Chapter 228: “The Great Pirate Who Entered the City-State”
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.
The spiderwalkers stopped just before the trestle bridge. Vanna leaned out from her vehicle’s cockpit, her eyes locking onto the grand ship ahead of her, the famous “unsinkable battleship.”
While legends proclaimed the ship was nearly impossible to sink, it wasn’t invincible. Everything in the world had its weaknesses, and the ship was no exception. It could, and had been, damaged.
The signs of a fierce battle were clearly visible on the Sea Mist. Comparing its current battered state to the pristine condition of the Vanished when the bell tower had tolled in the past, it was evident how one-sided their recent battle had been. Vanna, though not an expert on naval warfare, could see it was astonishing the metal ship had made it back to port at all.
This was partly due to the Sea Mist’s remarkable self-repair ability, which it had been using continuously for an entire day.
Thoughts of the Vanished, intertwined with her unfortunate connection to Captain Duncan, surged through Vanna’s mind, intensifying her growing headache. She massaged her temple for a moment before dismounting her spiderwalker. In the distance, she saw a gangplank being lowered from the Sea Mist. Various figures began to descend.
Leading the group was a distinctive man, a one-eyed figure dressed in a grand captain’s uniform. His slightly wavy black hair and eyepatch made him look strikingly similar to Duncan Abnomar. But unlike the ghostly image of Captain Duncan, this man, Captain Tyrian, appeared exhausted and worn out.
Following closely behind the illustrious pirate captain were several aides. They looked lifeless, their faces expressionless and stiff as if carved from stone. However, contrary to the chilling tales about them, they seemed less intimidating in person.
Vanna was familiar with the stories surrounding the Sea Mist and its crew. Given its ties to the known world, the tales were somewhat subdued compared to the terrifying legends of the Vanished. Notably among these tales was the mention of Captain Tyrian Abnomar’s undead crew.
According to popular lore, these sailors were captured by Tyrian during his escape from Frostbite Rebellion. Some had even served in the Vanished fleet over a hundred years ago. Bound by loyalty to their captain, they were affected by the same curse that plagued the Abnomar lineage, transforming them into the undying—neither truly alive nor dead.
Trapped between life and death, these unfortunate souls roamed the world, holding onto a faint hope that Bartok, the deity of death, would someday grant them a peaceful journey to the afterlife.
However, alternative tales circulated about these undead sailors. Some whispered that these souls no longer held any ties to the mortal realm or even the comrades they once knew. Their enduring presence was solely attributed to a powerful pledge they made to the firstborn of the Abnomar lineage.
Vanna observed these mysterious beings as they set foot on these shores, now marching in formation behind Captain Tyrian.
By the strictest interpretation, these living dead were, in essence, under the dominion of Bartok, the God of Death. As Bartok was regarded as one of the virtuous deities, these undead sailors were permitted to tread upon the city-state’s ground. However, this divine approval didn’t necessarily translate to acceptance by the common folk. Given the undead’s unsettling ties to the infamous “curse” of the Abnomar bloodline, Vanna felt it imperative to closely monitor their activities.
She pondered, how different really were the people of Pland from the Sea Mist’s undead crew?
As she mused on this, Captain Tyrian approached. “Greetings, Miss Inquisitor,” he said, removing his hat and offering a slight bow. The captain seemed taken aback by Vanna’s striking height and youthful appearance. Regardless, he did not let this surprise deter him from extending courtesy, “It is an honor to be personally welcomed by you.”
“Welcome to Pland, Captain Tyrian,” Vanna replied, pulling herself from her contemplation. She glanced at the man, who looked no older than three decades, noting the physical contrast between him and his father, Captain Duncan. Tyrian did not possess the same stature or imposing presence as his father. “Your response to Pland’s plea for assistance is greatly appreciated.”
“Sadly, our efforts might have been in vain,” Tyrian said with a sigh, lifting his gaze to scan the harbor as if seeking something or someone.
“Who or what are you searching for?” Vanna inquired, having a hunch about his intentions, her voice steady and unhurried.
“We sent a message ahead of our arrival,” Tyrian began, eyes darting around anxiously, “We had an encounter with the Vanished at sea. We did our utmost to block its path, but the ship still…”
“Your father, Captain Duncan, was here,” Vanna interjected, her tone tinged with regret, “He left only yesterday.”
Upon hearing this, Captain Tyrian froze, his posture rigid, resembling a carved statue. Even the usually impassive faces of his undead entourage betrayed a hint of shock as if they had just heard a tale of terror.
“I’m sorry, I must have misheard,” Tyrian said, taking a few moments before he could respond. He looked at the young inquisitor, his face pale and incredulous, “Miss Inquisitor, are you telling me that my father was here… just yesterday?”
