Chapter 206: “Encounter”

This novel is translated and hosted on BCATranslation.

In the vast expanse of the open ocean, a formidable steel warship, distinguished by its towering bow, cruised steadily. This ship was shrouded in a perpetual fog, reminiscent of the cursed frost in legends of the frozen northern lands.

On the deck of this intimidating battleship stood six massive artillery guns, each equipped with three barrels, serving as the ship’s primary means of attack. Alongside these were smaller secondary turrets, adding further firepower. This formidable display alone could deter most adversaries, but there was more to this ship than its weaponry—it was crewed by the undead, led by a captain whose name evoked fear across the world.

This crew was far from a simple gang of plunderers. Below deck, the ship was a model of efficiency and order, with every system and mechanism working in perfect harmony.

At the rear end of the ship, often called the Sea Mist, lay a quaint church. This church, equipped with its own independent boiler, was in the midst of a sacred ceremony. An undead priest, ghastly even among his kind, presided over this ritual. With half his skull crushed and unique white eyes clouded by dark, swirling mists, he embodied the unwavering faith of the Storm Goddess Gomona, who still watched over him.

Modern vessels like this had a unique technological feature: the church’s rituals channeled the goddess’s blessings into the ship’s steam pipes. These pipes, running throughout the vessel like veins, provided a protective aura, shielding the ship from any corrupting influences. This marvel of engineering was a result of lessons learned in 1835, when a catastrophic event nearly wiped out an entire fleet. The ingenious design of this vein-like structure saved them.

The era of naval innovation could be traced back to the 1800s, marked by the infamous “Vanished” event. In a twist of fate, the world’s most technologically advanced exploration ship veered off course and disappeared into what was known as subspace, becoming the stuff of legends.

The undead priest finally withdrew his gaze from the goddess’s statue after making the blessing. After half a century without a beating heart, his numb and cold body was surprisingly restless at the thought of encountering the Vanished.

“May you protect us from the encroaching darkness. As we prepare to face the enigma of subspace, be our witness…”

As his prayer concluded, an electric bell chimed abruptly, and a warning light flashed urgently at the communication desk.

Approaching the desk, the priest activated the communication device, a beautifully crafted copper tube that flashed a small light. Speaking into it, he said, “This is the church onboard. Yes, the necessary lubrication and steam mechanisms are all operational, and we have successfully invoked the goddess’s blessings.”

Elsewhere on the ship, specifically the bridge, stood Captain Tyrian Abnomar, the man in charge of the Sea Mist. From his elevated vantage point, he surveyed the seemingly serene expanse of the sea stretching out before him.

Despite his composed exterior, Tyrian was not calm within. A throbbing pain pulsated behind his eyes, accompanied by an eerie, haunting murmur reverberating in his mind’s depths. Beside him, on the captain’s table, lay the cause of his discomfort: a complex brass device filled with interlocking gears, compass markings, and, most ominously, a small bowl in its center that held a sample of his own blood.

His first mate, Aiden, approached from the side. Offering a respectful nod, he relayed, “Captain, all units are on standby. I’ve just been informed that the goddess’s blessings have been successfully invoked by the church.”

Tyrian seemed lost in thought for a moment before he finally replied, “The Vanished… it’s nearby, I can sense it,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. His eyes drifted to the intricate brass device beside him. “I have a feeling that ‘he’ is aware of my presence as well.”

Following Tyrian’s gaze, Aiden’s eyes settled on the device, particularly the blood that appeared to be boiling within its confines.

The first mate, a bald man with strikingly pale skin, spoke in a hushed tone, “The blood compass, as they call it, is believed to reunite those linked by bloodlines. Yet, its reputation is one of ill-omen. It seldom leads to joyous reunions, often pointing instead to destruction and devastation.”

Tyrian responded with a hint of sarcasm, “Quite appropriate for our current situation, wouldn’t you say?” Gazing into the distance, his sharp eyes discerned a faint, ghostly blotch emerging from the horizon. “There it is, my friend, directly in line with Pland.”

Aiden, ever pragmatic, advised, “We have the option to open fire, Captain. In fact, we could have taken the shot moments ago.”

