Chapter Seventeen: The Expansion of the Netherworld

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As expected, the gruesome story of the deranged murderer who abducted and cruelly killed a child appeared in the Valentine Daily, yet one had to admit the storm had aided the Valentine Police Department.

The following day, the storm grew even more ferocious than the previous night, making it nearly impossible for Valentine’s residents to venture outdoors. Naturally, the sales of the Valentine Daily were severely limited, which in turn restricted the spread of news about the murder, granting the police some relief from public pressure.

Yet the high winds also disrupted the police’s plans to apprehend the criminal. The twisted murderer, wounded and now caught in such harsh weather, would surely be unable to strike again in the short term.

Three days passed. The hospital’s sanitary conditions struck Mulan as inadequate—unfavorable for recovery—and Leo, utterly fed up with hospital food, decided to leave after two days, hiring a carriage home when the wind finally abated.

No one anticipated the storm would not subside afterward. That day’s lull was merely a prelude to greater fury; today, the winds raged even more wildly, accompanied by terrifying flashes of lightning and torrents of rain.

Thunder rumbled outside, while the downpour lashed against the windows. The gale and rain together utterly extinguished any desire to step outdoors.

In the kitchen of the Jonster household, water simmered on the stove, and a rack nearby was used to dry some freshly washed bandages.

Leo lay on a reclining chair by the hearth, blankets cushioning him above and below, basking in the warmth of the fire. His knees supported a plate of Old Buck’s specialty biscuits.

Nibbling on a biscuit, Leo watched the lightning and rain outside, grateful for his return.

“Thank goodness I’m back. If I’d stayed in the hospital through this damned weather, I’d have gone mad!”

Mulan sat at the dining table nearby, where several recent editions of the Valentine Daily lay scattered, each containing information on the disappearance and murder. One article had even edited the account of the killer’s injury, describing how Officer Jonster and his brother wounded the ruthless criminal together, salvaging some dignity for the police.

But Mulan’s attention was not on the case itself. He focused on the Valentine Daily’s predictions about the storm.

“Mulan, what are you reading? Do you expect them to catch that guy anytime soon?”

Though Leo was a detective in Valentine’s police force, he had no intention of sparing his colleagues’ pride. Mulan glanced at him.

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“I’m reading the weather reports. The meteorologists previously thought the storm would soon abate, but today’s paper suggests it might last a while longer.”

“Young master Mulan, our household’s food stores are quite sufficient. Please don’t worry.”

Mulan put down the newspaper and rose, approaching the window to gaze outside. The relentless rain challenged Valentine’s drainage system; although water had not yet pooled, the streets appeared more like rivers as rainwater surged and covered the pavement.

“I’m not worried about our supplies, nor about that murderer. I’m wondering when the rain and storm will stop, and whether Valentine’s drainage system can withstand this ordeal…”

Ah, of course!

Just as Leo began to grasp the issue, Mulan spoke again.

“Even if Valentine’s old drainage system fails, the rainwater will flow to the port and into the sea. There won’t be catastrophic flooding.”

Leo was briefly stunned, unable to keep pace with Mulan’s reasoning. Lately, he sometimes felt his intellect was outmatched by his younger brother, whom he’d bullied since childhood.

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Valentine Harbor, at the docks, was now devoid of loading and unloading activity. Few large vessels remained moored, and the small boats rocked violently in the waves. The distant sea churned under the storm’s fury.

The city had endured a tremendous influx of rainwater in a short time, much of it channeling down the streets toward the docks, forming knee-deep rivers that rushed into the ocean.

These “rivers” swept through every corner of the city, carrying vast amounts of debris and filth, polluting the waters near the docks. Along the coastline, the sea appeared dark and turbid.

Yet despite the harsh weather, the dock was not empty. In fact, there was more than one person present—and their location was nothing short of astonishing.

Atop the roof platform of the nearest warehouse stood two figures. Their clothes whipped in the wind, yet the storm seemed to have no effect on them; they did not sway.

One was dressed in a black suit, a gentleman through and through, holding a black umbrella—remarkably steady in the gale, never flipping or faltering.

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The other stood beneath the umbrella, enjoying the gentleman’s courtesy. He wore a white cleric’s robe adorned with gold embroidery.

The umbrella could not possibly shield them from such rain, yet their garments remained barely wet. Their gaze was fixed on the sea beyond the docks, or rather, on the polluted expanse of “black water.”

From time to time, a vast shadow writhed beneath the turbid surface.

“Your Excellency, it seems things are unfolding just as we anticipated. The Otherworld has grown livelier. What do you think that shadow in the sea is?”

The bishop, who had been silently praying with arms crossed, finally spoke.

“Whatever it is, it is a thing without substance, distant from common men as nightmares are from reality—not a true threat. What we must watch for are the wicked cultists. If they’ve succeeded in their ritual, they must possess a ‘holy artifact.’ Please be vigilant, Sir Walton.”

“Rest assured, Your Excellency. We will handle the matter appropriately. There is no need to trouble you personally.”

The bishop turned, studying the refined nobleman before him, lingering for a moment before his gaze shifted away.

“May the Holy Light protect you, Sir Walton. I shall take my leave.”

“Thank you, and may the Holy Light protect you as well, Your Excellency.”

The bishop nodded and walked toward the door at the back of the platform. Sir Walton, umbrella in hand, followed until the bishop entered the building, then stopped and turned again to face the sea.

In truth, the storm had swept not only Valentine, but the entire western coast of the continent. Its impact varied, but Valentine was hit hardest.

It was clear that scholars everywhere were studying the phenomenon, and its source was linked to the Great Whirlpool. The storm signaled the further merging and expansion of the Otherworld, and the growing vitality of supernatural forces. Whether this was a blessing or a curse remained uncertain.