Mystery: Gray Walker

Chapter 30 The Mysterious Hardcover Book

As the clutter was gradually removed, what lay beneath was exactly as he had sensed.

A pile of old documents bound with hemp fibers, the paper yellowed and curled, and a thick hardcover book with a dusty cover.

Green crouched down and first looked through the documents. Most of them were outdated port notices, scrapped ship departure records, or copies of regulations that had long been repealed.

The ink is faded and seems to have no other use besides its value for historical research.

He put down the documents and turned his gaze to the hardcover book on the floor. He picked it up casually, noticing its weight. The cover was made of thick, dark red cloth, and there was no title.

He turned the pages of the book—

The pages remained completely still.

Green hesitated for a moment, then increased the force. The spine made a slight creaking sound, but the cover and back cover seemed to be glued together. No matter how much force he used, or even tried to pry the pages open with his fingernails, he still couldn't open it. Or rather... it was as if it were welded shut.

"Um?"

Green's heart was racing. This wasn't normal.

Even if ordinary paper gets damp and sticks together, it can still be flipped open with force, or at least loosened, or a corner can be torn.

But these books gave him the feeling of "refusing to be opened," just like when he tried to browse certain websites in his previous life and was met with a "access denied" message.

"Is it essentially a closed system...?"

He thought of the "Messenger of Silence" and the "Sigh of the Nightingale".

"Could these books also be similar extraordinary items? Sealed artifacts?"

He tried again to use his spiritual senses to explore the inside of the book. This time, he concentrated even more, attempting to penetrate the cover.

However, it failed again.

The feedback was very clear: the book was like a whole, without layers or spaces, and my consciousness felt like it had bumped into a soft but impenetrable wall.

"There was definitely a problem..." Green muttered.

He felt a chill, yet also a surge of excitement. Old Bob's warning was true; this book was probably what he needed to "keep an eye on."

"But how did old Bob know? Is he an Extraordinary as well? He doesn't seem like it..."

If it weren't for old Bob's prompting, he would never have been able to connect the elderly man with the extraordinary.

"Perhaps he knows something; we could try to find out indirectly..."

He took the book to his "desk" and began to study it carefully. Brushing away the dust, the dark red cover under the dim light featured a Gemini symbol, two simple human figures side by side, as if printed directly onto the cover with something in a dark gold hue.

Green fell into a brief moment of contemplation.

What is this book? Why is it here? How much does old Bob know? Does the Port Authority know about it?

Take it back to study? No, the risk is too great; the book itself could be dangerous.

Staying here? That doesn't seem right either. Now that he's found it, and it's clearly not an ordinary thing, there's no guarantee it won't be discovered by someone else.

His gaze returned to the pile of refuted documents and miscellaneous items. After a moment's thought, he went back to the west corner and carefully examined it to see if there were any more of these strange books.

After moving a heavy wooden crate, he noticed a slightly different color in a crack in the ground. Green used his fingers to pry at it for nearly two minutes before carefully 'prying' the thing out of the crack.

That was a... notebook?

It was much smaller than the five hardcover books, about the size of a palm, with a badly worn dark blue soft leather cover. It looked like a notebook carried by a clerk or sailor.

Green blew off the dust and tried to turn it over.

This time it went very smoothly.

The notebook's paper was yellowed, indicating it was quite old, and the handwriting was slightly blurred. The writer seemed to have a neat but somewhat hurried writing style.

Green quickly skimmed through the contents, but most of them were common entries in nautical logbooks, such as dates, ship names, cargo summaries, and weather observations, and seemed unremarkable.

I quickly flipped through the pages until I was close to the second half of the notebook, where the handwriting began to become somewhat messy and the content of the notes changed.

August 7, 1873

The damn storm has finally stopped, and thankfully the "Seagull" hasn't fallen apart. The captain said we've veered off course; who knows where we've ended up.

In the afternoon, we found the wreckage. Good heavens, judging by its size, it was at least a large merchant ship, and might have been an unfortunate vessel from the old "golden route".

The captain ordered a salvage operation to see if there were any survivors, but I bet he was more interested in finding something valuable.

