Chapter 40: When in Doubt, Pray

Chapter 40: When in Doubt, Pray

"Sylen, little brother, you really pulled it off." Winter said cheerfully, patting his arm, a rare, non-mocking smile breaking across his scarred face.

As the crowd swarmed around Sylen, Pearl timidly peeked out from behind him. She spotted Mare in the crowd and burst into tears again—but this time from joy. The two friends, separated for years, finally embraced again.

In the midst of the jubilant celebration, Winter said, "Sylen, little brother, are you going to keep pretending to be Fergus from now on?"

Sylen nodded. "His identity can provide cover for the transport station's operations, and those ill-gotten gains are better put to use for the station. Additionally, he has connections with many slave-hunting fleets and slave traders—it's a massive network. Using Fergus's identity, we can easily get close to them and eliminate them one by one."

The group was fired up again, convinced Sylen's plan was brilliant. With his Supernatural Ability, their operations would be a breeze! They could recruit more allies, buy more gear, and become an unstoppable army!

"Great!" Winter clapped his hands and laughed. "This calls for a proper celebration! I propose a victory feast!"

The cheers nearly blew the roof off. The crowd cheered for a moment, then suddenly fell silent. Thalassa shot a sidelong glance at Sylen, knowing the Black-Clad Bodyguard was his sister.

To him, the Black-Clad Bodyguard was the executioner who'd killed his comrades—plenty of people wanted her dead. But to Sylen, no matter what she'd done, she was still his flesh and blood...

Was it even right for them to celebrate now?

Sylen also knew why the crowd had gone quiet. He mustered a smile and said, "We really should celebrate. Don't worry about me."

Winter was at a loss, scratching his stubbly chin. "Uh, let's hold the feast in a few days then. There's still a ton of cleanup to do."

"R-right," Thalassa chimed in, "even prepping the feast will take a few days."

Everyone exchanged glances and nodded in agreement. The atmosphere got super awkward.

Just then, Sister Pauline entered the cellar. Winter looked like he'd just seen a savior and quickly called out, "Sister, perfect timing! We'd like to borrow the kitchen!"

The sister's cold gaze swept over the crowd as she said gravely, "I wanted to inform everyone that I received word from the Holy See yesterday. I've been assigned to serve as abbess of a convent inland."

"Oh!" A smile spread across Winter's burned face. "So you got promoted?"

"You could say that." Sister Pauline nodded.

"That's great news!"

"After I leave, the church will have a new head, but they might not be as supportive of your activities."

Winter's smile vanished. Though the Dawn Church opposed slavery, not every Holy Order member was willing to help the resistance. Plenty turned a blind eye rather than risk ticking off the powerful.

Sylen cut in, "Don't worry. With Fergus's identity as cover, I can set up a new base."

No one would ever suspect the owner of slave-hunting fleets of secretly funding the liberation of slaves.

Winter perked up again. "Then we definitely gotta celebrate! Sister, we're planning a victory feast—you'll come, right? Don't tell me some religious rule keeps you from joining."

Sister Pauline clasped her hands to her chest and said piously, "I'll ask God to forgive our sin of gluttony."

The crowd burst into applause and cheers, swarming around the sister. Amid the joyful scene, Sylen quietly slipped away, leaning against the wall, soaking in everyone's happiness as a bitter smile crept onto his lips.

Winter ambled over. "What are you thinking about?"

Sylen looked away. "Don't bother comforting me. I just want some time alone."

"Who the hell's trying to comfort you! I wanted to ask what you plan to do with Fergus's stuff. First off, do you even know where Fergus keeps his business papers and double-entry ledgers? Without those, you can't even figure out what he owns."

Winter had once been the young master of a lumber business, so he knew way more about business than Sylen.

Sylen was stumped. "I don't know either. Uh, he must've had a steward or something, right? ...Oh, I think I killed one."

The steward's corpse was still lying next to his master's in the Divine Casket. Sylen planned to find a chance to bury the bodies outside the city—he couldn't just leave them there forever. The Divine Casket would eventually need to hold Xiaoqi's food, and keeping it next to dead bodies was just gross.

Pearl suddenly ran over. "I know! Fergus keeps all his important papers in the safe in the villa's study! He said no one would think to look for his most precious stuff in his mistress's house, so, so..."

Everyone's eyes turned to her. Suddenly the center of attention, Pearl felt uneasy.

"I-I've only seen him put stuff in there, I'm not sure..." she added timidly.

