Ashes Of Deep Sea

Chapter 306: Chapter 310: Pirate Island Under the Night Sky

Since the eighth “No. 3 Submersible” had been salvaged near Frost and delivered to Dagger Island adjacent to the City-State, the island had been designated by the City-State authorities as a military forbidden zone. Consequently, two nearby shipping routes were no longer open to the public.

This, of course, sparked much speculation. It wasn’t just the locals of Frost who were curious; the shipowners who were forced away from Dagger Island and nearby pirates and adventurers were also speculating. They wondered what had happened on that island, what secrets the authorities of Frost were hiding. And there were plenty of well-constructed guesses, ranging from “developing new weapons” to “conducting dangerous rituals”—yet none were reliable.

There were hardly any people left in the world who still knew about the “Abyssal Project.”

“Our people are finding it more and more difficult to gather intelligence on Dagger Island,” Aiden said to Tyrion with a serious expression as they walked along a path on the edge of the harbor. “The security level of the island has been adjusted recently; they even monitor every inch of the coastline. Approaching by submersible is no longer feasible, and our bribed spies and insiders have also been moved away from key positions—fortunately, they have not been exposed. Right now, the supplies and personnel movements on Dagger Island are completed entirely within a special list controlled by the authorities, and we can’t intervene.”

“…It’s become a complete military forbidden zone,” Tyrion stopped walking, “…could it be that they have found something on that ‘No. 3 Submersible’? Or have they already opened the hatch?”

“It’s hard to say,” Aiden shook his head. “But the last time we managed to get information about the island, we saw an order from the authorities of Frost that specifically mentioned the hatch of the submersible should not be opened. Any samples scraped from the hull had to be incinerated after research—this order, at least, shows that the Governor of the City-State is very cautious. But this was days ago, and no one knows if there have been any changes since then.”

“…If they can’t come to a conclusion from their investigations for an extended period, and if some dangerous or bizarre experiment accidents occur, the most sensible thing for the Frost authorities to do would be to throw the submersible into the furnace and stop all research, just like what we did back in the day,” Tyrion frowned. “But they still have Dagger Island under lockdown… This suggests they must be hoping to extract some secret from that submersible.”

“…In theory, the upper echelons of Frost should be aware of the Abyssal Project of the past—at least aware of the dangers and horrors of the deep sea.”

“Knowing is one thing, understanding is another—descendants can hear the stories of their forebears from books and oral accounts, but unless they experience it firsthand, they can hardly imagine that kind of fear and helplessness,” Tyrion shook his head. “Facing the out-of-control Transcendent, humanity’s greatest strength is the ability to ‘forget,’ but it’s also its greatest weakness.”

Aiden looked at his captain and after a silence of a dozen seconds, he finally spoke: “Captain, should we take some more… proactive actions?”

“More proactive actions?”

“Contact the Frost authorities, warn them, or something more straightforward… like a fleet raid on Dagger Island to snatch the ‘No. 3 Submersible,'” Aiden said bluntly. “With the current defensive power of Dagger Island, they should not be able to withstand a full-on assault from the Mist Fleet.”

He paused, then added: “Otherwise, leaving those clueless fellows tinkering with a twisted Replication that drifted up from the deep sea—it’s too worrisome to think when they might cause a major disaster.”

Tyrion fell into a brief reverie.

Moments later, he shook his head: “Even if we succeeded in raiding Dagger Island, can you be sure we would find the whereabouts of the No. 3 Submersible before the Frost main forces react? The island’s not small… If we take too long searching, we’ll have to face the City-State Navy several times over. Sea Mist is strong but not invincible, and besides…”

He stopped, a vision of the Frost Queen flashing through his mind.

In the next second, Tyrion stopped his wandering thoughts—fortunately, not envisioning another face that looked exactly like the Frost Queen’s.

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head, “I still need to think properly about this.”

“Then you’ll need to make a decision sooner rather than later,” Aiden nodded, and just then, a burst of bell sounds suddenly came from the direction of the harbor square. The first mate immediately looked up towards the source of the sound, “Ah, it’s late at night… Captain, why don’t you just head to the square too for some excitement? It might even help you with making decisions later.”

“I’d rather not,” Tyrion shook his head instinctively, “I’m not interested.”

