Although the sounds coming from inside the telegraph office were nothing unusual—just a bit intermittent, lacking clear shifts in intonation, and normally wouldn't be frightening—Vierdu's heart was suddenly flooded with overwhelming terror.
It was like a bullet trailing flames, shooting into an arsenal and accurately hitting a keg of easily ignitable gunpowder, instantly detonating the fear that Vierdu had accumulated and forcibly suppressed.
The panic that swept through every corner of his body, like a hand gripping his heart, draining all color from his mind, made him spin around and frantically flee toward the ruined pier where the pirate ship was moored.
During this process, Vierdu completely forgot to think, didn't remember that he was wearing a classical robe that could "teleport", and simply ran on foot, stumbling through the ruins, sometimes tripping over debris and falling heavily, sometimes choking as his clothes tightened around his neck, forcing him to stop and gasp for air.
But each time he recovered a little, Vierdu would get up and continue his mad dash, appearing to have lost all reason and acting on pure instinct.
Without his power to maintain it, the wooden door lost its balance, slid a bit along the collapsed wall, and then fell with a clatter onto the rubble-covered ground.
The gray fog and the indistinct houses within it vanished.
Five or six minutes later, Vierdu ran back to the pier under the storm clouds.
His eyes were fixed, filled with panic and disorientation, and he completely failed to notice a figure standing on the pirate ship's deck, silently watching him.
It was the cold-faced young man in the half-top hat and black long coat.
Without a second thought, Vierdu climbed aboard the ship, dashed into the cabin, ran up to the second deck, and burst into his room.
Bang!
He slammed the door shut, huddled on the narrow bed, wrapped tightly in his blanket, trembling.
When another rib broke and the sharp pain hit his mind, Vierdu finally calmed down a bit, realizing that his limbs were weak, his body was hot, and every breath felt like thunder.
He struggled, exerted himself, finally took off the classical robe, and collapsed back onto the bed, feeling dizzy, nauseous, and unable to get enough air.
Outside the cabin, the grim-faced man suddenly raised his hand, pulled a glove made of human skin out of thin air, and put it on his left hand.
Instantly, the man vanished and reappeared in a corner of the ruins, next to the ordinary wooden door.
He then bent down, lifted the door, and leaned it against a mostly destroyed wall.
Next, the man in the black coat imitated Vierdu's motion, reaching out to grip the handle and turning it downward.
Then he pushed the door forward, letting it swing open against the wall.
Almost simultaneously, he saw a gray fog, with streets and houses faintly visible within it.
Among the houses, the most prominent and clearest was the Banshi Port Telegraph Office; the others were more or less blurry.
At that moment, the calm voice from inside the telegraph office asked through the door: "Who... are... you?"
"I am... Gehrman Sparrow," the young man in the half-top hat replied in the same halting tone.
Inside the Banshi Port Telegraph Office, it suddenly fell silent, as if someone was quietly approaching the door.
Just then, Gehrman Sparrow turned his head to look at the other side.
From deep in the indistinct street, a figure approached, wearing a straw hat and a towel around his neck, bent over and pulling something behind him.
As he came closer, the outline of what he was dragging gradually became clear.
It was a black, two-wheeled cart with a canopy to shield against sun and rain.
On the cart sat a lady holding a round fan painted with birds, wearing a fitted long dress.
Both she and the cart-puller were obscured by relatively thick fog, making their features impossible to discern clearly.
Only when they passed before Gehrman Sparrow did he catch a few details through the mist: the face of the bent-over man was decayed to the bone, oozing yellowish pus; the lady's exposed skin not covered by the fan, clothes, or jewelry was swollen and shiny, marked with numerous dark bruises.
A bell tinkled, and a blue train with only two carriages rushed past Gehrman Sparrow.
Only then did Gehrman Sparrow notice that the street was laid with iron-black tracks, with long wires running overhead.
Extending from the top of the train's front was a somewhat complex metal bracket that slid along those wires.
Through the train's windows, Gehrman Sparrow saw the passengers.
They were all facing the street, but they were only heads, each dragging a bloody spine.
Gehrman Sparrow's eyes widened slightly as he silently watched the scene, motionless for a long time.
Almost a minute later, he took a step forward, trying to enter the blurry street shrouded in gray fog.
But the fog blocked him, and no matter what he did, he couldn't pass through.
After about fifteen minutes, Gehrman Sparrow gave up trying, closed the wooden door, dispelling the fog, and then, dragging the door, he "teleported" directly onto the pirate ship, showing no concern about incurring a curse.
He then set the door upright on the deck and again extended his left hand, grasping the handle.
Suddenly, a cracking sound came from Gehrman Sparrow's neck, and his head seemed to be lifted by an invisible hand, pulling out a bloody spine.