The following pages detail the salvage process. They recovered a considerable amount of items from the cargo holds and passenger cabins of the wrecked ship.

Some metal utensils, several boxes of partially intact porcelain that had been submerged in water, some well-sealed wooden spice chests, and... some personal belongings and books.

The first mate dragged out a heavy, oilcloth-covered trunk from a dilapidated room that looked like a study or captain's cabin.

Upon opening it, besides some daily necessities, there was a hardcover book that had been soaked in water. Strangely, the pages weren't damaged at all, just completely wet, and looked brand new... How eerie!

Nobody was interested in the book except for the old scholar, the Second Assistant. He said it looked quite old and might have some collectible value.

The captain thought the box was taking up too much space and initially wanted to throw it back into the sea, but the second mate insisted, saying it was a souvenir. In the end, the box was left in a corner of the storage hold, piled up with other salvaged junk.

Upon seeing this, Green's heart skipped a beat. He looked up at the silent, hardcover book on the table.

Shipwreck salvage... doesn't rot even after being submerged in water...

August 7, 1873

Praise be to the Lord of Storms, praise be to the Goddess! We have finally found the correct course. Although we have not completed our mission, we can finally return home.

The next section contained daily records of the return journey. He continued reading, but the handwriting became increasingly messy.

August 1, 1873

Things are starting to go wrong.

First, there was the boatswain, that burly man who could bend iron bars with his bare hands. He got into an argument at the tavern, and in the scuffle, he slipped, hit the back of his head on the corner of a table... and died on the spot. The doctor said it was an accident, too coincidental...

Then there was little Tom from the engine room, usually the most clever young man, who inexplicably fell into the boiler room while inspecting it... a truly horrific sight... His father, a senior clerk at the port authority, fainted several times from grief...

The first mate died at home; it was said to be a sudden heart attack. But he was perfectly fine during his physical exam last month...

The most outrageous case is that of old accountant Martin, that always stern-faced, meticulous fellow… he actually died in his mistress's bed! Apparently, he had a stroke? Good heavens, his wife went insane when she found out, dragging the poor woman to court. Now it's the talk of the town, the biggest joke and gossip in the dock district…

August 8, 1873

In just a few days, everyone was dead—those who participated in the salvage operation, those who touched those things… besides me, there was the second mate. But the second mate had applied for a transfer to inland waterway shipping last month. When he left, he was acting strangely; I heard he locked himself in his room, and the priest said he was being targeted by the devil.

I was the only one left, and I knew they had come for me.

I have nightmares every night. I dream that the ship is floating in the sea, still not sinking. The surrounding sea is a different color, deeper and darker... There are whispers, which I can't hear clearly, but it feels very bad, very cold...

August 8, 1873

I couldn't bear this torment any longer, so I went to the pastor at church. He prayed for me and gave me a holy emblem. I hope I will be safe and sound.

August 8, 1873

Goddess of the Night, I pray to you, please save me, the Holy Symbol is of no use.

That dream continues!

I think... we must have offended the Lord of Storms, or disturbed the spirits of the shipwrecked souls, and this is His punishment. Those things are ominous, a curse!

I can't stay at sea any longer.

I applied to my superiors for a transfer, saying that I suffered from neurasthenia, was under too much pressure, and needed to rest.

The leaders had probably heard about the series of accidents involving the "Seagull" ship, and their gazes toward me were filled with sympathy and... a hint of barely perceptible avoidance.

He quickly approved the transfer, moved me to the port authority's logistics department, and gave me a slack position.

I brought that book with me.

I dare not throw it away, for fear that the curse might follow the book elsewhere or harm the person who finds it.

I don't know what to do with it. Burn it? I'm afraid it will cause something worse. Give it to the church? How am I supposed to explain its origin? And... I have a feeling that the book seems... to know me.

I hid them at the very back of the warehouse, in the west corner, covered with a pile of junk. I hope time will bury them.

If anyone comes across this notebook, remember, stay away from that book. If possible, find someone truly capable to handle it, like... the Night's Watch? I've heard they deal with these strange occurrences. May the goddess protect me and may this nightmare soon depart from me.

This concludes my notes; the last few lines are almost weak and powerless.