Chapter 228

Chapter 228: The Pirate Lord Enters the City-State

The Steam Walker stopped in front of the pier. Vanna stood on the shell of the spider-like machine and lifted her head to study the legendary vessel before her, the ship reputed to be an Unsinkable Warship.

It was unsinkable, not invincible. Perhaps this ship really was hard to sink, but that did not mean it could not be beaten until it was covered in wounds.

To the naked eye, it was clear that the Sea Mist had gone through a brutal battle. Of course, if she thought back to how the Vanished had looked completely unscathed when she saw it from the top of the Great Bell, one could also say that this Ironclad Warship before her had simply been beaten up one-sidedly. Vanna did not really know much about ships, but she did know how unbelievable it was for a vessel in this condition to still drift safely into the Harbor.

And this was already after the Sea Mist had spent a full day and night using its powerful “unsinkable” ability to repair itself.

Memories of the Vanished surfaced in her mind, along with the curse-like connection between herself and Captain Duncan. Vanna felt a headache coming on. She rubbed her temples and jumped down from the Steam Walker to the ground. At the same time, she saw that a long gangplank had been lowered from the side of the Sea Mist not far away, and several figures were appearing on it.

At their head was a one-eyed man wearing a stern captain’s uniform. His slightly wavy black hair framed a face that resembled Duncan Abnomar’s by a few parts out of ten. Yet compared to that ghost captain with the suffocating presence, Captain Tyrian, now walking toward the pier, looked rather tired.

Behind this famed pirate captain were several attendants. Their skin was deathly pale, and the expressions on their faces were like frozen plaster statues, faintly carrying some inhuman quality. Yet overall, they were not as terrifying as the horror tales made such beings sound.

Vanna had heard many rumors about the Sea Mist. Because it more or less still counted as a ship belonging to Human civilization, the stories about it were naturally richer and more detailed than those about the Vanished. And in those tales, what people mentioned most often were the Undying Sailors under Tyrian Abnomar.

It was said that these Sailors were the subordinates Tyrian had taken with him when he defected and left Frostholm. Some of them were even veterans who had belonged to the Vanished’s fleet a century ago. Like their captain, they had been affected by Subspace. The curse clinging to the members of the Abnomar family had leaked onto their followers, turning them into ageless, undying Living dead.

They could not die within the dimensions of the Mortal Realm, nor could they enjoy the warmth of the Mortal Realm as the living did. They could not feel a moment of peace in the world of the living, yet they could not step through the Gate of Rest belonging to God of Death Bartok either.

In other rumors, people said these Living dead Sailors no longer held any attachment to the mortal world or to their former companions. Only certain ancient and powerful oaths bound them, forcing them to serve their Master, the eldest son of the Abnomar family, for all eternity.

Vanna stared fixedly at those figures as they stepped onto the soil of the city-state of Pland and, led by Tyrian, walked toward her.

Living dead. Strictly speaking, they already counted as subjects of God of Death Bartok, and Bartok, along with the other Three Gods, belonged to the camp of the True Gods. So these Living dead Sailors were allowed to step onto the soil of the city-state. That did not mean, however, that an ordinary person could accept these horrifying “former compatriots” so easily. And given how closely these Living dead Sailors were tied to the Abnomar family’s curse, Vanna had to keep a constant eye on their every move.

Only… this city-state of Pland, which had just been burned through completely by the Vanished’s flames, was it really so different from these Sailors who had gained eternal life because of the curse?

This troubling question popped up in Vanna’s mind despite herself, and while she was distracted for just that moment, the one-eyed pirate captain had already come to stand before her.

Tyrian took off his captain’s hat and bent slightly in a bow as he said: “Greetings, Inquisitor.”

He was surprised by Vanna’s youth and her height of a meter ninety, but he did not show it at all. His manners were so proper that he looked nothing like a terrifying Pirate Lord, but rather like a naval Commander still loyal to some city-state. “Thank you for coming to receive us in person.”

Vanna quickly shook off her distraction, looked at the man before her, who seemed to be around thirty, and said: “It is good to meet you, Captain Tyrian.”

She instinctively compared him to the “Captain Duncan” she had seen and found that he was not as tall as Duncan and lacked some of that suffocating authority. “You answered Pland’s call for aid. For that alone, the arrival of the Sea Mist deserves my personal welcome.”

Tyrian let out a sigh and said with a strange look: “Yet in the end we did not really come in handy.”

Then he instinctively lifted his head to look around the Harbor, as if searching for something.

Vanna had a vague idea, but she still asked casually: “What are you looking for?”

