Chapter 206

Chapter 206: Encounter

A towering-bowed ironclad warship sailed across the vast gray sea. A thin, drifting, icy fog rolled around her within a range of several hundred meters. The mist looked like the curse that coiled around the Sea Mist in the frozen northern waters. Even though this place lay in the relatively warm Central Seas, the chill inside the fog still did not disperse.

On the ironclad warship’s deck, six triple-mounted giant main guns and dozens of secondary guns already stood ready for battle. Undying seamen wreathed in cold air hurried back and forth between the various installations, preparing for the fight that could break out at any moment.

Below the deck, the ammunition shaft lift rattled as it ran, sending propellant charges and shells up into the turrets’ transfer chambers. More seamen stood at pipe junctions all over the ship, checking the flow and pressure of Divine Steam and lubricating oils being fed through every part of the hull.

At the stern, a small Cathedral had fired up its independent boiler. Steam pipes on top of the Cathedral spat out thick clouds into the sky. As the Cathedral’s whistle blared, incense-laced vapor mixed with the steam and slowly spread, its scent drifting over the entire deck.

An Undying priest in a somber robe stood in the Cathedral’s prayer room, solemnly lighting incense and candles before the Goddess’s holy statue. His skin looked withered and pale. One side of his skull was sunken, and the corresponding half of his body remained wet and clammy, as if it had just been soaked in seawater. In his eyes, the clouded white pupils seemed to forever brew two dark storm clouds, and within them faintly flickered the candle-flames jumping before the Goddess’s effigy.

In front of the priest stood the statue of the storm Goddess Gamona. The Goddess sheltered every ship on the Boundless Sea, even if that ship was crewed by the dead. The statue’s base rested atop a huge pipe. Countless thinner pipes spread out from the base like blood vessels, branching into every part of the Cathedral. The lower half of the main pipe plunged deep into the hull, piercing deck after deck all the way down to the ballast tanks—the darkest, coldest compartment, directly connected to the Boundless Sea.

A fully equipped shipboard Cathedral, its own boiler, and a network of Divine Steam pipes running through every deck had, since the naval technological revolution of 1835, become standard equipment for any warship expected to fight and cruise long-term on the Boundless Sea. These systems could effectively prevent a ship from falling into mental corruption under high pressure, harsh conditions, and constant casualties, and keep a crew from suffering collective breakdown and being seized by Subspace.

From a certain point of view, the beginning of that great revolution in 1835 could even be traced back thirty-five years, to the “Vanished Incident” of 1800. The most advanced exploration ship in human history, with the finest explorer at her helm, had sailed for a long voyage and then plunged straight into Subspace. That disaster shook everyone who cared about the art of navigation.

The priest drew back his gaze from the statue, but he could not stop his thoughts from circling around the Vanished, and around this shipborne Cathedral before him.

His cold, numbed brain and the heart that had not beaten for half a century both grew restless at the thought of what was about to happen.

“May you shelter us,” the priest lowered his head and devoutly gave benediction to the Goddess, “we are about to face the Shadows of Subspace head-on. Please bear witness…”

The electric bell beside him suddenly rang, and a small lamp on the communication console began to flash.

The priest walked to the console and opened the brass speaking tube linked to that lamp: “This is the Cathedral… yes, oil and steam are ready, and the divine blessing has arrived.”

On the bridge, Tyrian Abnomar, captain of the Sea Mist, stood quietly at the captain’s station, staring out at the seemingly calm sea.

His eye sockets ached slightly. Low, maddening whispers echoed in his mind. At his side sat a delicately built brass device. The machine was a tangle of interlocking gears, several finely crafted spirit compasses, and multiple curved tracks. At its center, three copper pillars held up a small hemispherical bowl.

The bowl was filled to about one-third with fresh blood. The blood rolled and bubbled as if it were boiling. The brass device quivered as it constantly fine-tuned the positions of its gears and spirit compasses. Several pointers all pointed toward a distant spot on the horizon.

First Mate Aiden walked over and nodded to Tyrian: “Captain, all stations are ready. The Cathedral just sent word—our Goddess has bestowed the divine blessing.”

“…the Vanished is right in front of us,” Tyrian said softly, almost to himself. He glanced at the brass device beside him. “I think ‘he’ must have sensed me too.”

Aiden’s gaze also fell on the device, especially on the boiling blood in the bowl.

