Chapter 137

Chapter 137: “Two Descendants”

North of the city-states of Pland and Lunsa, beyond the busy “Great Cross route” where merchants sailed back and forth, cold air hung forever over a sea known as the Frost Sea. Under this strange chill that seemed as if it would never fade, the Frost Sea took on a look very different from other waters.

Here, the sea had a deep, heavy quality, sharply different from the warmer seas. Small chunks of drift ice often appeared where currents met islands. Mysterious giant icebergs rose from below the surface from time to time, turning into temporary barriers or moving pieces of land. For some seafarers struggling to make a living in the Frost Sea, they became markers on their routes or emergency havens in a storm. Strange cold mists, icy winds, and phantom lights were also unique sights here, giving birth to countless weird legends, so that even the two main city-states on this sea, Frostholm and Cold Harbor, were wrapped in a cloak of mystery.

But compared to the great icebergs that could be tracked and predicted, and compared to the supernatural Visions that in most cases existed only in rumor, what the captains who lived off the Frost Sea talked about most often was a different thing. It was a terrible fleet that had been active for half a century, a real force wrapped in layers of myth and fog— the Sea Mist Fleet led by Tyrian, son of Duncan Abnomar, whose reach spread across a third of the sea routes in the Frost Sea.

On the edge of an island sealed and hidden by special sea currents and thick fog, an iron-gray, hard-lined ironclad warship lay quietly in a dock. Service crew and sailors moved busily around it, loading fuel and resupplying fresh water and ammunition.

If someone who knew a bit of Frostholm’s history stood here, they would notice at a glance that the sailors still wore Frostholm navy uniforms from half a century ago. They would also notice the white badges on their shoulders or chests— in Frostholm’s tradition, those badges were a sign of mourning.

In the captain’s cabin on the upper deck of the warship, a man in a black navy cloak was reading through some documents.

He was thin, with a high nose and deep-set eyes. His neat short black hair was trimmed close. Over his left eye he wore a black eyepatch made of some unknown leather. That eyepatch, almost a symbol of a pirate, made his already gloomy face look even sharper and more dangerous. The shape of his brow and features faintly resembled that of the “ghost captain” who once made the world tremble.

A large parrot with bright, patterned tail feathers perched on a wooden stand nearby. It was staring with full attention at a brass device beside the thin man. The device was a set of precise, complex lenses. A ring of levers and small lenses surrounded it, and in the center sat a large scrying crystal. It looked very luxurious and gave off a strong sense of mystery.

The thin man spoke without looking up: “Polly, if you touch that, I’ll send you to the Radiant Star next month to keep those puppets and ghosts company.”

“Ah, cruel!” the big parrot screeched at once, shaking the wooden stand. “Ah, cruel! Tyrian is such a cruel captain!”

“…I really should find out which bastard taught you that line,” Tyrian Abnomar frowned. “Can’t you say something else?”

The large parrot flapped its wings proudly. “Polly learned it herself! Polly learned it herself!”

Tyrian rubbed his forehead. “Damn, and there’s that line too…”

Just then, a knock on the door suddenly came from the side, breaking off the exchange between Tyrian and the parrot.

“Come in,” Tyrian said, turning his head.

The door to the captain’s cabin opened, and a tall, bald man walked in.

His skin was pale, like the skin of a corpse that had been dead for a long time. A permanent, murky gloom lingered in his eyes. A faint smell of the sea clung to him, mixed with a chill that seemed to come from a grave.

A moving corpse. A body that had stayed behind in the Mortal Realm.

Tyrian looked at the “Living dead” who had entered: “Aiden, how much fuel has been loaded?”

“Almost finished, Captain,” the tall bald man, Aiden, lowered his head slightly. His voice was hoarse and rough, and a thin white mist of cold air drifted from his mouth and nose as he spoke. “The boilers are already heating up.”

“Good,” Tyrian gave a small nod. “Any movement from Cold Harbor?”

“As quiet as a rock,” Aiden said, with a touch of contempt in his tone. “They don’t dare step into our waters. Even with only half the Sea Mist Fleet left in the Frost Sea, those cowards don’t have the courage to cross the route.”

