Ashes Of Deep Sea-Chapter 335 - 339 Agathas Investigation

Chapter 335: Chapter 339 Agatha’s Investigation

Chapter 335 -339 Agatha’s Investigation

The Visitor had left, as suddenly as he had arrived.

The elderly caretaker of the graveyard was somewhat dazed. He stared in the direction where the flames had vanished, his mind still occupied with the bits of information the other party had revealed during their brief conversation, until Annie tugged at his sleeve, causing him to suddenly snap out of his reverie.

He lowered his head, noticing Annie’s anxious gaze. Beyond her helplessness, there was also nervousness and confusion in her eyes.

Perhaps she had come to understand life and death, but she couldn’t fully comprehend what had just occurred.

The old caretaker bent over, his aged and stiff joints slightly aching in the cold winter. He reached out to brush the snowflakes off Annie’s shoulder, “Annie, don’t be afraid, no harm has come.”

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“Caretaker Grandpa…” The girl’s lips quivered as she tried to form her words, not knowing where to begin her questions, “That person just now…”

“Don’t ask too much, don’t overthink, just as your textbooks say, do not pry into knowledge that isn’t meant for mortals—you only need to know that he was a visitor, He meant no harm to you, and now that He has departed, your connection with Him ends here.”

“And my father…”

“Your father might have done something truly great—beyond what any of us can imagine,” the old caretaker spoke softly, gently smoothing the girl’s hair, “Annie, worry no more, he is no longer adrift at sea; he has gone to a better place. Go back and tell your mother this, she’s waited long for such news.”

Annie pursed her lips, hesitating for a long time before whispering to confirm, “Is it true this time?”

“It is true,” the old caretaker smiled, “You aren’t a six-year-old anymore.”

Annie nodded, half understanding, and then bid farewell to the old caretaker of the graveyard. She turned around and walked toward the path that led to the residential area. Following the wheel tracks that had not yet frozen into ice, she slowly headed towards her home, gradually blending into the silver-clad backdrop of the city.

In front of the graveyard entrance, the old caretaker watched the path for a long time, only breathing a sigh of relief when Annie’s figure disappeared at the corner.

The child hadn’t fallen this time.

Then he raised his hand, gently pressing something in his pocket—a letter that seemed to contain countless secrets quietly lying there.

A letter from an indescribable Visitor, seeming ordinary material could also carry unimaginable knowledge and mysteries… What, indeed, did it signify?

The old caretaker’s gaze gradually grew serious. He turned and walked back towards the graveyard, waving a hand behind him as the heavy wrought-iron gate squeaked shut.

The graveyard would not open again today.

…

Agatha gazed solemnly at the shattered fragments on the ground. The cold wind blowing through the alley fluttered her long hair, chilling her clothes and bandages, as though the bone-chilling cold also captured the last moments of terror and despair from two Heretics.

A few black-clothed guards were busily securing the area. The team that had arrived earlier had already blocked the entrance of the alley, and personnel were investigating clues in nearby lanes—the evidence collection was proceeding methodically. Yet, the confusion in Agatha’s heart had not diminished.

What kind of force could turn people into broken porcelain dolls?

Thus far, no known Divine Arts or Heretical Spells could yield such an effect. Even the myriad enchantments wielded by the Profound Demons did not manifest such strange phenomena.

The young gatekeeper raised his wand, poking at one of the fragments with its tin tip, causing it to turn over. The pale, ceramic-like shard rolled on the ground, emitting a crisp sound.

It flipped over to reveal roughly half a face, including lips, a nose bridge, and one eye.

Even incomplete, it clearly captured the terror of a Heretic’s final moments.

And… a trace of a strange smile?

Agatha frowned, noticing a suspect curvature to the lips on the ceramic shard, as if a serene, contented smile had begun to form but was frozen in place—the slight curve juxtaposed with the fear in the eye made the expression all the more eerie and unsettling.

After a moment of contemplation, she shook her head and continued toward another “scene” deeper in the alley.

A pile of remains nearly charred to cinders lay in the alley, surrounded by signs of fierce combat and remnants of explosions. The extent of the impact was considerable, but the skirmish was clearly one-sidedly fierce—distinct from the pile of shards at the alley’s entrance.

