Chapter 1471: Extraordinary Phenomena

The streetlamp, adorned with black wrought-iron floral patterns, cast a warm, soft yellow glow. Like an inconspicuous fallen leaf drifting through the crowd, Quefeng moved silently, leaving no ripple among the passersby.

She arrived at a shop at the end of the block. Hanging outside was the “Three Towers” emblem—an obligatory sign for foreign merchants operating in the Violet Kingdom. Through the display window, one could see all sorts of exotic goods from across the strait. But now, a wooden sign hung on the door, bearing the words: “Temporarily Closed.”

Quefeng’s gaze lingered on the sign for a moment before she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The shop was empty. Because of the closure, there wasn’t a single customer inside. Only a young man in a dark jacket sat behind the counter, tidying up some items. Hearing the door, he looked up, and upon seeing Quefeng, seemed to breathe a small sigh of relief, nodding slightly in greeting.

“Why the sudden closure?” Quefeng hurried to the counter, lowering her voice. “And where’s the manager?”

“The manager went to the northern district,” the young man replied calmly, eyes still scanning near the entrance. “We received orders from the bureau chief today. The Violet Kingdom is severely affected by extraordinary phenomena. All liaison points are to suspend operations and prepare for evacuation. The manager plans to gather as much intelligence as possible before pulling out.”

“…Evacuation?” Quefeng’s face showed a flicker of shock. “Is it really that serious? Then what about us here…?”

“It’s worse than you think. All agents in Cold Sea City have lost contact—no messages at all,” the young man said, polishing a shiny trinket on the counter with smooth, practiced motions, though his tone was grave. “They were sending normal reports just a day ago, then suddenly went silent. Not even the emergency ‘whistle’ signals were sent.”

“No whistle signals?!” Quefeng could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Those are highly trained operatives, equipped with the most advanced comms gear. How could they just vanish without a trace?”

“The most likely scenario is that the phenomena have spread to Cold Sea City. The local agents were caught off guard and perished before they could react. And it’s not just our intelligence personnel—entire Cold Sea City has gone dark,” the young man paused his work and looked directly into Quefeng’s eyes. “Even ordinary Loren merchants doing business there have lost contact with the mainland. Since yesterday, the northern port’s communication station hasn’t received a single magical network signal from Cold Sea City.”

“This morning, I saw Typhon’s spies rushing toward West City Street No. 23. I suspect they’ve noticed the anomaly and are preparing to evacuate as well.”

Quefeng’s eyes widened, but within two seconds, she forced herself to calm down. She understood the bureau chief Amber’s evacuation order—though sudden, though it seemed rash to pull all liaison points just because some agents disappeared, and though abandoning the hard-earned foothold here was regrettable, it was a choice made out of necessity.

This was no ordinary intelligence skirmish, no propaganda battle or covert infiltration—the kind of work their agency excelled at. This was a large-scale, inexplicable magical or supernatural upheaval, beyond the scope of regular intelligence operatives. Such matters required specialized teams.

In fact, when Quefeng first sensed that Prandel was affected by these extraordinary phenomena, she had suspected an evacuation order might come. She just hadn’t expected it so soon. Until recently, the phenomena hadn’t shown any real danger, but now the situation had taken a sharp turn.

Still, regardless of all that, once bureau chief Amber’s order was issued, Quefeng would obey without question—that was the iron law for all intelligence agents.

“This is no longer a frontline for intelligence operations. Our mission here is over. The bureau chief’s order states that the Violet Kingdom will now be treated as an ‘anomalous zone,’” the young man shook his head, voice low. “But since it’s still officially an independent kingdom, and hasn’t shown hostility or harm toward the Alliance, we can’t take military action yet. A specialized squad of elite Steel Rangers and two experts in extraordinary phenomena will arrive to take over. They’re the professionals who investigate and combat these anomalies.”

Quefeng nodded slightly, then casually mentioned, “On my way back, I ran into Torig and talked with him for a while.”

“Torig… the mage apprentice living in the inner city?” The young man thought for a moment, quickly matching the name in his mind. “What did you talk about? Any new developments?”

Quefeng’s expression grew serious. “Remember Torig’s uncle? A warlock living in Palansanto? I deliberately brought him up during our conversation. Torig seemed to have no memory of having such a relative, or even of the inland city Palansanto itself. His mind showed clear signs of confusion and blankness, and then he abruptly changed the subject.”

Quefeng recounted what she had encountered today. The young man behind the counter furrowed his brow bit by bit. After a moment’s thought, he spoke quietly: “Lately, news about the ‘inland’ has been disappearing from Prandel. People no longer talk about inland cities like the City of a Thousand Towers or Palansanto. Trade goods, letters, visitors from inland—they’re all vanishing. But until today, it hadn’t gotten as strange as what you just described. At least when we asked ordinary citizens about the inland, they would answer normally…

“But now, a local resident shows obvious mental abnormalities when discussing the topic.”

“It feels as if the ‘inland’ is gradually being peeled away from the Violet Kingdom, or wrapped in some kind of cocoon,” Quefeng murmured thoughtfully. “Some force is ‘erasing’ all intelligence related to the inland, even preventing border residents from talking about or recalling cities like the City of a Thousand Towers… Is this some kind of barrier? A cognitive or memory barrier?”