Winter laughed. "Isn't this great! Sylen, little brother, you've got yourself a solid helper now! Well, no time to waste—let's hit the villa."

Sylen raised an eyebrow. "We? You're coming along?"

"Of course! Fergus stole who knows how much good stuff from my family. No problem if I take it back, right? You'll give it back to me, right?" Winter looked a little guilty.

Sylen eyed him suspiciously, sure this guy would take the chance to settle old scores and grab stuff that never belonged to his family...

After sorting out how they'd stay in touch with the transport station crew, Sylen shifted into Fergus and boarded the carriage with Pearl. Winter and Mare tagged along.

The villa's servants were surprised that "Lord Fergus" had brought back two extra people, but no one dared to ask questions.

Winter pulled up his hood to hide his scarred face. Mare didn't need to disguise herself—many servants had heard she'd been captured by the Slave Hunter and figured the master had forgiven her and kept her around to work.

"Oh, this painted pottery vase! This is an heirloom from my great-grandfather! Damn Fergus, leaving something this precious just lying around!"

In the study, Winter examined the knickknacks on the display shelf, exclaiming loudly every so often.

The other three ignored him. Following Pearl's lead, they moved aside a portrait of Fergus hanging on the wall and, sure enough, found a safe hidden in a secret compartment behind the frame.

"Do rich people all hide their safes in places like this?" Sylen muttered, eyeing the familiar setup.

The safe was made of silver-gray metal, with no visible seams, and only a combination dial on the front.

Mare and Sylen both looked at Pearl. If anyone knew the code, it had to be her.

Pearl hung her head guiltily. "I-I'm sorry, I don't know. Fergus never let me see..."

Mare knocked on the top of the safe. "What if we just bust it open?"

Winter came over. "This is a dwarven mechanism safe—you gotta turn the dial to open it. If you try to force it, it'll spray fire and torch everything inside."

With that kind of protection, whatever's inside must be extremely valuable. But Fergus was dead—who else would know the code?

The four of them were stumped. Sylen simply knelt down, ready to use his greatest talent.

"What are you doing?" Winter shot him a weird look.

"Praying." Sylen clasped his hands to his chest.

"Uh, Sylen, little brother, 'dwarven safe' means 'a safe made by dwarves,' not that the safe is a dwarf—though they do kinda look like safes. No matter how much you beg it, it's not gonna open." Winter said seriously.

"..." Sylen let out a deep sigh. "I'm praying to God."

"That's not any better!"

Winter and Mare exchanged bewildered looks. Where the hell did this habit of praying whenever in doubt come from?

"Great, the Sister Pauline disease is spreading to humans!"

***

Cape Prison.

"Ohhh! Lyman, that feels great! More, harder! Aahhh! Right there! So good!"

Lyman was brushing a chestnut steed with a curry comb. Red Lightning neighed loudly, its sounds utterly indecent. Fortunately, to anyone else, it just sounded like ordinary horse whinnies; otherwise, his good name would be tarnished beyond repair.

"Revered Lord of the Abyss, your loyal Apostle prays to you..."

Suddenly, Sylen's ethereal voice echoed in his ears. Lyman paused mid-motion and focused intently. After last night's raid on Fergus's villa, he had ended the "possession." Why was Sylen praying today? Had something happened?

"Hey, don't stop! Put some muscle into it! You didn't eat this morning?" Red Lightning turned its head and nudged Lyman with its nose.

Lyman listened for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief. It turned out Sylen was just stuck with an unopenable safe—he'd feared the transport station was about to be wiped out by a slave-owner alliance. No problem. He transferred the Blade of Unsealing into Sylen's Divine Casket and, in Xiaoqi's voice, told him how to use the dagger.

"Thanks, Xiaoqi!" Sylen exclaimed in delight. "Please also convey my endless gratitude to the Lord of the Abyss..."

The Lord of the Abyss, urged on by the horse, grabbed the brush and worked away with a grunt, feeling his life was so hard.

"By the way," Sylen added, "may I spread the gospel of the Lord of the Abyss to others? I mean, if people around me are interested in my faith, can I tell them the Lord's name?"

Was he referring to the people at the transport station? Lyman mused. Sylen had shown them many "miracles," so it was natural they'd be curious about the deity behind him. Proselytizing and expanding his influence could be a good thing.

Even if things fell apart, he could abandon this alias and adopt another title like "Lord of the Seas" or "Lord of Storms." Besides, with Sister Pauline's promotion, the transport station might lose the Dawn Church's protection, so someone had to fill that gap!