Tyrian shook his head firmly. “No… that won’t do. We must approach until we’re within close quarters. Recall our past encounter half a century ago. Firing from long distances had proven futile against the Vanished and my father. Its surroundings are protected by a warp of space and time. Any projectiles that try to invade that space will be distorted and deflected.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, Aiden affirmed, “Understood, Captain. The Sea Mist will proceed closer.”

……

Duncan lowered the binoculars from his eyes, letting them hang once again from the strap around his waist before resuming his grip on the ship’s steering wheel. The image he had just witnessed through the lenses remained vivid in his mind.

The ship he had sighted was unmistakably the Sea Mist. True to its name, the ship was enveloped in a mysterious fog of icy mist, giving it an otherworldly aura. However, it wasn’t the mystical fog that had taken Duncan aback. It was the ship’s design.

The Sea Mist looked nothing short of a marvel of naval engineering. Its sturdy steel structure, heavily fortified armor, imposing chimneys, sleek and methodically designed bridge, and a state-of-the-art battery of weapons stood in stark contrast to the traditional wooden design of vessels like the Vanished. Duncan couldn’t spot a single trace of a sail or mast, let alone the familiar wooden frame.

Memories of whispered rumors began to flood back. Tales of how the Sea Mist, under Captain Tyrian’s command, had the uncanny ability to assimilate and grow using metal alloys. And its source? Wrecked ships and metals scavenged from the ocean’s floor. The ship he was staring at seemed to confirm the wild stories he had once dismissed as tall tales.

However, there wasn’t time for contemplation. The Sea Mist appeared poised for battle, and Duncan knew that avoiding confrontation wasn’t an option, given their respective paths. While he wasn’t well-versed in naval combat, Duncan took solace in the fact that the Vanished had self-operating cannons. But even that knowledge did little to stifle the whirlwind of emotions he felt: anticipation, anxiety, or was it fear?

Complicating the situation further was the familial bond between Duncan and Tyrian Abnomar, the captain of the Sea Mist. By some quirk of fate, Duncan was the pirate leader’s father. No father should ever have to face the prospect of clashing with his own son on the high seas.

Hadn’t the Sea Mist been destined for the frigid oceans of the North? Shouldn’t Tyrian be off pillaging towns or collecting tributes? Why was he here? Was it a quest for a father-son reunion?

Snapping Duncan out of his reverie was Goathead’s voice, tinged with a hint of excitement, “Captain! The Sea Mist is moving into attack position. Should we reposition our ship as well?”

Goathead’s strategic suggestion was to adjust their ship’s angle, minimize their exposure, and optimize their firing capabilities. It was evident that Goathead had mentally prepared for a showdown.

Duncan quirked an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You seem rather eager for this confrontation, don’t you?”

With an air of satisfaction, the wooden sculpture responded, “Indeed, the Sea Mist is a worthy adversary. For one, it stands no chance against us. Secondly, its audacity to challenge us is commendable.” It continued, a note of glee evident in its tone, “Moreover, the Sea Mist can certainly endure quite a beating. Crewed by the undead and having a somewhat ‘unsinkable’ nature, it is still far from rivaling the prowess of the Vanished. It’s the perfect vessel for us to flex our muscles again.”

Duncan remarked dryly, “So, in essence, you’re keen on teaching the young lad a lesson?”

At that very moment, Duncan observed the mist around the Sea Mist starting to dissipate, revealing more of its formidable structure. Soon after, a sharp whistle originating from the steel behemoth pierced the air. The rhythmic pulsing of the Sea Mist’s mechanical engine roared to life, its intent clear: battle was imminent!

True to expectations, the Sea Mist was the first to open fire. Being a more technologically advanced vessel compared to the antiquated wooden galleon that Duncan captained, its firing range significantly outstripped that of the Vanished.

The sudden onslaught understandably jolted the ghost captain, a reaction any sentient being would have in the face of such aggression. The sea around them was thrown into chaos, with massive columns of water erupting from the surface due to the bombardment, causing the very hull of the Vanished to quiver from the shockwaves.

However, to Duncan’s surprise, none of the projectiles hit their mark. The Sea Mist’s initial salvo had entirely missed its target!

This got Duncan pondering. Was this a typical scenario in the naval battles of old? In a world devoid of advanced missile guidance systems and sophisticated computers to calculate trajectories, perhaps such a low accuracy rate was to be expected.

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