“They’re smart, very good at calculating gains and losses. They were like that half a century ago,” Tyrian said with a small smile. “Go get ready. We’ll leave port on time.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The First Mate, who carried the cold aura of death, pushed open the door and left the room. Tyrian’s gaze slowly followed him out, then drew back.

His First Mate was a Living dead. In fact, in the entire Sea Mist Fleet, other than Tyrian himself, the “Immortal”, every member was this kind of Living dead, stuck halfway between the living and the dead.

His loyal subordinates had served faithfully in this fleet for half a century.

In a way, he himself, a man who could not die because of the curse of Subspace, was no different from his crew members.

Tyrian shook his head. At that moment, the brass device by his hand suddenly made a mechanical sound. He turned toward it and saw the complicated levers and lenses moving and shifting quickly, focusing their combined point on the scrying crystal at the center. A second later, the scrying crystal gave off a faint light, and a blurred image began to form inside it.

A young lady with long, straight black hair and a black silk dress appeared in the scrying crystal. Her delicate features carried a hint of cold, mysterious charm, with a quiet, mage-like air. Behind her, many magical mechanisms were running on their own, and tiny points of ghostly, phosphorus-blue fire floated in the air like scattered stars.

“Lucretia,” Tyrian glanced at the lady in the scrying crystal and nodded slightly. “I really didn’t expect you to remember to send a greeting before your elder brother sets out.”

The young lady in the scrying crystal was just about to speak. She froze when she heard Tyrian’s words: “You’re leaving today?”

Tyrian frowned: “…You didn’t contact me because I’m leaving today?!”

“No,” the lady in the scrying crystal, with her mage-like mystery, calmly shook her head. “My Deep Sea detection device exploded.”

The corner of Tyrian’s mouth twitched. Then he heard his younger sister continue: “Everything else is easy to repair. I just can’t find a replacement for the core crystal lens.”

Tyrian kept his face blank.

“Do you have any new ones over there?” Lucretia asked. “I’ll trade border minerals and samples.”

“Spirit Realm lenses that match your precision needs can only be made in two city-states,” Tyrian finally could not stop a sigh. “The main trade channels are controlled by the Truth Academy. The number that actually reaches the outside world is very, very, very limited. It’s only been two months since you broke your last detector…”

“I found some very interesting samples. They may have drifted up from the Abyssal Deep sea area,” Lucretia said.

“Abyssal Deep samples won’t do either,” Tyrian said. “Even though those things really can be sold to the Truth Academy…”

“I also collected phantoms left over after the Border Collapse.”

“That’s not…” Tyrian held his forehead in one hand, feeling a headache. “The main thing is that right now I really don’t know where I’m supposed to find you a whole new set of lenses…”

Lucretia thought for a moment. “Rob someone?”

“I can’t always rely on robbery,” Tyrian sighed again. “The Sea Mist Fleet is preparing to run formal business. Right now we mainly make money by collecting protection fees…”

“Oh, then forget it,” Lucretia finally shrugged. The first half of her sentence let Tyrian breathe a little easier, but the second half made this famous Pirate Lord tense up again. “Then I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

“You…” Tyrian started, then gave up. “Forget it. I can’t stop your exploration plan anyway,” he said at last with helpless resignation. (In just these few minutes, even he didn’t know how many times he had sighed.) “Tell me about your situation, my ‘honorable’ great explorer younger sister. You wander all year along the border of the civilized world. Have you really found any signs that our world is heading toward Doomsday?”

“I can hear the mockery, brother,” Lucretia said with a straight face. “You’ve always looked down on my sense of urgency. You’ve never truly cared about what I’ve found on the border. I can understand. You focus on more practical matters. That is why I’m even more grateful that you still help me as much as you can, even when you don’t understand. But you must not forget our father… the warning he gave.”

“That our world is nothing but a pile of dying embers…” Tyrian leaned back in his chair and spoke softly, like a sigh. “To this day I still don’t know what he saw on that day. But one clear fact is that he was already mad when he gave that warning. And now you’re repeating what he did back then, even trying to uncover the truth that drove him insane.”

Tyrian shook his head and looked seriously at the figure in the scrying crystal. “Lucretia, one Vanished in this world is already bad enough.”