He heavily emphasized the word “father” as if he needed reassurance that Vanna wasn’t playing some cruel jest regarding this grave matter.
Vanna took a deep breath before responding, “The scenario has become very intricate. Yes, the Vanished has resurfaced, but the situation isn’t as we conveyed in our earlier correspondence to you. Pland has recently undergone a significant… transition. I urge you to come with me. Bishop Valentine is expecting us at the cathedral. There are pressing matters to discuss, and I imagine you have numerous questions that demand answers.”
Tyrian seemed disoriented, his preconceived plans thrown into disarray. Still, he dutifully trailed behind Vanna. Soon, they reached a sleek, black steam car adorned with the church’s amulet parked at the curb, reserved for their transport as esteemed guests of the church.
“You know,” Tyrian began, his voice tinged with irony, “I half-expected you’d detain me right on the docks.” He attempted a quip, perhaps to dispel the tension or ease his inner turmoil. “Traditionally, city-states either turn away pirates at the port or eagerly prepare a gallows for them.”
Vanna smirked, “This isn’t Frost. Warrants issued by northern city-states hold no sway in Pland. Unless, of course, your crimes are so significant that they provoke a collective manhunt throughout the Boundless Sea.” She stretched out her arms nonchalantly, a gesture of indifference. “Until such a day arises, you remain a captain who has generously come to Pland’s aid…”
She paused, her gaze shifting to the formidable presence of the Sea Mist, even with its visible battle scars.
“And truth be told, who in the northern waters would dare entertain the thought of putting a noose around Captain Tyrian’s neck?”
Tyrian pondered this for a moment before chuckling.
“When I set foot on land, city-state guards courteously address me as the head of ‘Sea Mist Ventures’, framing my visits as lucrative trade negotiations between their city-state and the Mist Fleet. And speaking of pirate tales, have you heard the saying about bounties? A minor pirate loses sleep over their wanted status, a notorious pirate gets jitters upon seeing their own bounty poster, but a top-tier pirate? Well, they’d use their lofty bounty posters as tablecloths in taverns.”
Tyrian paused for a moment, then spread his arms out in a gesture of resignation. “Everywhere but Frost allows me to wander their lands without concern.”
Vanna’s eyebrows lifted in intrigue. “Everywhere but Frost?”
With a sigh, Tyrian’s jovial demeanor faded. “Her Majesty Ray Nora banished me from the territory once known as Frostbite Kingdom,” he confessed, “and that decree has never been rescinded.”
Vanna’s gaze shifted to the towering pirate, noting the gravity in his eyes. Recognizing that there was a deeper, perhaps painful story tied to Tyrian’s past with that particular city-state, she chose not to pry further. Instead, she approached the sleek black steam car and graciously held open the passenger door. “Please, Captain Tyrian, make yourself comfortable.”
Then, without another word, she swiftly mounted a nearby spiderwalker, leaving the captain and his crew to enter the automobile on their own.
Observing his captain’s demeanor, one of the aides leaned in, curiosity evident in his eyes. “Captain,” he whispered, “you seemed… unsettled. I’ve seen you face renowned captains and city-state dignitaries without so much as a flinch. What’s different now?”
Tyrian hesitated, then confessed, “Whenever I converse with that young inquisitor, there’s this unexplainable weight, a pressure I can’t quite grasp.” He took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt, even when our paths nearly crossed with the Death Ark on our voyages.”
“Really?” The aide’s brow furrowed, puzzled. “I didn’t sense anything unusual. Yes, the inquisitor stands out, but she just seems… imposing.”
“It’s not just about her stature,” Tyrian clarified with a shake of his head. “Let’s not dwell on it. The aura of a Saint is profound. She probably can hear every word we’re saying even from this distance.”
The aide’s eyes widened in realization, and he promptly clamped his mouth shut, casting anxious glances around, half expecting the inquisitor to emerge and admonish them for their candid chatter.
Throughout the ride, Tyrian was quiet, his gaze focused on the cityscape unfolding outside the car window.
As a young man, he and his sister Lucretia had once called this maritime gem their temporary home. Even though those days were now a distant memory, a century removed, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. Those were cherished moments, fragments of a past he could never reclaim…
“herself” should “her”. “himself”/”herself” should only be used if the person is doing an action to themself. In this case, If it was “herself”, Vanna would be looking at Vanna.
In some of the chapters, the narrator’s usage of past tense and present tense has been inconsistent. In most cases, the narrator should be in past tense.
Maybe Vanna had finally encountered a man who can beat her…
His heart is for Nora