The pale, bald man spoke in his deep voice: “The blood-seeking spirit compass leads blood relatives together, but it has never brought good fortune or happy reunions… it only points toward slaughter and misery.”

“Which matches our situation perfectly,” Tyrian replied lightly. At the edge of his vision, a faint black speck already seemed to appear on the horizon. “It really is here—and heading straight for Pland.”

“We can open fire,” the First Mate could not help but remind him. “We actually could have started already.”

“…No. Keep closing in. We must get into point-blank range,” Tyrian shook his head. “We already tried once, fifty years ago. Shells fired from too far away will never land on the Vanished. That ship is under some kind of spacetime distortion. There is a gap and misalignment between it and the Mortal Realm’s dimension.”

Aiden lowered his head: “…Understood. The Sea Mist will keep moving forward.”

…

Duncan lowered the monocular in his hand and hung it back at his waist. Then he tightened his grip on the wheel.

He had seen that ship.

The Sea Mist—her name fit her well. A thin layer of frozen mist coiled around the hull. At a glance, it was clearly not a normal phenomenon.

But what truly surprised him was not that extraordinary-looking mist, but the ship herself—

She was an ironclad warship that looked extremely advanced: thick armor, tall smokestacks, a well-proportioned, imposing bridge structure, and modern multi-gun turrets that reminded him of a battleship’s main guns.

No matter how he looked at it, this ship did not seem like something from a century ago. Even as a refit, he could not imagine how you would turn an old sailing warship into this.

That made him think of the rumors he had heard in various city-states about the Sea Mist and the Radiant Star.

Like how Tyrian’s warship devoured metal and wreckage on the seabed, then secretly grew and refitted itself at midnight when no gaze fell upon it.

Looking at the ship now, those rumors did not seem so baseless. It was like trying to explain why a Type-59 tank suddenly made a faster-than-light jump. In the end you could only say that the Machine Spirit was in a very good mood…

Duncan shook his head, tossing those stray thoughts aside for the moment.

The Sea Mist had no intention of backing down, and clearly stood ready for battle. The Vanished also had no time to circle around. A head-on clash seemed impossible to avoid.

He did not really understand naval warfare, but in theory he did not need to worry about the fighting—the Vanished’s guns could handle everything on their own.

He just felt… stunned. Stunned, and a little nervous, with a strange hint of expectation mixed in.

Tyrian Abnomar, captain of the Sea Mist, one of Captain Duncan’s children.

In theory, Duncan’s current identity made him that pirate lord’s father.

He had never imagined he would meet the Sea Mist like this… Wasn’t that ship supposed to be staying in the Frost Sea? Shouldn’t it be busy raiding, pillaging, and collecting protection money in that frozen region? What was it doing here?

Tyrian coming to visit Dad? A loving father and filial son reunion?

That was impossible, just thinking about it.

Captain Duncan’s story sounded more and more like the start of a family disaster.

“Captain,” Goathead’s voice suddenly sounded, and he actually sounded… excited. “The Sea Mist is shifting into firing posture. Should we adjust our heading?”

Adjusting heading meant trying to avoid the enemy’s first direct salvo, entering battle with the smallest possible profile while swinging as many of their own guns into firing arcs as they could. Goathead had clearly prepared for a full-scale gun duel.

Duncan raised an eyebrow: “You sound almost eager.”

“The Sea Mist is a fine opponent. First, it can’t beat us. Second, it actually dares to fight us,” Goathead said with obvious delight. “And third, it’s very tough—it’s packed full of living dead, and even the hull has picked up a bit of that ‘deathless and unsinkable’ trait. If the Vanished wants to stretch her limbs, there’s no better target.”

“…So in short, the child can take a beating, right?” Duncan said casually. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed several clouds forming above the distant sea and slowly spreading around the Sea Mist.

A little while later, he finally heard the sharp whistling from high in the sky, carrying a powerful force straight toward the Vanished’s position.

The Sea Mist had fired first. As a technically more advanced ironclad warship, she had the advantage in range. Even delaying until they entered near range, she could still launch her attack before the Vanished.

Duncan tensed. He watched as huge water columns rose one after another around the Vanished. Each blast from those battleship-grade main guns had terrifying power. The towering plumes even made the Vanished’s massive hull shudder slightly.

But not a single shell hit the Vanished. The Sea Mist’s first salvo missed entirely.

Duncan watched the water columns fall back down one by one and thought about it. This was probably normal in naval combat. Without guided weapons and modern fire-control computers, the hit rate of naval guns would be about this level.