Chapter 304: Setting Sail

"These past few days weren't entirely idle—we built a causeway here. It's still not very convenient, but at least it's much easier to walk than before." Father Green led Kraft through several checkpoints to the transformed site.

Torches spaced every five or six steps illuminated the overtime labor: a simple wooden path, supported by stakes jammed into rock crevices, had been constructed along the steep slope.

The zigzag route greatly improved the difficulty of ascending and descending—it was now passable.

But the surprises weren't over: a three-tiered framework was taking shape on the stony beach below, and beside it, logs carried a dismantled boat being reassembled.

"There's also a temporary pier," Father Green said, clearly impressed by the Church's unexpected support, "We've built docking points at multiple elevations to guard against rising water levels."

This place had become a temporary construction site, everyone busy with their tasks: clearing rubble, driving stakes, nailing pre-cut planks onto the framework.

All the essentials of a pier were rapidly taking shape under ample manpower and resources, as preparation for exploration.

At mid-height on the slope, some were using local stones to build relatively stable platforms, attempting to install mechanical devices with rotating parts atop them.

A light source far brighter than ordinary torches flickered, and when it shone toward them, it was almost blinding.

"That's a lighthouse," Father Green said, pleased by the professor's surprise. "Someone with sailing experience suggested it—otherwise, you'd lose your way in just a few dozen meters. We're currently calibrating the lenses."

"Getting this thing wasn't easy. I heard that a sheet of white glass this large used to cost as much as the same weight in silver. Luckily, it's become cheaper lately."

"Huh?!"

Undeniably, this level of preparation gave Kraft a sudden boost of confidence.

After so many anomalous incidents, this was the most serious one—and yet also the best-resourced. Though the Church had dragged its feet, once it actually moved, even a fraction of its strength was commendable.

"How did you build all this safely?" Surely the lake's creatures weren't deaf—they couldn't have ignored the constant hammering and clanging on shore.

"Didn't you encounter anything?"

"We did—but we didn't catch it, and we couldn't tell what it was." Father Green pointed to an inconspicuous corner of the pier, where planks had been ripped away, along with wooden stakes deeply driven into the shore.

Two armed monks were reinforcing the base of a device as wide as Kraft's arm span—something that might be called a "ballista." Its surface still bore damp moisture, as if it had just been fished out of the water.

The last time he'd seen something like this was on the walls of Westmin City, usually kept in key towers for maintenance.

It didn't use conventional arrows, but a fearsome, spiky short spear—essentially a harpoon—with a rope trailing behind it.

"That thing nearly took a few more of us. When it was hit, it yanked the ballista and its base into the water. If the rope hadn't snapped, we might never have recovered it."

"You drove it off?"

"Too bad we didn't pull it up—if we had, we'd have had oil waiting for it." A regretful voice spoke—it was Brother Wading. He noticed the two chatting amid the busy workers and approached.

"Shooting at a glowing object thirty steps underwater isn't hard—it's what comes next, dealing with it underwater, that's the real challenge."

"And over there," he lowered his voice, glancing toward the other side of the pier.

On that side, several Church personnel dressed similarly to them carried various weapons, urging the shipwrights assembling the boats.

Clearly, Father Green didn't get along with them—observe closely, and you'd see the pier subtly divided into two groups. No overt hostility, but an invisible boundary lay between them.

"Watch your tongue," Father Green cut him off. "I trust Father Theodore's character. Before the Enemy of the Heavenly Father, let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and slander be removed from among us; let there be kindness, as the Lord forgave us all."

The latter half of his voice rose noticeably—clearly not meant for Brother Wading.

Several among the group on the other side turned to look. Through the thick fog, their expressions were unreadable; they said nothing, only continued preparing for departure.

Kraft's heart, which had just eased, sank halfway again. He silently questioned Father Green with his eyes.

What's going on?

Who's insane enough to pair two people who clearly can't stand each other on such a critical mission?

Father Green gave a slight shake of his head, signaling it was fine. "For efficiency and safety, we've split into two teams, exploring in two directions simultaneously."

"So we're not even traveling together," Kraft whispered, barely moving his lips.

"Theodore is a capable, level-headed man. He won't let personal feelings cloud his judgment. I believe the Inquisitor chose him after careful consideration."

"Of course, he's still slightly inferior to Green," Brother Wading muttered, immediately earning a glare.

"..."

Kraft trusted Father Green. If he were on the other side, even if they'd always been at odds—competing for promotions, reporting academic misconduct—Green would wait until the mission ended before picking a good day to settle the score.

But this "Theodore"? He knew nothing about him. He could only hope the Church had more reliable people like Green.

Fortunately, the two groups weren't heading the same way—they'd likely never meet, and perhaps neither would return.

The boats were nearly ready. Workers rolled the thickened hulls along log tracks and pushed them into the water.

Someone shouted for the makeshift lighthouse to turn, directing its beam toward the nearby water, casting a large, ragged-edged patch of light that swept across the surface.

The ballista crew watched closely, adjusting their aim as the light passed, searching for any suspicious ripples in the water.

The accompanying monks made one final check of their gear, securing supplies with slipknots at accessible spots on the boats, and attaching empty barrels with grappling ropes as emergency flotation devices—though no one knew if they'd actually help.

They were nearly ready to depart. Compared to Father Theodore's group, who were collectively praying, Father Green's team was quieter. A few veterans with prior experience gripped their weapons, repeatedly checking their fuel supplies.

"You're really going?" Father Green confirmed one last time. "I heard it's just out of curiosity?"

At this point, he didn't even know what the man was after.

"Hmm… too many reasons. To save the people in the city? To honor the dead? Maybe to find answers to things that happened before?" Kraft stared at the lake, its still, massive silhouettes mirrored in his pupils—strangely fitting.

"You might not believe this, but this incident's reach extends far beyond here—to Westmin, to the tributaries of the Tem River, to the northern Haigang. I followed it here, though not entirely for its sake."

"Even setting aside everything else—don't you want to know what it is?"

"What kind of power created this? Twisting the souls of the living, reviving the corpses of the dead, reshaping the Father's creations as if turning pottery back into clay."

"What is its essence? An as-yet-unrevealed law, like the roar of Lei Ting or the motion of celestial bodies? The ultimate answer at the end of medicine? Or something we're destined never to comprehend or control?"

"Don't you want to know?" He turned to face him, eyes blazing.

Father Green felt a deep foreboding—the same feeling he'd had before: this man's skin wasn't soft, but something fine and brittle, like porcelain or a cracked eggshell, just as he'd seen in the armor in the sewer.

Something within peered out through the fissures, insatiable, widening the cracks, threatening to burst free.

Something colder than the lake water flowed through his body, as if countless icy fingers had reached out and seized him.

Then it vanished.

Kraft stood before him, his expression filled with concern for Father Green's mental state, his eyes brimming with worry over this ill-fated journey.

"Are you alright? Should we delay departure?"

"No, I was just a bit distracted." The priest awkwardly forced a smile for everyone to see and took the lead, boarding the wooden boat.