“It’s good to show your face occasionally,” Aiden coaxed enthusiastically, “The Bardic dancers aren’t something you can see at any time—their dancing is even more beautiful and agile than the Black-tailed Rock Sparrows flying through the Storm…”

“That’s exactly what I’m not interested in,” Tyrion said helplessly, spreading his hands, “And honestly, if I, as the captain, show up at the festivities, could the sailors really let loose?”

“Of course they can, why not,” Aiden said offhandedly, “You know how thick-skinned those guys are—tough, thick, and regenerative…”

Tyrion: “…”

But in the end, Aiden still could not persuade the stubborn captain and went alone to the harbor square to join the festivities of the night.

After midnight, the pirate island was still ablaze with noise and excitement.

Undead with endless energy and not a need for sleep could celebrate around the clock, in an island transformed and shrouded by Transcendent power without any curfew—their revelries could last all day from sunrise to sunset, and from sunset to sunrise again.

A platform on the side of the square had been transformed into a stage.

The makeshift wooden walls blocked the chilly wind from the coast, and the blazing fire pits around the stage fended off some of the winter night’s cold—undead no longer feared heat or cold, but the “human guests” visiting Pirate Island tonight still needed careful protection.

Young girls from Cold Harbor danced passionately between the bonfires and the cold wind.

Their skirts fluttered, the dancers spun, bonfires exploded and leapt under the night sky, the sound of distant waves was incessant, dreadful undead made noise below the stage, but on the fog-enshrouded Pirate Island, there was a rare bustling night scene.

Terence stopped at a rather inconspicuous corner next to the square, looking up near the stage.

He wasn’t there to join the party but was preparing to return to his residence, merely passing by the square.

The weekly sailors’ gathering was a “custom” that had existed back in the Frost Navy, and even after leaving the Frost, this habit was retained in the Mist Fleet.

Half a century had passed, much had changed, and yet much remained the same.

Terence watched his old subordinates making a ruckus on the square and a smile gradually appeared on his face, but suddenly, his smile faded.

He watched the dancers on the stage, their passionate, soaring moves graceful as startled swans, yet their expressions slightly dull and numb.

They must have drunk a concoction mixed with various herbs and a little Transcendent catalyst beforehand—a not uncommon thing.

The potion’s power could ward off the cold to some extent but also affected their cognition and thinking.

It could prevent them from fear, leaving only the instinct of dance in their thoughts for the time being.

Clearly, the masters of these dancers did not want their tools to jeopardize the peaceful relations between themselves and the Chill Sea pirate leaders because of fear.

Terence clicked his tongue.

This was actually quite common; the “bigshots” bold enough to do business among pirates, even sending people to Pirate Island, all had some similar methods. After all, the church and authorities wouldn’t meddle in their grey trades, so ordinary people naturally had to think of “remedies” to fight against the shadows and terrors of the Endless Sea. The life of pirates and “risk speculators” was never as romantic amidst horror as written in adventure stories.

In a sense, administering the potion was also a form of protection for the dancers.

Terence just felt a bit disheartened—he had thought that “Curved Blade Martin” would have made some progress over so many years, but it turned out that the other party was still operating his “Chill Sea entertainment industry” with the same old tricks from ten years ago.

He shook his head, ready to turn and leave.

But just as he was about to go, a faint crackling of flames suddenly reached his ears.

This strange yet somewhat familiar sound caused Terence’s heart to tighten instantly, and he almost lost his footing. Then, he stared hard in the direction the noise came from.

Beside him, a frosted wall was flickering with ghostly green light, and as the shadows spread, the middle of the ice turned as dark as nightfall, from which a tall and imposing figure stepped out.

“Good evening, Terence,” the figure spoke, “I hope I haven’t disturbed your rest.”

Terence stared at the figure emerging from the ice, struggling to maintain a normal expression as he returned the greeting, “Good… Good evening, Father. Why have you suddenly…”

“I have some matters to discuss with you, and also to see how you’ve been lately,” Duncan said offhandedly, “What are you doing?”

As he spoke, he lifted his head, looking past Terence’s shoulder to see the stage in the distance.

And the young girls who were still dancing in the cold wind in their thin dresses.

“…6.”

“It’s not what you think!”