A priest inspecting the site stood up from the debris and nodded to Agatha as he took off his gloves, “An Annihilating Priest who had undergone complete purification. Judging by the severity of his fleshly deformations, he was strong. Theoretically, even if he faced a fully staffed twelve-member guardian squad, it’s possible he could have fought his way out, yet he was quickly dispatched—with almost no signs of counterattack.”

Agatha slightly furrowed her brow, “Can you tell who his opponent might have been?”

The priest shook his head, “The most straightforward and brutal form of attack, pure physical force. This actually makes it harder to determine the other party’s identity. However, we found some traces of unusually condensed water vapor nearby, which may be the only clue.”

“Water vapor condensation… just those traces then,” Agatha murmured softly before turning to glance back towards the entrance of the alley, “Two completely different styles of combat.”

“Yes, one is simple and brutal, and the other is weird and dangerous. The commonality is that both are very powerful—Heretical Priests of the Obliteration Sect had no chance to counterattack,” the priest nodded and said, “The only good news is that they are clearly enemies of the Obliteration Sect.”

“The enemy of our enemy is not necessarily our friend,” Agatha shook her head, “Moreover, they obviously tend to hide their actions—reluctant to show themselves, and that itself is highly suspicious.”

At this point, she paused, then asked, “What about the investigation of the surrounding residents?”

“The nearby residents heard the noise of the fight, but most dared not peek. We can only deduce the timing and duration of the battle from their accounts—it happened after one o’clock in the morning and lasted probably less than three minutes.”

“Is that all? What else?”

“There isn’t any more information for now,” the priest spread his hands, “I have already arranged for people to investigate from door to door, including the alleys farther away, to see if we can find eyewitness reports of strangers, but Fireplace Street is a large block, and I estimate it will take some time before we get results.”

Just then, a slightly hurried footfall suddenly came from the side, interrupting the conversation between Agatha and the priest.

A guard with brown short hair quickly entered the alley and came up to the priest to report.

“In the building?” Listening to the subordinate’s report, the priest immediately frowned and looked up at the building diagonally across the alley.

“What happened?” Agatha immediately inquired.

“In the building at number 42,” the priest immediately said, “a Senkin female has been found unconscious, attacked by Transcendent forces, and on the second floor, there is a room contaminated by strange entities.”

…

In the Guard House of Cemetery No. 3, the old guard carefully locked the door and then, with a serious expression, went over to the desk in the corner.

He had already instructed the guardians outside to keep alert near the cabin and had made sufficient protective preparations on the open ground surrounding the house—but that was not enough.

After reaching the desk, he took out from the drawer items like incense, essential oils, candles, and herbal powders, and began setting up a powerful altar.

He lit the candles in specific places, added essential oils and herbal powders, blessed the entire desk with the fragrance of the incense, and placed the incense burner in the middle of the candleholder, systematically constructing the symbolic altar—he prepared everything skillfully, as if he had rehearsed these actions thousands of times.

This was the poise expected of a veteran.

A few minutes later, the altar was fully set up.

The old guard took a deep breath, looking at the pale flames burning on the candelabra and the thin, tangible incense smoke condensing above the table, feeling that the power of the death god, Bartok, had briefly descended within this small house, the blessed power lingering beside the desk, stabilizing the temporal order of the space as well as his own spirit.

In contacting unknowable knowledge, no amount of meticulous and elaborate preparations was too excessive.

He slowly sat down, completed a prayer in his heart, and then solemnly took out the letter from his pocket.

The old man examined the letter’s envelope.

It was given to him by that indescribable Visitor, who instructed him to pass it on to the Gatekeeper Agatha, mentioning it only needed to reach the grand cathedral of Frost—his words did not forbid others from opening the letter.

If it was just a matter of passing a message, then it would be permissible for him to read it first and then relay it.

After all, the cemetery guard was the first line of defense leading to the cathedral.

The old man sighed lightly, fully prepared, then picked up the letter opener beside him and carefully opened the seemingly ordinary envelope.

A folded letter slid out of the envelope.

With an unprecedented solemn expression and nearly a martyr-like determination, the old guard slowly unfolded the letter—

“Whistleblower Report” were the words that caught his eyes.

The old guard: “…?”