"Yes, you can." Lyman replied in a solemn tone. "But you must not commit unjust acts in my name."

He thought about issuing some teachings or tenets, but he couldn't make them up on the spot, so he gave up. The faithful would come up with their own anyway. For religion, what mattered wasn't "what the god said" but who held the right to interpret it.

***

Sylen trembled.

Just now, the Lord of the Abyss had spoken to him directly! That voice, as if from the heavens above and the deep sea below, majestic and ethereal—he hadn't heard it in so long!

The Lord of the Abyss was indeed watching him. Everything he did—righteous or sinful, obedient or defiant—was all laid bare before Him!

He fought back a shiver and took out the dagger the Lord of the Abyss had temporarily granted him from the Divine Casket.

Mare, Winter, and Pearl watched as Sylen, from that mysterious space that could store both corpses and weapons, whipped out a strangely shaped dagger, cut his own palm with its tip, and murmured spells.

Then, the safe's dial began to turn on its own.

As if an invisible hand were guiding it, five turns clockwise, three counterclockwise, then six clockwise. With a click, the door slowly swung open.

Winter's eyes nearly popped out. "No way, dude, prayer actually works?!"

His dumbfounded look gave Sylen a strange sense of satisfaction.

"This is divine grace," he said with an air of mystery.

The Lord of the Abyss was truly omnipotent—the moment he prayed, an answer came. Whether it was the Message Conch or the dagger that opens doors, the divine treasury must be filled with a dazzling array of treasures.

Mare mused, "That's probably some kind of relic for opening doors?"

Though she believed gods truly existed and had seen Sister Pauline pray many times, ordinary gods communicated with their followers through indirect methods such as dreams or omens. Answering prayers directly and granting treasures was something she'd never witnessed. Was Sylen's god even a legitimate deity?

But would a shady god help them liberate slaves? Wouldn't it be trying to turn all living beings into slaves instead?

While Mare pondered, Sylen hauled out a thick stack of documents from the safe. He spread them all on the floor for Winter, the one with more expertise, to examine.

Among them were deeds to Fergus's various properties, ship ownership certificates, business licenses, equity certificates, contracts with other merchants, and even two sets of books. Two sets of account books that were completely different except for their covers left everyone marveling.

At the very bottom of the safe, instead of documents, there was only a neatly folded piece of black cloth.

Sylen took it out and shook it open. It was a black cloak, tattered and riddled with holes, as if moth-eaten, its lower part nearly reduced to rags.

Given how preciously Fergus had hidden it away in the safe, it must be more than just a piece of rag.

Winter's face lit up. "Ohhh! Could this be it?!"

Sylen looked at him, puzzled.

"Rumor has it that the Fergus family has an heirloom relic in the form of a cloak. Their ancestor used it to eliminate all competitors and built the family fortune," Winter said, marveling. "If Fergus had it on him, you probably couldn't have killed him!"

Mare said, "Maybe he treasured it so much he never took it out, which left him defenseless."

"So, you should use it when needed and not hoard it," Pearl said, feeling she'd learned something new.

Sylen asked, "This counts as spoils of war. How do you think we should divide it?"

Winter reached out without thinking, but Mare shot him a glare, and he withdrew sheepishly.

"Fergus was killed by you, and you contributed the most, so it should go to you," Mare said to Sylen.

But Sylen thought that without the treasures granted by his god, he couldn't have killed Fergus or obtained this prize. It rightfully belonged to the god.

He placed the cloak into the Divine Casket and prayed again to the Lord of the Abyss: "O most high and mighty god, I offer this trophy to you..."

Winter looked at him with a complex expression, hesitating to speak. After Sylen finished praying, he said, "Dude, this god of yours... when did you start believing?"

"From the moment I was about to be killed."

Sylen briefly recounted his ordeal at Gurehan's estate. Winter listened and said, "So, your god led you to find companions, which brought you to Silvermist Fort to seek relatives, and then you discovered the Black-Clad Bodyguard was your sister?"

At this, Sylen's expression darkened. "What are you trying to say?"

"Look, I know that god saved you, but since gods are omniscient, He must have known the Black-Clad Bodyguard was your sister. If He hadn't guided you here, that tragedy wouldn't have happened. Of course, the transport station might have been crushed by the Black-Clad Bodyguard, and you wouldn't have found your sister, but at least you wouldn't have had to... Do you ever regret it?"

Sylen stared at Winter in shock. He'd never considered this angle. Had the Lord of the Abyss truly guided him to fight Irina while knowing everything?

