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“Such actions aren’t in our nature,” Nemo responded, shaking his head firmly, “We owe our allegiance to Captain Tyrian, and he has never advocated for the demolition of this city-state. If anything, we see eye-to-eye with both the Death Church and City Hall in terms of preserving the city-state. As for the church’s attempts to root out the cultists that infest this place, we certainly have no intention of aiding those cultists out of petty spite.”

Duncan nodded at this, accepting the rationale before posing another query, “Why hasn’t Old Ghost made an appearance today?”

“Old Ghost, well…” Nemo’s words faltered as a sigh slipped past his lips, “His mental state has been deteriorating of late. Age is catching up to him, and the church’s aggressive probe of the Second Waterway has unsettled him. The operation has stirred up memories of the skirmishes fought within these sewer tunnels in days long past – for his own sake, I had to insist that he lay low in the basement of the bar.”

Duncan could only express his sympathy with a somber sigh upon hearing of the lasting trauma endured by the last remaining soldier who had once pledged his loyalty to the Frost Queen. With Alice in tow, he followed Nemo further into the depths of the Second Waterway.

They traversed the secret passage, passed through several camouflaged doors and seemingly guarded crossroads, and eventually gained access to the Second Waterway via an entirely different route than previously used.

It was evident that in response to the exhaustive search operation initiated by the church and the city authorities, the covert operatives of the Mist Fleet ensconced within the city-state had sprung into action, deploying a set of prepared disguises and early-warning systems.

Ultimately, under Nemo’s guidance, Duncan and Alice found themselves once again in the corridor where they had previously had their confrontation with Crow.

“I need to head back,” Nemo declared to Duncan, “The city’s atmosphere is tense. There’s been an uptick in activity above ground that needs my attention. I must warn you to remain vigilant of the church’s…”

He intended to caution Duncan about the church’s search teams prowling these tunnels, but he cut himself off mid-sentence, a sense of unease suddenly washing over him. After a moment’s hesitation, he managed to voice his advice, “Try not to harm them. They’re not malevolent individuals…”

A chuckle escaped Duncan’s lips as he reassured Nemo, “Don’t fret, I’m well aware of my limits. You should head back promptly, the bar has been devoid of its proprietor for an excessive amount of time.”

“Understood.”

With that, Nemo made his departure, leaving the sprawling and chilly subterranean waterway plunged into a brief silence.

Duncan’s gaze swept up, lingering on the vacant passageway before him. His thoughts, however, were adrift in the memories of his prior visit to this eerie location.

Not far from the foul sewage ditch that lay ahead was where the young man known as “Crow” had tragically met his end. He had expired on the parched soil, but the cause of his demise was suffocation by seawater. Intriguingly, within his pocket was found a scripture-like document, seemingly a transcription sourced from an unknown origin.

By now, the corridor had been thoroughly cleaned, likely the handiwork of Nemo and Old Ghost.

Duncan shifted his attention to Alice, who was trailing obediently alongside him. Despite the veil masking her features, her eyes were clearly visible, revealing a grave expression. However, he knew her mind was, in fact, blank – she was simply lost in thought, her mind unburdened by any specific concerns.

Certainly, Duncan was aware that fruitful dialogue or logical reasoning were futile with this humanoid figure. Alice had been invited to accompany him solely due to her unique ability to perceive those elusive “lines”. Not even the sporadic leakages from the mirror world could evade her keen observation.

“If you catch sight of a ‘line’, inform me immediately,” Duncan instructed, a note of gravity in his tone.

“Sure!” Alice nodded without hesitation.

Duncan began to tread forward, his pace measured, his thoughts still consumed by the unsolved mystery of “Crow”.

Back then, he, Morris, and the others had theorized that “Crow” had unwittingly stumbled into a perilous area and met a disastrous fate. However, despite their meticulous search of the entire corridor, they had failed to unearth any discernable clues. The investigation had reached an impasse, but now, it seemed as though they might have stumbled upon a plausible explanation for the unknown location Crow had inadvertently strayed into.

It was highly plausible that a fleeting intersection had materialized between the Mirror Frost and the real Frost within this very corridor. It could have been a spatial rift or a momentary reflection materializing from a stagnant puddle – poor Crow, who happened to be passing by, had unfortunately plunged into it.

Regardless of the mechanism that facilitated his cross-dimensional transition at the time, one thing was apparent: this corridor likely constituted a vulnerable point of convergence between the mirror world and reality.

…

The atmosphere underground was oppressively chilly and moist, with a persistent stench of decay and mildew tainting the air. It felt as though the entire city-state was a gradually decaying carcass, and they were navigating through its festering bowels.

Footfalls echoed down the rancid sewer corridor, each sounding heavy and deliberate. Agatha proceeded slowly, utilizing temporary divination and spiritual sensing to determine her course while maintaining a vigilant eye for any stirrings in her surroundings.

