Ashes Of Deep Sea-Chapter 266 - 270: A Letter from Afar

Chapter 266: Chapter 270: A Letter from Afar

Father had visited the antique shop earlier and spent a long time there. When he returned home, he was holding a shell and then solemnly placed it in the best position on the antique shelf, meticulously wiping it every now and then.

Every time she thought of this, Heidi was very worried about her father’s mental health.

“I’m serious, you don’t know how strange it looks,” the psychiatrist sighed again. “He treasures it, saying it’s a very, very special antique. He even wipes the shell before washing his face every day—my mother doesn’t care at all, and if I say something, she just says, ‘Let your father enjoy his collecting hobby without disturbance.'”

Fenna didn’t know how to comment on this; after all, she knew nothing about antiques. Her most memorable close encounter with an antique was when she, as a child, used a toy sword to jump and smash her uncle’s vase. She still vividly remembered the beating she received. So, she struggled to find the right words and only managed to come up with, “…Mr. Morris is a well-respected historian and collector; I suppose his collection must have special insights.”

“Not even if the shell were real,” Heidi sighed. “The shell definitely is real, at least solid, very heavy.”

Fenna was silent for a moment, seemingly thinking about something, then suddenly said, “Let’s talk about the amulet. Did Mr. Morris get you another one just like it?”

...

“Yes, that’s the one,” Heidi nodded, pulling a “crystal” pendant from her blouse. “You’ve seen it before. I had one just like it, but it was destroyed in the previous ‘disaster.’ The monk who registered it at that time said it might be an item that accidentally absorbed transcendent powers but normally conceals its unique properties…”

Fenna looked at the “crystal” pendant Heidi pulled out, her expression thoughtful.

“Do you think there’s something wrong?” Heidi couldn’t help but ask.

“…After the disaster, the cathedral was understaffed, but we still sent people to investigate the antique shop. Everything was normal; from the shop’s supply chain to the shop owner’s identity and background, everything was clear in the city records. It seems that the pendant is truly just a coincidence,” Fenna slowly said, her gaze still lingering on the pendant, “but I keep wondering… Heidi, remember, I went with you to that antique shop.”

“Of course, I remember,” Heidi nodded. “Honestly, I do have a certain connection to that shop—the owner once saved my life at a museum, and his niece is one of my father’s students. Moreover, my previous pendant came exactly from that shop… But as you said, the church has investigated covertly and found no issues.”

Fenna didn’t reply but after a moment of thought, stretched out her hand, “May I take a look?”

Heidi, without thinking much, unhooked the pendant and handed it over, “Of course, here you go.”

Fenna took the still warm crystal pendant, examined it carefully in the sunlight, and after a while, almost as if talking to herself, said, “There’s no transcendent aura.”

“Exactly, it’s just an ordinary amulet, even made of glass,” Heidi said. Then, looking earnestly at her friend, she added, “Fenna, you’re being overly anxious. I know it’s part of your job as a Judge, but I think… the shop owner really is a good person; you shouldn’t distrust him.”

“I’m being cautious, not distrustful. I do feel something off about that antique shop, but I’m not viewing this matter with the same attitude I would toward heresy,” Fenna said, handing back the pendant. “But you’re right; perhaps I am being a bit overly nervous.”

Heidi put the pendant back on and then glanced at the mechanical clock hanging next to her, “Ah, is it that time already?!”

“Time to go?”

“It’s necessary,” Heidi said while getting up and picking up the briefcase she had set aside, “I have an appointment this afternoon—the captain who was observed by the cathedral for several days.”

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Fenna frowned as she recalled, quickly finding the relevant memory, “Captain of the White Oak, right? I believe his name was Lawrence… Has he run into trouble?”

“Captains who traverse the Endless Sea, particularly at his age—needing a psychiatrist’s help is quite normal,” Heidi said, her expression growing a bit complex. However, she quickly shook her head, “But compared to most captains his age, Mr. Lawrence is actually doing quite well. I can’t say more than that, as it pertains to patient confidentiality.”

“Well, I wish you a smooth day at work.”

…

The first thing Morris did upon returning home was to embrace and kiss his wife, and the second was to meticulously wipe the shell he had placed on the antique shelf.

Although he felt somewhat strange about bringing this artifact home, he knew this seemingly odd “collectible” had its unique significance.

It represented his connection to the Homeloss, as well as Captain Duncan’s “goodwill” towards his own family.

The enigmatic Ghost Ship captain had always communicated his benevolence in the most bizarre ways, including but not limited to stewing soups with deep-sea progeny, equipping a century-old stamped cannonball, and helping the less educated among his kin learn to read. Maurice had initially found this odd, but now he had perfectly adjusted his mindset.

Captain Duncan had said it was right, Captain Duncan had done what was normal.

With this mindset, Maurice felt he had fully adapted to the new team’s atmosphere.

Footsteps sounded from behind.

Without turning around, Maurice knew it was his wife.

“You’ve nearly polished it to the point it can reflect a person’s image,” the dignified old lady chuckled, watching her husband, “Didn’t you used to say antiques shouldn’t be cleaned too often?”

“But this is no ordinary ‘antique’, Mary,” Maurice turned around, smiling at his wife, “This is part of a miracle.”

The old woman looked up, scrutinizing the two special artifacts on the antique shelf—a dagger and a cannonball. After a moment, she suddenly spoke, “Will you tell your daughter the truth later? About this ‘miracle’, about… your new ‘identity.'”

Maurice stopped his actions.

Some “miracles” can be kept from others but not from those who have directly experienced the miracles themselves.

As a once incomplete product of a “Subspace Prayer,” his wife had lain on the bed for eleven years in the form of human ashes, clearly understanding her situation. Now truly surviving due to the Homeloss’s influence, she naturally questioned her own survival.

It was unavoidable.

So, with the captain’s permission, Maurice had told his wife about the Homeloss, but he had not told Heidi.

“…There’s no need yet,” Maurice said, “Heidi doesn’t need to be involved in this matter yet, and whether to tell her or not… still depends on the captain’s wishes.”

As they were speaking, the doorbell suddenly rang, interrupting their conversation.

The old scholar was just about to answer the door when his wife, laughing, stopped him, “Let me go—I haven’t moved around for many years, now I need to exercise a bit.”

Saying this, she turned and walked to the hallway. Brief voices came from the direction of the door, and shortly after, she returned to Maurice.

“It was the postman,” the wife handed over a letter, “For you.”

“For me?” Maurice was surprised, noticing the large denomination stamps and several special seals on the envelope immediately, he frowned slightly, “I did write to a few distant friends, but they shouldn’t have replied this soon… Hmm?”

His action of opening the letter suddenly stopped, his gaze falling on the stamp indicating the place of origin, his expression turning somewhat odd.

“Where is it from?” his wife’s curious voice sounded beside him.

Maurice paused for two seconds, then said in a low voice, “…Frost.”

“Frost? That’s a very distant place,” the wife recalled uncertainly, “I remember you had a friend in Frost, named Brown or something?”

“Brown Scott,” Maurice slowly said, his tone inexplicably becoming more somber as he hesitantly used the letter opener, “Like me, he is a scholar in history and deeply engaged in the field of mystical studies.”

“Oh, right, Brown Scott. I remember he was a rather thin man, giving off an impression of meticulousness,” his wife realized, “Does he still keep in touch with you? I remember he moved to Frost years ago, but before moving his relationship with you was indeed…”

“He has already died,” Maurice abruptly said, “He died in a maritime accident six years ago.”

As he spoke, the room fell silent in an instant.