Knowing they were siblings fighting each other, yet still... Why? Was He a cruel god who delighted in mortal suffering?

But if Sylen hadn't come to Silvermist Fort, he wouldn't have met the transport station, wouldn't have learned what Irina had become, and wouldn't have known that many of his kin didn't even dare to yearn for freedom...

Sylen looked at his hands and steadied himself. "Though I suffer, all of this has meaning. Rather than ignorant happiness, I'd rather have the painful truth."

He looked up sharply.

"This is the god's purpose, isn't it? He doesn't want obedient lambs but unyielding lions. Steel must be forged by fire and hammer to become a blade, and the human soul must be tempered in the world's crucible with blood and fire to ascend—all of this is to push me higher, so I have no regrets!"

Winter was shaken. The youth had wavered moments ago, but in an instant, his eyes grew so resolute, and the unbreakable will behind them intimidated even Winter, a battle-hardened warrior.

The three stared at him in silence. Finally, Winter blurted out, "Damn, you just said something really profound. Are all you believers this eloquent? Isn't this more interesting than the sister's sermons?"

Sylen blushed. "I was just rambling—stop making fun of me!"

Winter laughed heartily. "Alright, I'll half-believe in your god then!"

"...Half-believe?"

"Didn't I say before? If the operation succeeded, I'd believe in your god. I'm a man of my word."

Mare pressed her hand down: "Alright, let's leave this for later. Don't we have more important things to do?"

Winter only then remembered they'd come to inventory and sort through Fergus's belongings. He knew the most about such matters, so it fell to him to handle it. He directed the others to move the mountain of documents onto the table, sighing as he started flipping through them.

"Oh, Mr. Winter looks big and burly, but he's really cultured!" Pearl exclaimed.

"Hey! I used to be from a wealthy family! I can read and write, alright!"

Sylen watched from afar, seeing the other two gathered around Winter, pointing and making remarks. He stepped back a little, turned toward the window, and pulled out his Apostle Card.

"Mission: Find companions (Progress: 50%)."

Even though he'd joined the transport station and taken down Fergus, the mission still showed only half completion. Was it that he still didn't have enough companions? Or did he need to eliminate more slave owners?

His sister's despairing laughter echoed deep inside him.

Could they really kill them all? Just in Silvermist Fort, how many nobles owned slaves? And beyond Silvermist Fort, how many Slave Hunters, slave-hunting fleets, and slave traders were there? With just this group of theirs, could they really succeed?

It was like a pebble trying to move a mountain—no wonder his sister had completely lost hope...

"Sylen, what's wrong?" Mare quietly came up behind him. She noticed the young man staring blankly at his hands, even though there was nothing in them.

Sylen's lips quivered: "Mare, with just us, do you really think we can eliminate all the slave owners?"

"Ah, I probably won't live to see it in my lifetime."

Sylen stared at her in shock: "What did you say?"

Mare, on the other hand, seemed puzzled: "Humans have been hunting us merfolk and enslaving us for over a hundred years. To completely wipe it out would take generations. Isn't that the more reasonable way to think about it?"

"Then you... you'll never live to see all your kin freed, yet you still want to do this?"

Mare looked into the distance: "The transport station wasn't founded by me. Before me, others were already helping slaves escape, and it was with their help that I wasn't captured again. After me, more companions will surely join, and I ought to help them just as those before me helped me.

"Doing this naturally takes a very long time. Perhaps I'll never see that day come. But that's alright. If I can't do it, there are companions. If companions can't do it, there are successors. I walked the path my predecessors paved to escape slavery, and after I die, I'll become a paving stone myself, letting those who come after walk over my bones and keep going.

"If one year isn't enough, use ten. If ten isn't enough, use a century. If a century isn't enough, use ten centuries. Spend a thousand years paving this road—one day, it will lead to freedom!"

Sylen was deeply shaken, unable to speak for a long time. He thought, if his sister had met Mare first and heard these words, would she have been able to rekindle her hope?

But there was no "if" anymore.

He looked out the window. Silvermist Fort's grand architecture loomed faintly in the mist, like a cluster of dark islands. They were like sitting in a small cabin, about to cross a fog-shrouded ocean.

"If you're going to be a paving stone, then I'll be the ship."

Sylen said softly.

"When I die one day, let my successors make a ship from my bones. Use my hair to weave the sails, my eyes to watch the horizon. I'll carry my kin across this cruel sea, racing toward freedom!"