“Forgive my boldness, but did you receive the message we sent before making port?” Tyrian asked, a bit tense as he looked around. “We ran into the Vanished on the way. We tried our best to intercept it, but that ship still…”

“Your father has already been here,” Vanna said with a sigh. “He left just yesterday.”

As soon as she spoke, the Pirate Lord standing opposite her froze like a stone statue. Even the plaster-cold, rigid faces of the attendants behind him twitched.

“I… I did not quite hear that,” Tyrian finally reacted after a few seconds, staring at the young Inquisitor before him with a look as if he had seen a ghost. “Inquisitor, did you just say my father was here yesterday…”

He put particular emphasis on the word “father”, as if he feared Vanna might be making some deadly joke on that very point.

“The situation is complicated. We will need to explain it carefully,” Vanna sighed again. “The Vanished did appear, but what happened was completely different from what we described in the letter we first sent you. The city-state of Pland has just gone through a great… upheaval. Please come with me. Bishop Valentine is already waiting in the great Cathedral. We urgently need all kinds of information, and I imagine you also have countless questions that need answers.”

Tyrian felt that all the contingency plans he had worked out on the way here had just been thrown into chaos. He followed after Vanna almost in a daze, walking toward the Steam Walkers from the great Cathedral. A black Steam Car prepared specially for guests was already parked by the roadside, bearing the emblem of the Deep Sea Church.

As they walked toward the car, Tyrian suddenly spoke in a self-deprecating tone, perhaps to break the awkward mood, perhaps to ease some nameless pressure. For some reason, whenever he looked at Vanna he always felt a faint but constant pressure. “To be honest, I thought you would stop me in the dock district,” he said. “After all, under normal circumstances, the city-state authorities either refuse a pirate entry or simply prepare a noose for the pirate.”

“This is not Frostholm. The northern city-states’ warrants against the Sea Mist do not reach as far as Pland, unless one day you make a truly ‘big scene’ and earn yourself a joint warrant from the entire Boundless Sea,” Vanna said casually. “Before that happens, as far as Pland is concerned you are just a captain who kindly offered aid. And…”

As she spoke, she turned her head to glance at the Sea Mist. Even covered in scars, the ship still radiated a mighty presence.

“And honestly, even in the Northern Seas, is there really any city-state that could slip a noose around your neck the moment you made landfall?”

Tyrian thought about it, then laughed.

“When I go ashore, the city Guard Corps politely call me the boss of the ‘Sea Mist Venture Company’ and, whenever anyone questions it, they advertise my visit as a commercial exchange between the city-state and the Sea Mist fleet,” he said. “You know, pirates have a saying: the lowest-level warrant keeps the small-time pirates awake at night, a city-state-level warrant makes the Pirate Lords sit on pins and needles, and the highest-level warrants… are used by the person named on them to wipe tables and sword hilts.”

The Pirate Lord paused, then said calmly: “Aside from Frostholm, I can set foot on any northern city-state’s land with a clear conscience.”

Vanna raised her eyebrows: “Aside from Frostholm?”

“Ray Nora, Her Majesty, ordered me to leave Frostholm,” Tyrian said, the hint of a smile disappearing from his face. “She has not rescinded that order.”

Vanna glanced at him and saw that, without her noticing, the Pirate Lord’s expression had turned unusually serious.

She did not say anything more. She simply stopped at the corner and pointed to the guest car beside them: “Please get in, Captain Tyrian.”

With that, she turned and jumped onto a nearby Steam Walker, standing on it as imposingly as ever.

Tyrian, meanwhile, turned and got into the car with several of his attendants.

The moment the car door closed, he let out a long breath.

“Captain,” one attendant, noticing his reaction, could not help looking over curiously. “Are you all right? I felt you were a bit… tense just now. You are never that stiff even when dealing with other famous captains or city officials.”

“I do not know why, but whenever I spoke to that young Inquisitor I kept feeling a… hard-to-describe pressure,” Tyrian said. He did not hide his feelings in front of his most trusted aides. “It was completely different from dealing with officials of other city-states. I did not feel such a strange pressure even that time we passed close by the Death Sanctuary on patrol.”

“Really?” The attendant frowned in puzzlement. “I did not feel anything… though that Inquisitor is indeed quite tall and looks rather formidable…”

“Not that kind of pressure,” Tyrian shook his head. “All right, do not keep talking about it. The power of a high-ranking Saint is extremely strong. She can hear what you are saying.”

At that, the attendant clamped his mouth shut at once.

Tyrian let out a small breath of relief and looked out the carriage window at the slowly shifting scenery of Pland with a complicated expression.

In his childhood, he and Lucretia had once stayed briefly in this city-state, but that had been a century ago. Now this Sea Jewel had become a completely unfamiliar land to him.