical evasive maneuvers, and with the sole exception of Richard, every person on the scene was a veteran of vast experience; Marlo had relied on precisely this instinct to shield his vital organs.

Yet the shoulder where the bullet lodged began to burn with black flames, a manifestation of the round's enchanted properties.

Then,

Marlo began to curse vociferously:

"Fuck! What the hell are you doing, Karen!"

Karen's gaze narrowed;

Hm?

Marlo was real?

At that moment,

beams of black light materialized over the company, enveloping every single individual.

The surrounding scenery began to warp, and they suddenly found themselves within an enclosed chamber constructed entirely of black brick, where the image of a leather whip—the Whip of Order—was carved into the ceiling above.

Everyone who appeared here could only sit confined to their respective seats, their bodies securely bound, with a black membrane stretching before each person; one could discern the surrounding figures clearly, yet no vocal communication could pass through, leaving the space in a deathly stillness.

Fortunately, upon beholding the emblem of the Whip of Order, though everyone remained utterly shocked by the events they had just endured, their hearts at least began to steady.

As members of the Whip of Order appearing within a chamber inscribed with its very mark, their safety was undoubtedly assured.

Karen recognized this place; though he had never visited it, he had heard Fanny and Peg speak of it—an interrogation room existed within the depths of the Whip of Order, a small chamber capable of simulating diverse environments, akin to a holographic projection designed to shatter the psychological defenses of the interrogee.

During a quarrel between the two women in their room, Peg had cursed at Fanny, threatening to bind her inside the interrogation chamber, alter the setting to a public square, and ravage her thoroughly!

However, Karen could not recall when he and the others had been "captured" and brought to this interrogation room; most importantly, the interrogation rooms of the Whip of Order merely altered the surrounding scenery to evoke a particular atmosphere, while the individuals themselves remained stationary within a room of fixed dimensions, yet they had previously traversed an immense distance and had even boarded a train.

Karen pursed his lips, his instincts whispering to him that the deception, it seemed, had not yet concluded.

What lay before his eyes did not resemble true reality.

Karen observed two chairs positioned diagonally ahead of him, occupied by the captain and Memphis respectively; they appeared perfectly tranquil, their expressions obscured by their masks, and they made no attempt to convey any information through physical gestures.

Presently,

a figure materialized in the center of the room, clad in a black divine robe embroidered with a sharp sword upon the breast, flanked by two streaks of black lightning.

The black lightning constituted a universal feature of the vestments of the Church of Order, while that sharp sword presumably denoted a specific department, though Karen remained ignorant of that particular department's function.

"Please be at ease, your safety is guaranteed, and your mission has already concluded successfully; I must ask that you remain seated here for an additional five hours, after which you will depart in safety to claim your mission rewards.

Following your departure, specialized personnel will arrive to conclude a non-disclosure agreement with you, for which you shall receive supplementary compensation.

I am aware that this process may prove somewhat tedious; therefore, you might well emulate your captain and take a brief rest here."

The gazes of the company drifted one after another toward the seat occupied by the captain; by all appearances, the captain truly was asleep.

Regrettably, although everyone was currently fraught with bewilderment, the impossibility of communication forced them to keep their questions bottled within their chests.

"Very well, farewell."

No sooner had the words fallen than the figure of the clergyman dissolved into nothingness.

Karen found the situation somewhat amusing; what exactly was going on here, had they not set out on a cleansing mission, so how had they ended up in this place?

What was more amusing still was that the captain was genuinely sleeping...

Hm?

Karen suddenly took note of the captain's posture; the man's back was pressed against the chair, his frame tilting slightly sideways, and logically speaking, were one to sleep in such a position, it would be far more comfortable to rest one's hands upon the armrests or let them dangle down the sides of the seat, yet the captain had not done so; his hands were clasped together directly before his torso.

This posture imparted a distinctly unnatural impression, drawing Karen's gaze instinctively to the captain's hands, where he discovered that the index finger of the captain's right hand happened to press squarely upon a knuckle of his left.

The position of the ring?

As if suddenly realizing something, Cullen instantly turned his gaze to Memphis, who sat in the chair beside the Captain. From the moment everyone had entered and taken their seats, Memphis had not altered his posture; he too, it seemed, was asleep just like the Captain.