“My feeling is even worse,” the young man shook his head. “This morning, I went to the central market to investigate the origin of Matiren wine—you know, until yesterday noon, this wine was an ‘import’ only available from Cold Sea City. It’s not a native product of the Violet Kingdom. It’s produced in a brewery run by Gray Elf merchants in Cold Sea City, a localized adaptation of Taimu Forest mead. But since yesterday noon, this wine has become a ‘local specialty’ of Prandel.”

“I bought a bottle of Matiren wine at the central market. It’s on the shelf to your left. Take a look.”

Quefeng blinked, looked up, and saw the bottle on the shelf. The dark brown bottle bore the mark of a local Prandel brewery. She reached out and picked it up, noticing the cork had been opened once. Removing the cork, she immediately sensed something was off—there was no aroma of wine.

“This is… just water?” She sniffed carefully, then, prompted by her colleague, took a small sip. Her face registered shock. “I bought water instead of wine?”

The young man behind the counter nodded. “Yes. But the locals don’t seem to notice. They buy and sell it as wine, and some even get drunk on it. But other goods ‘converted’ into local products aren’t like this.

“Take pine-patterned cheese—it’s still cheese after becoming a local specialty. Ice dew grape wine, originally from Palansanto, remains wine after becoming local. Other goods that used to be imported from inland but are now local products—they’ve changed ‘labels,’ but the items themselves are real. Only this Matiren wine… absurdly turned into water.”

“Why would that happen…” Quefeng was momentarily stunned and confused, then a vague guess formed. “Could it be because… although this product comes from Cold Sea City, its origin is the Gray Elf merchants’ Taimu Forest mead? Fundamentally, it’s something completely ‘outside’ the Violet Kingdom?”

“That’s the only difference between Matiren wine and the other replaced goods,” her colleague nodded. “It feels like some massive… ‘rule’ is controlling this transformation. This rule can affect everything originally belonging to Violet, erase Palansanto’s existence from Prandel residents’ memories, and turn a city’s specialty into a local product. But… things from outside the Violet Kingdom fall outside this system. It can’t ‘replicate’ things that don’t exist within its framework. So the Gray Elves’ Matiren wine became water in Prandel’s central market.”

The scene described sent a strange chill through Quefeng, and suddenly a mental image flashed through her mind—what if Cecil’s merchants had set up a factory producing magical devices in a coastal city outside Prandel, exporting goods to other cities? What would happen after the phenomena?

Would “locally produced” magical devices appear in the central market? And because the ‘rule’ causing the phenomena couldn’t replicate things outside the Violet system, would those “magical devices” become bizarre empty shells?

She shared her speculation. The young man behind the counter thought seriously for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Not impossible… If our guess is right, the anomaly affecting Matiren wine would also affect other similar cases. But we’re doomed never to verify this.

“Besides those highly mobile Gray Elves, no Loren has successfully built factories in the Violet Kingdom. All ‘imported goods’ come directly via the continental shipping routes from Loren, so there’s no chance for ‘incorrect replacements.’”

Quefeng nodded, then suddenly seemed to realize something. She instinctively glanced at the mechanical clock hanging on the opposite wall, her tone growing tense. “How long has the manager been out? Has he sent any safety signals?”

“About six hours ago,” the young man answered, then seemed to realize something himself. “…He shouldn’t be out that long without sending signals—especially now, with extraordinary phenomena appearing in the city.”

As he spoke, he pulled a plain brass pocket watch from his pocket and pressed a button. The cover flipped open, revealing a seemingly normal dial—but all the hands were frozen at twelve o’clock, motionless.

The young man’s expression shifted slightly. He pressed the button three more times, and the dial suddenly snapped open, revealing the intricate inner workings: delicate runes etched around the mechanism, tiny crystal structures embedded within. One small crystal glowed faintly red, its flickering light pulsing with an uneasy rhythm.

This was the communication device exclusively used by Intelligence Bureau operatives—currently the smallest possible model achievable with existing technology.

To reduce its size and enhance security, this compact gadget lacked a full magical network terminal. Instead, it sent and received specific rhythmic signals through vibrations and buzzing. By pre-encoding these patterns, it could transmit critical information. Meanwhile, the rune array embedded within its mechanism also monitored the operational status of other agents’ communication devices.

“…‘Shopkeeper’ might be in trouble,” the young man suddenly looked up, his expression as serious as Wasp’s. “I can’t pick up any signal from him.”

“Could be he’s in an emergency and had to switch to silent mode—don’t send him any signals rashly,” Wasp replied quickly. Then, as if noticing something, she abruptly turned toward the shop window.

At some point, a thick fog had rolled in outside the window.

Everything on the street was shrouded in dense mist—the parked carriages, the outlines of buildings across the way, even the nearby lampposts—all blurred into vague, gloomy shadows. Only the warm glow of the streetlights pierced the fog, like flickering embers floating in a sea of haze, faintly tracing the street’s path.

But amid this heavy, eerie fog, Wasp saw no sign of any pedestrians.

Dense fog would naturally hinder travel, but the complete absence of people on the street was unsettling. Especially since Wasp was absolutely certain that just two minutes ago, when her peripheral vision had glanced at the window, the fog hadn’t been this thick—and the street had been bustling with passersby. Two minutes. In just two minutes, what had happened in this city?!

She exchanged a glance with her colleague behind the counter. The other agent had already reached into a hidden compartment and pulled out two sets of small plasma-cutting daggers and combat-grade magical terminals. They swiftly and expertly strapped the wristwatch-like devices on, then concealed the daggers beneath their clothing where they could be easily reached. With caution, they moved toward the window.

(End of chapter)