Krafft's Anomaly Notes

Chapter 366 The Lost Tribe
"How do you know?"

Benny turned his head in surprise, and without waiting for an answer, he said to himself thoughtfully, "That's right, the church must know, but why did it take so long for someone to come?"

Field was speechless. It couldn't be said that the church had been playing dumb for the past twenty years, and that the two unfortunate people came here purely by chance and of their own making.

If he had a choice, he should have broken all four legs of the two men when he was driving, stayed in the manor to recuperate, and wrote different reports every day.

Instead of being forced to venture into the fog beyond cognition as it is now.

What troubled him was not only the fog in his heart, but also the fog in front of his eyes, which seemed to be getting thicker instead of dissipating with the sunrise as he intuitively expected.

The water vapor in the mountains is different from the mist on the riverside. It settles from the invisible heights with the impure gray-green background rendered by shadows and trees, and flows in the natural constraints of the valley with the turbulent wind direction.

Especially when looking upward, one can directly see the dynamic changes of the gray veil rolling up, seemingly slow but actually fast, like old bruises, or turbid saliva hanging from the clouds, flowing in streams through a vague barrier that separates them from the sky.

"How long have we been gone?"

Traveling all night made his sense of time no longer accurate, but after bypassing the ruins of the previous village with great difficulty, hunger still made him realize the passage of time.

"It's probably around noon, slower than usual." Lucian, who was closer, took off one of his gloves and felt the cold drops of water falling on his palm. "We can't stop yet. It may rain heavily soon, which will make it harder to walk."

"Is it still far?"

"If all goes well, you'll be able to see your destination before nightfall. They'll all be there, just as a mountain stream must flow into a river, without exception."

……

……

Pain, cold, and physical stimulation awaken the consciousness. In comparison, the itching and roughness of the skin are nothing.

My eyelids struggled to open, and the gray background divided by withered grass leaves seemed somewhat familiar, but the related memories were like a few unconscious fingers, just connected to the body, and felt completely not my own.

It seemed like he shouldn't be here, but where should he be?
【Dominica……】

A voice, a voice without intonation or features, cuts in directly, like a character in a play that has no foreshadowing but causes an important turning point, coming to convey its message wearing a mask that marks its inhuman identity.

He was an actor controlled by the plot, groping on the ground and trying to move. As soon as he exerted a little force, his fingers immediately felt a dull pain deep into his bones, so he used his elbows to support his upper body and finally saw the surrounding environment.

The scenery was obviously not well designed, and the surroundings were incomprehensibly desolate. A thin layer of moist soil covered the rocks, and the mountain seemed to be stripped of vegetation layer by layer by a slow and cruel force, followed by the main body of the soil filling until the jagged skeleton was exposed, and the last trace of nutrients was washed away, leaving only low-hanging shrubs and weeds.

All kinds of mosses and molds crawled out of the cracks, growing everywhere, covering the surface like a carpet. Some were lifted up along with other plants, and the missing parts disappeared.

He stood up and noticed messy horse hoof prints wandering around, but there was no sign of a horse. Perhaps the horse had been frightened away by something.

It doesn't matter, the voice has conveyed all the plot without reservation, the characters are in place, ready to complete the final act.

The terrain was rugged and difficult to walk on, and the leg injury that had not yet healed slowed down his steps, but his feet always found the most suitable landing point, as if he had rehearsed it many times and set foot on the same route in different identities.

This reminded him of some stories about saints. Not all of them were people who were well versed in scriptures. Some came from military backgrounds, some from noble families, and some even devoted most of their lives to farming, and only became enlightened and discovered the ultimate meaning of life when they were very old.

So they left everything behind, followed the guidance of the most true, most knowledgeable, most supreme and most holy will, and embarked on a journey to fulfill their sacred mission.

The journey and its purpose often reflect extraordinary wisdom and power, which cannot be fully understood by ordinary thinking, but can only be glimpsed in part, just as the true face of the Heavenly Father cannot be seen by human eyes. What he is doing now is just like this.

The seemingly unrelated and complex content is pieced together in the mind through a key piece of information, becoming a whole beyond the limits of thinking.

With his wisdom, he could only see a small piece of it and could not take in the whole picture.

Yet with just a small piece, one can imagine the grandeur of the whole, pointing to something that is not limited by time and place, in the past as well as in the future, thousands of miles away as well as within reach.

It has its own will, and this can be clearly felt.

It appears to consciousnesses who recognize its existence, and it is up to them to take it to its destined destination.

There is no other explanation except the oracle.

Carrying such a sacred responsibility made his steps unusually light, as if part of the weight of his body had disappeared, and he was so light that it seemed that a slightly stronger wind could blow him up and carry him to the boundless sky.

As we climb higher, some things that are not quite compatible with the environment begin to appear.

Those were the remains of older buildings, built with cut and carved rectangular stones. The mortar used to fill the gaps had become powdery and eroded so badly that it had long lost its fastening function.

Soil loss caused the foundation to loosen, and snake-shaped, lightning-like cracks split the walls, causing them to crack and collapse, disintegrating into piles of ruins like hard biscuit crumbs.

From the remaining foundations and fragments of spiral stairs, one can vaguely see that its momentum is not inferior to that of the Guardian of Westminster.

The more column bases and arch stones there are as you go higher, the more it shows the builders' pursuit of aesthetics in addition to functionality, as well as their strong financial resources.

Even if the fate that had brought him here was strange enough, the sheer size of these ruins would still be astonishing.

Standing on the edge of the observation tower with only half a circle of battlements left, you can overlook the mountain ridges that tear open the sky like a knife blade, splitting the upside-down thick clouds and fog. The mountains are floating above the sea of ​​fog, and the black silhouettes have lost their heaviness, like the claw marks of some kind of spread wing membrane.

This is not a miracle created by chance, but an angle that a prosperous family has tailored for itself.

Strangely, he had no impression that such a family existed. This mountainous area always gave people the impression of being fragmented, backward and barren. It didn't even have a formal name, even though it was so close to the center of the kingdom.

Curiosity prompted him to shift his attention to the ruins, looking for possible valuable information. He vaguely remembered what this was useful for, perhaps he could write a report or something, but the specific reason and purpose were not very clear.

Even if a once-powerful family does not leave its name in history books, it should at least leave a mark.

He found what he wanted on a particularly stubborn remnant of a wall. It was a relief emblem that was as tall as a person. The main subject was some unusual creature that seemed to be flying in the air, with scales on its body and wings.

These features all point to the evil dragon, which often plays a negative role in biographies, but the image of this one is different. Its body is slender and has no claws, which makes it look quite strange and alternative.

A sword pointing vertically downwards splits the emblem in two, severing the dragon's body, with the tip sunk into the ground. The hilt is held in the hands covered with armor, and at first glance it seems to be an ordinary symbol of killing an evil beast, symbolizing the family's bravery.

The overall momentum is outstanding, but the direction of the hand's force always feels opposite to the downward piercing action. Accidental mistakes are obviously impossible, and no family will allow such a serious heraldry problem to occur.

The only explanation is that it was designed this way. The hands were not exerting force downwards, but...

[Strive to pull out the sword? ]

"No..." The overly familiar information pierced through the chaos like a sharp sword. No Dunling person would fail to recognize this iconic element. It should not appear here.