Unlike the Captain's slouching yet strangely constrained sleeping posture, Memphis sat perfectly erect, hands placed before him, in complete accordance with his meticulous character.

Yet Cullen noticed that the fingertips of Memphis were twitching in the exact same manner as the Captain's.

He knew that upon the left index finger of each man rested a ring, and that ring was, in truth, a mask.

Sleep... rings... masks?

Cullen licked his lips and re-examined their surroundings. Five hours—that was roughly the time of the previous reset. So, if they wanted to leave, must they wait for the next reset?

Where exactly were they right now?

Was it hypnosis?

Yet it was far more vivid than hypnosis, and far more delicate than any dream.

This sensation felt more like one's spirit being forcibly integrated into a new environment, where everything, absolutely everything, left you utterly powerless.

Therefore, if "leaving" did not mean being released from confinement and walking out through that main door, but rather the return of one's spiritual consciousness...

Then they were all, even now, still within that illusory world of consciousness!

Cullen believed he had uncovered the crux of the matter. With this realization as a premise, looking again at the sleeping states of the Captain and Memphis made it appear even stranger to him.

If this place were likened to a cage within a world of consciousness where they were all isolated, then what the Captain and Memphis were doing right now was nothing less than... a jailbreak?

As the first two individuals to be isolated here, and as the two strongest, most knowledgeable men in the squad, would they willingly sit in prison forever?

No, they would not. They would certainly find a way to do something, to make some kind of attempt.

And that attempt was... the masks?

Cullen felt that within such a short span of time, he could not fully unravel the precise relationships between these various environments. However, he did not mind imitating the Captain and his uncle; after all, everyone possessed a mask.

Just then, Cullen noticed a figure in the chair beside him frantically making hand gestures toward him. It was his cousin, Richard. Richard currently possessed an immense desire to confide, though his sign language, unsurprisingly, was likely being invented on the spot.

Cullen made a gesture to Richard, folding his hands against his cheek to signal that he was going to sleep, telling him to find someone else to discuss the development of sign language.

Then, Cullen leaned back slightly, curling his body as much as possible, and reached up to press down the mask upon his face.

This particular mask was the silver one that Fannie had purchased for everyone last time, but within his ring, he still possessed two other masks.

One belonged to Mr. Pavarotti, and the other was the silver mask left behind by his grandfather.

Cullen suspected that this world of consciousness had likely marked the existence of each individual. From the moment they accepted the mission to their entry into the mission scene, everything had probably been arranged; everyone's existence was likely known and certain to the master of this conscious world.

Therefore, on this basis, if one could temporarily adopt an unmarked identity, would it not be equivalent to becoming an existence that was never supposed to be in this conscious world to begin with?

Unmonitored and unrestricted, possessing a degree of freedom so long as one did not court death and draw attention.

Which mask should he choose?

Cullen instinctively wanted to use Mr. Pavarotti's mask, but considering that he had used his grandfather's mask last time to enter the sealed space where Loya was placed, his grandfather's mask might very well possess a unique effect in certain aspects.

With his fingertips brushing against the ring, Cullen chose his grandfather's silver mask.

When the mask was donned, Richard only perceived Cullen sitting there utterly motionless, as though he had truly fallen asleep.

As for Cullen himself, he discovered that his surroundings had transformed. The enclosed environment was gone, his teammates were gone, and he was lying upon a hillside.

Cullen was intimately familiar with this hillside. Lifting his head to look forward, he could see the ancient Castle of Ales, where the entire squad had originally lain in wait for a very long time.

Cullen sat up, his hands brushing the ground on either side of his body.

Why start from here?

The two squads led by Anthony and Canse had driven past this very spot to enter the castle, and when they emerged, Cullen and the others had also descended from this hillside to discover their abandoned vehicles on the highway.

This location seemed to be the starting point of everything?

But what was the reason for this starting point?

Cullen stood up, looking down at the spot where he had just been lying, and murmured:

"In reality, are all of our physical bodies actually lying right here?"

If one absolutely had to choose a convergence point between the world of consciousness and the real world, this place seemed the most appropriate. The sudden plunging of the Castle of Ales into darkness did not merely mean the castle itself was shrouded in gloom; it was more as if their own vision had been obscured.

"Heh..."

Cullen took a deep breath.

