Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord-Chapter 170: The Anchor, Disappeared

"To prevent... getting lost?"

"That’s right. In the Sea of Unconsciousness, there is no direction, nor is there distance. Ignorance allows us to float upon it, and willpower lets us move forward. But without an ’anchor,’ no matter how much you struggle, it’s nothing more than an illusion before drowning. Here, the ’anchor’ is a strong belief, so strong it can interfere with reality. If you wish to explore the Sea of Unconsciousness, it is absolutely essential."

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The Priest didn’t speak these words aloud.

Instead, he simply cast a questioning gaze toward Beatrice.

"Belief..." A figure appeared in Beatrice’s mind as she slowly placed her teacup on the table. "Please continue."

A trace of surprise flickered in the Priest’s eyes; he was somewhat taken aback.

Originally, his intention in explaining the dangers of the Sea of Unconsciousness was to dissuade Beatrice, this naive young lady, so she would continue relying on the Church’s power for exploration. Unexpectedly, she turned out to be so determined.

Isn’t Castel just a deserted island? What could be so important that she values it this much?

But faced with Beatrice’s inquiring gaze, he had no choice but to dismiss these messy thoughts and continue his explanation.

"Knowledge itself is pollution, but contact with pollution can also grant knowledge. The Church of Candlelight’s countless investigators tirelessly explore the Corridor of Truth, and through this, they have discovered some methods."

"When we construct each church, we bury anchor points. These serve as beacons in the Sea of Unconsciousness, guiding direction and transmitting information."

"You know, the Sea of Unconsciousness holds no concept of distance. Thus, we can span any distance and allow information to circulate between churches."

"A great invention," Beatrice frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then looked at the Priest.

"But how do you travel through the Sea of Unconsciousness? You don’t appear to be an extraordinary being, so logically, you shouldn’t be able to explore the Corridor of Truth."

The Priest chuckled. "Do you remember what I said?—Ignorance allows us to travel upon it. Compared to those with extraordinary powers, ordinary people travel more easily in the Sea of Unconsciousness. The Flow Divination Device allows me to navigate toward the beacon."

The Church regularly selects individuals from among ordinary people, training them to develop the ability to dive into the Sea of Unconsciousness and serve as liaison officers between churches.

These individuals are known as Whisperers.

However, the Sea of Unconsciousness has never been associated with safety or stability.

Even with methods the Church has developed over many years of exploration, accidents still occur frequently.

Fortunately, such accidents only result in the loss of personnel and do not affect the anchor points or beacons.

They can simply replace the person and continue.

Simply put, these Whisperers are expendable.

Their average lifespan doesn’t even reach thirty years, and their ultimate fate is always to fall forever into the Sea of Unconsciousness.

Every time he thought about this, a wave of anxiety surged in the young Priest’s heart.

Lately, his dives into the Sea of Unconsciousness had become increasingly difficult.

"Under what circumstances would the beacon disappear, or the anchor point become unreachable?"

The Priest hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly, "The church would have to be destroyed, or... something could block the anchor."

"Block it? Didn’t you say there’s no direction in the Sea of Unconsciousness? How could something block it?"

Beatrice was puzzled.

Light could be blocked because sight couldn’t bend, but in the Sea of Unconsciousness, where direction didn’t exist, what could possibly obstruct a beacon?

Unless—

A terrifying thought suddenly emerged in Beatrice’s mind.

Her eyes widened, and she abruptly turned to look at the Priest.

The Priest nodded slowly, speaking with difficulty, "Unless some existence swallowed the entire anchor point. That would block the beacon."

The room fell silent, the steam from the tea curling softly upward.

The sky over the Rhine was always gray.

Coal smoke and mist intertwined over the Rhine River, forming a lead-gray curtain. Brass gas lamps along the streets cast a hazy glow, like loose copper collars around the necks of drowning men.

Cast-iron railings were encrusted with black ice crystals, a mixture of oil grime and coal dust.

Suddenly, a fit of coughing erupted from a nearby alleyway.

A hunched, elderly cleaner scraped the caked coal residue from the base of a wall with an iron shovel.

The rising dust tangled with the fog, falling onto his worn corduroy shoulders.

A carriage sped out of the alley, wheels clattering heavily over the cobbled road.

After turning a few corners, it stopped in front of an apartment building.

Beatrice stepped down from the carriage, glanced at the street, then lowered her head and entered the building.

This was a secluded property of the Joanne family.

Beatrice had a key to this place, and she occasionally came here for matters that couldn’t see the light of day.

It hadn’t been long since her return from Castel, yet Beatrice felt like she had encountered more people in these few days than in the past several decades combined.

Some were interested in Castel, some in her soap, some in her family, some in her status, and some... in herself.

Desire, profit, and power—all kinds of ugly, lavish things intertwined into a tangled web, making it impossible to distinguish who was who.

This was Rhine, the Empire’s grand stage of fame and fortune.

Before she realized it, she was already caught in its grasp, unable to escape.

Beatrice felt as though she had been kicked into the water and needed to become a fish before drowning.

Fortunately, she learned quickly enough.

Being an Investigator granted her extraordinary perception.

She could catch even the subtlest expressions on people’s faces and remember the smallest, most easily overlooked details in conversations.

Her family and the royal court helped her gain a foothold, teaching her how to wear a mask and engage in superficial dealings with everyone.

Gradually, she learned how to navigate interactions, becoming adept at maneuvering through Rhine’s upper circles.

The dark hallway held no light, but Beatrice’s pace never slowed.

She moved swiftly through the shadows, as agile as a cat.

Soon, she stopped before a door, took out a key from her pocket, and with a soft click of the lock, stepped inside.

The room was small, with faint mist curling outside the wooden-framed window.

The iron grate of the fireplace reflected a dull sheen, and the brass gas lamp cast a semicircular glow on the wallpaper.

Beatrice walked to the window, yanked the dark red velvet curtains shut, cutting off the grayness of Rhine.

Only then did she finally relax.

She hung her veiled hat on the rack, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed onto the soft sofa.

With a soft puff, the plush fabric enveloped her, and she rubbed against it in satisfaction.

For some reason, she always felt tense, unable to relax, no matter where she was, even in her childhood room at the Joanne family estate, an inexplicable sense of oppression lingered.

Only here, in this tiny, secret room where no one knew her, with the curtains drawn and her body sunk into the sofa, could she find a moment of peace.