Her black garments bore the brunt of her numerous battles, heavily torn and frayed, exposing the soft inner armor and the ceremonial bandages encasing her body, which were now marred with splatters of blood. The injuries inflicted upon her had crossed the threshold of her body’s natural healing capabilities.

Nonetheless, there was a silver lining amidst this grim scenario: Agatha was growing increasingly confident that she was venturing in the correct direction. Following the defeat of numerous faux monsters and many clashes within this malevolent replicated city, she was finally picking up a stronger “scent” of the heretics.

Guided by this olfactory clue, she wound her way through the labyrinthine streets and alleyways of the lower city, through the expansive and convoluted subway tunnel, into the collapsed and crumbling sewer system, and finally uncovered this realm that had been forsaken for an indeterminable number of years, buried deep within the bowels of the earth.

The enormity of this place surpassed the details she had gleaned from the archive, and defied her imagination which was shaped by the perusal of those documents.

Agatha cast her gaze upwards, surveying the dimly illuminated wide corridor stretching out before her. Antiquated gas lamps were recessed into the walls flanking the passage. Their undersupplied flames flickered sporadically, their light dancing within the protective glass casings. The arched ceiling of the corridor showcased an intricate lattice of pipes and support structures. Under the unreliable gas light, everything cast undulating, warped shadows, as if a host of invisible entities were squirming in the semi-darkness.

Running parallel to the corridor, filthy water coursed through the gutters, inducing a sense of nausea. The vile black water surged from grates embedded in the walls, merging into the ditches and producing a gushing sound.

Agatha recognized her surroundings.

This was the “Second Waterway” snaking beneath Frost – the site she had originally planned to guide her team to for exploration.

The only divergence from her initial blueprint was that she had originally intended to explore the city-state’s underbelly in the real world, whereas she found herself ensnared in a duplicate version of Frost.

Agatha slightly shut her eyes, intently tuning into the movement of air around her. She shut out the pervasive, nauseating stench, depending on her spiritual intuition to hone in on the heretics’ locations.

She could sense that her “connection” with this artificial city was strengthening in proportion to the length of her stay and the frequency of her encounters with these aberrations.

“It’s ahead!” she affirmed, her certainty resonating in her declaration.

The gatekeeper abruptly snapped her eyes open, consciously neglecting the faint throbs of pain radiating from her wounds distributed across her body. She made a choice at the juncture ahead and carried on, plunging deeper into the passageway.

A memory surfaced abruptly.

In the not-too-distant past, she had an encounter with an entity that had descended upon Frost, potentially an ancient deity or a manifestation thereof. During their interaction, the entity had subtly insinuated to her to seek for hints “underground.”

Presently, she was following the lead of the airflow, drawing ever closer to the lairs wherein these heretics had taken refuge.

Indeed, these heretics were concealed beneath the city-state, ensconced in the forsaken Second Waterway. However, contrary to her initial suspicions, the “underground refuge” wasn’t located in the real-world Frost but in an extraneously replicated realm.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Agatha’s mouth.

The path, despite its convolutions and diversions, eventually led back to the point of origin.

She had misinterpreted the clue provided by the descended entity, falsely assuming that the enemy was in hiding within the Second Waterway in the real world. Now, having somewhat serendipitously infiltrated this replicated city-state, she stumbled upon clues within the Second Waterway of this facsimile.

Could this turn of events be classified as a form of fortuity?

Agatha was closely scrutinizing her environment.

Although she hadn’t conducted a comprehensive investigation of the Second Waterway in the real world, she was acquainted with its basic characteristics. She knew that the ancient sewer system had been entirely forsaken and sealed, with all the pipelines, vertical wells, and drains leading to the Second Waterway having been shut. In theory, it should be a parched or fairly dry area.

However, in the sewer corridor stretching out before her, the sight of filthy water cascading everywhere was inescapable, and the sporadic sound of drainage echoed from the encompassing pipes.

In this replicated Frost, the Second Waterway seemed to be in continuous operation.

“Is this the disparity distinguishing a counterfeit from its genuine counterpart?” Agatha mused when her train of thought was abruptly interrupted.

A gooey, sickeningly squelching noise reverberated around her, and from the sewer outlets and the black pollution-encrusted surfaces of the walls, a ceaseless seepage of black muck was visible.

The obstinate monstrosities had re-emerged.

Her body was enervated, her wounds ached incessantly, the ritualistic bandages were torn, the benediction of the god of death was gradually dwindling, and the debilitating effects of blood loss had reached an unignorable threshold.

Despite the adversities, Agatha merely lifted her head in composed defiance, eyeing the malformed creatures massing before her.

“Come forth then… I’ll guide you to your demise.”