"So, what is going on here? Testing an artifact?"

Recalling the words of that person in the secret chamber—"Your mission is complete" and "Sign the non-disclosure agreement to receive your extra reward"—it was highly probable that the mission of his own squad, as well as the other two squads, was not to clear out the deviant demons of the Castle of Ales at all, but rather that they had been "lured" into this place to serve as laboratory mice.

Where were the Captain and Uncle Eisen?

They should have "awakened" here as well, but they would not remain here indefinitely, so where had the two of them gone now?

The answer, in truth, had already presented itself.

To a castle that one would maintain as much distance from as possible in a realistic frame of mind, failing to enter and take a look under these conditions would be rather unfair to oneself.

Cullen began to walk down the hillside. As he advanced, he deliberately concealed his form, utilizing the cover of the night as much as possible so that his movements did not appear conspicuous.

He did not take the main gate of the castle estate; instead, he came to the perimeter wall on the western side of the grounds. Inside the wall lay only a row of green foliage, with no sign of any human figure, so Cullen directly vaulted up and over.

He made a slight sound upon landing. Cullen crouched low, warily scanning his surroundings.

Once he confirmed no one was there, Cullen stood up, preparing to walk toward the castle.

Yet right at that moment, from within the foliage behind Cullen, a person suddenly leaped out, letting out a loud cry the instant he emerged.

"Ah!!!"

"..." Cullen stood silent.

But then, as if completely blind to Cullen's presence, the man who had emerged from the greenery began making swimming motions with his arms, moving his feet forward even as he swam.

He muttered under his breath:

"I am a fish swimming in the long river of time, a fish, a fish!"

From beginning to end, he did not spare Cullen a single glance. It was unknown whether he truly could not see, or if it was because he was in a state of absolute, rapt absorption, his mind long since free of external distractions.

Cullen reflected for a moment, seemingly recalling that this individual appeared to be a member of one of the two squads that had previously come over to his own team as an exchange member.

Had he fallen so deeply into the act?

If their own squad had not possessed the tone established by the Captain from the very beginning, if Mr. Memphis had not pointed out that this was a hoax, and if he himself had not fired that final shot to blow away the fake Captain, would everyone in his squad be just like this, believing themselves to be swimming in the long river of time?

Cullen doubted heavily how the mental trauma of these people should be handled once they learned the truth.

"Does it strike you as very cruel?"

A familiar voice drifted out from a castle window beside Cullen. Following the sound, Cullen looked up and saw standing within the room, watching him... the Captain.

"Captain, you can see me?"

Neo countered with a question: "What, did you think you had already become invisible?"

"Just now, I almost truly thought so."

"Heh." Neo gave a couple of dry laughs, removed the silver mask from his face, and revealed a skinless, bloody countenance.

Cullen placed a hand against his own face and then shook his head; he could not take his off.

The captain had shed his mask to assume a new identity, while he himself had put one on to change his.

"I saw you wear that mask once, and back then I thought a silver one might look better, which is why I later had Fanny commission a batch of silver ones for all of us to use."

"Oh, I see."

Neo pointed toward the direction where the "fish" had just departed, asking, "Were you feeling sorry for him just now?"

"Not exactly."

"You get used to it. The Wien government once injected locals with bacteria under the guise of free vaccinations just to study the infection. Compared to that, our Church at least doesn't do anything quite so outrageous."

"Captain, did you discover anything inside?"

"Nothing at all. The old castle is filled with psychological triggers, like some thriller-themed amusement park. The useful information probably isn't inside, but out here."

Neo climbed out through the window, gesturing for Garen to follow him.

They circled around to the back of the castle, where a fountain stood in a bizarre location, pressed tightly against the rear exterior wall, completely shielded from view from the outside and the hillside.

In the center of the fountain stood a statue of a man seated on a chair, his right fist resting against his jaw, frozen in deep contemplation.

"Who is he?" Garen asked.

"Oh, I was just about to ask you that very question."

"Ask me?"

"Because you mentioned his name right in front of me not too long ago. If you don't believe me, take a look at this stone tablet."

Beside the fountain stood a monument, and Garen walked over to read the inscription carved upon it:

I would spare no expense to trace back time, if only to return to the day you went down to the sea.

—Raniedal.

"..." Garen.