Krafft's Anomaly Notes

Chapter 376 Fishing Hole
"...At midnight, the Lord sent an angel in his dream, who appeared to him with radiance and commanded him to build a sanctuary there. Aubert was suspicious and dared not agree."

On the second night, the angel came again, speaking the same words. He thought it was just a coincidence and did not believe.

"On the third night, the angel touched his forehead, and he immediately awoke with a start, feeling pain and touching a hole. He then knew that the will was clear and dared not delay."

Raymond turned the book around and showed the illustrations to the girl across from him who was a little distracted. The richly colored and exquisitely detailed portraits did indeed bring her attention back.

"On the day the church was completed, a clear spring gushed forth, and those who drank from it were healed from their injuries and illnesses—this is the story of Bishop Aubert building the Spring Hill Church."

"Even today, more than two hundred years after Aubert's passing, Spring Mountain remains one of the most popular destinations for pilgrims. Every brother who goes to the holy city will consider taking a slightly detour to ask for a drop of spring water, if conditions permit."

"Have you been there?" The girl looked up, a movement that made Raymond realize that she seemed to be taller than he remembered; sitting down, she was almost at eye level with him, nearly reaching his eyebrows.

“Oh, of course not. Usually only the most outstanding people have the opportunity to be recommended to study in the Holy City, which is a very far place.” He didn’t seem to have any regrets. He knew that those people were the best of their class and might have the chance to receive a bishop’s double crown.

"Our year's... I think it was Green? But he ultimately chose the courtroom, and many people felt sorry for him."

"Why? Isn't the courtroom good enough?"

"No, all the Lord's servants are equal; it's just that some people can best utilize their talents in the right positions."

"Then why not give everyone the same talent?"

That's the tricky part about telling stories to kids; they always have endless questions, some of which aren't easy to answer.

But as a well-trained monk, Raymond had his own set of mature answers.

"For the body cannot be made up of a single limb. Can the eye say to the hand, 'I do not need you'? Nor can the head say to the feet, 'I do not need you'?"

"Its master makes all things do their proper work, and its will cannot be presumed upon. Its profound wisdom cannot be understood by mortals; one should simply obey its arrangements."

Yvonne nodded, seemingly understanding, and handed the book back. "Next?"

Raymond glanced out the window; the first rays of dawn had already crested the mountaintop, illuminating the highest roof of the monastery. The rising and falling prayers gradually faded, replaced by the rumbling of an empty stomach.

It's getting late; it's breakfast time.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to talk about that tomorrow. Eating on time and cherishing food are also part of God’s teachings.”

The prayer room door was closed, and no one left for the time being. Everyone was waiting for him to announce the end of morning prayers so they could head to the restaurant as quickly as possible without being impolite.

Unfortunately, the person who was supposed to be there never showed up.

Raymond waved helplessly, signaling them to leave, and soon only the two of them remained in the hall.

"What about your advisor? Is he still feeling unwell?"

“Oh, no, Mr. Kraft is recovering very well.” Yvonne blinked, her face showing the nonchalance she inherited from her mentor.

"He said there was no need to wait for him, he would come after checking the rooms over there."

"What about the others?"

"They're probably doing rounds, right?"

This morning, when Yvonne saw Kraft in the corridor near the ward, he was carrying a dressing kit and walking hurriedly. When asked if he wanted to participate in morning prayers, he only gave a casual reply. Yvonne doubted whether he had actually heard what she was saying.

"It takes so long to examine just two patients?"

"I don't know. He just had a hole made in someone's head yesterday. Maybe it takes time to pour in revelations or spiritual guidance?"

……

"Raise your hand to resist my strength, then switch to the other hand... Yes, good, you can relax now. Your upper limb muscle strength is also normal."

Kraft covered Dominic with the blanket again. The patient's overall condition was good, and the neurological examination showed no obvious abnormalities. However, his mental state had changed from yesterday's agitation to listlessness. He lay there listlessly, which was very much in line with the image of a patient.

"Now I'm going to ask you some questions. Please answer them based on your intuition, without thinking too much."

What year is it? What season is it now?
Do you know where you are? Why are you here?

If the thumb is one and the index finger is two, then what number is the ring finger?
"You took seventeen silver coins to buy food. You spent two on vegetables and four on meat. How many are left?"

Although he didn't quite understand the meaning, Dominic answered each question one by one, only hesitating when asked about the time and place. He eventually gave a date from a few days ago and felt that he was still in a small church.

According to Field, this was the second settlement church they passed, where Dominic's headaches began to become more pronounced and frequent.

However, the patient's memory of what happened afterward was fragmented, like a jigsaw puzzle missing key pieces, unable to be logically pieced together into a complete picture. He didn't even seem to care what had happened, appearing depressed and pessimistic.

"It might be a bit much to ask, but we really need you to try your best to recall what you might have discovered back then. If it's difficult to describe verbally, you can try to draw it out based on your feelings."

Kraft helped him sit up and handed him a drawing board and charcoal sticks.

With his hand, which was fixed in place by the splint and only his thumb and index finger could move, he picked up a charcoal stick, placed it on the drawing board, and moved it almost without hesitation. The charcoal rubbed against the rough paper, making a rustling sound like insects fleeing before a rainstorm.

A circle, then an even smaller one, spiraling inwards layer by layer until the very center, forming a completely dark, lightless point. Your gaze is involuntarily drawn in and frozen, as if your soul is flowing away along the line connecting your pupils to the center of the vortex.

Kraft frowned and moved the easel away.

Dominic's wrist continued to rotate, leaving intermittent, swirling arcs on the bedding, until Field grabbed the hand and pulled the charcoal stick from between his fingers.

He anxiously helped his companion lie down again, as if the surgery had only controlled the condition, not completely cured it.

"Is this the vortex you were talking about before?" Kraft examined the drawing board from all angles.

Just now, he vaguely sensed that something had existed, appearing at an angle that he couldn't quite describe, within Dominic's vision and pen strokes, seemingly existing on the material level, yet interrupted and disturbed by the material level.

His senses suddenly expanded, scanning the room, but he only caught a faint trace before it vanished without a trace.

The general location was undoubtedly on Dominic, but upon further investigation, there was no trace of him left.

It felt so familiar that I was quite certain that I had been bothered by it before.

It didn't seem like Dominic's own alienation, but rather like something was exerting influence on the world through him.

This reminds one of a widely circulated but never verified legend from the North:
Even in the long, cold winter, fish still swim beneath the frozen sea, their scales shimmering. Fishermen, based on their experience, will chisel fishing holes in the ice.

But it is said that, in some distant era, a sentient being also arose in the depths of the sea. It silently watches above through those fishing holes—the circular fissures that humans carved out for their greed.

Initially, only a very few fishermen claimed that they were grabbed by the wrist by "some force" and suddenly pulled violently under the ice. People jokingly said it was an accident caused by drunkenness, distraction, or ice cracks. But there are reports of missing persons every year, leaving only unclaimed fishing gear and scratch marks on the edge of the ice hole.

Scholars scoffed at this idea, given that countless people go missing every winter in the north after falling off the ice while intoxicated. For the creature to truly exist, it would have to be able to simultaneously appear in fishing grounds hundreds of nautical miles away.

This is clearly contrary to common sense.

But in the port tavern, another story circulates: it is a being as long as the coastline, lying in the deep sea trench at the edge of the continent, its countless tentacles reaching out to those fishing holes that have been discovered because of the passage of time and their large size, grabbing every overly greedy wrist.