Chapter 328

Chapter 328: Sailing to Dagger Island

After they finished their disguises and preparations, Duncan turned his gaze toward the bright, bustling city district.

Vanna judged the state of the city from her own experience: “It is curfew now. There will be Guardian patrols on the streets, but in the outlying areas the patrols will be weaker. Even in a developed place like Pland, the Guardians in the Lower City cannot watch every corner. Usually, the security standard in the outer districts is: ‘If an supernatural runaway state occurs, the nearest squad must be able to reach the scene within twenty minutes, and casualties should not spread to the nearby blocks if it can be helped.’”

“The Sea Swallow exploded in the coastal waters near the city. No one on board survived. That kind of thing cannot be hidden. By now the Frostholm authority should already be busy, but they will probably not be able to reach any conclusion for a while,” Morris said from the side. “We should give them a warning.”

“Oh, that is easy. I am good at all kinds of anonymous reports, and they usually make the local offices very nervous,” Duncan said casually. “But besides giving a warning, we also have to run our own investigation. This whole thing is strange. I can smell a mood in it that feels a bit like what we saw back in Pland. Whatever those cultists are doing… it is probably not small.”

As he spoke, he reached out and picked up the map Tyrian had prepared for him.

The map was very detailed, with all kinds of special marks. It was clearly not something sold to the public inside the city-state. Without a doubt, the Informants Tyrian had planted in this city had contributed a lot to this map.

Duncan quickly found two places that deserved attention: Hearth Street on the edge of the inner city, and a cemetery area that lay even closer to the inner-city core.

His gaze fell on the special block marked as the cemetery district. The whole area was numbered from one to nine, split into nine cemeteries. They almost encircled the Cathedral district at the center of the city-state, laid out in a rough ring. It really did not look like the usual planning of an ordinary city-state.

Was this also because of the faith needs of the God of Death Bartok?

“We will go to Hearth Street first and visit your ‘old friend’,” Duncan lifted his head and glanced at Morris. “After the curfew ends, you and Vanna can find somewhere to stay in the city. Alice and I will make a trip to Cemetery No. 3.”

“Cemetery?” Morris blurted out without thinking.

“Do we not want to give the city-state’s authority a small warning? We cannot just walk up to City Hall or the Cathedral and knock on the door to file a report,” Duncan said with a small smile. “We only need a channel that can pass the message along, and in Cemetery No. 3 I happen to know such a channel.”

Vanna spoke without thinking from the side: “Getting the message there is one thing. What matters more is making them take it seriously…”

Duncan turned his head. A confident smile was on his face: “Do not worry. They will take it very seriously.”

Under the cold, silent night sky, a White Dove flew out from the Frostholm coast into the colors of nightfall, beating its wings toward the lights of the distant city.

At the same time, far away on the Vanished in the Frost Sea, the door of the captain’s cabin finally opened.

Duncan’s figure appeared on the deck.

In the clear, chilly night, he moved his arms, legs, and shoulders a bit, feeling the strange sensation of one mind controlling several bodies at once. Only after the sense of delay slowly faded did he let out a light breath.

He had just spent some time getting used to his new body in Frostholm. Compared with his first clumsy attempt at “splitting his attention” back in Pland, he actually adapted more quickly and smoothly this time, even though he had added one more body.

In just a short while, he was already able to handle affairs on the Vanished while still keeping his actions in Frostholm under control.

Steadying his thoughts a little, Duncan asked in his mind: “Where is Tyrian?”

Goathead’s voice sounded at once: “He is near the aft helm deck. Do you need me to call him?”

“No need. I was going there anyway,” Duncan shook his head, then gave a casual order: “Adjust our course to Dagger Island. Full speed.”

“Yes, Captain!”

Creaking sounds rose from the taut ropes and masts, and the crash of waves against the hull broke the quiet of the night as the huge ship shifted its heading. Tyrian, who was standing at the stern deck and gazing into the distance, was startled by the sudden movement. He looked up in surprise and saw the dark wheel on the high bridge slowly turning. Under the faint glow from the World’s Wound above, it looked as if an invisible person was standing there at the helm.

Even though this was not the first time he had seen such a scene since coming back aboard this ship, Tyrian could not help but frown a little.

Many parts of the Vanished were still the same as in his memories, but the ship kept reminding him, through all kinds of small details, that it was now a ghost ship that had been baptized by Subspace.

While he was lost in thought, Tyrian heard steady, powerful footsteps coming from nearby. He turned toward the sound and saw Father’s figure appear on the deck under the veil of night.

“Did the sudden movement scare you?” Duncan had noticed how Tyrian had been staring at the wheel. He spoke with a faint, amused look. “Goathead is steering.”

“I know. I have already seen it twice,” Tyrian came back to himself and his face returned to normal. “I am just still not quite used to it. The Sea Mist also has some ‘living’ traits, but compared with that, the ‘liveliness’ of your ship is a bit too much.”

“It brings unexpected convenience,” Duncan said offhand.

Tyrian did not argue. After he watched the ship’s movement for a moment, he could not help asking: “the Vanished is speeding up and changing course. What are you going to do?”

“I came to tell you that we are heading to Dagger Island.”

“Dagger Island?” Tyrian froze for a moment, then reacted at once. “Something has happened there already?!”

“A Frostholm military ship exploded and sank on its way back to the main island. It had made a short stop at Dagger Island, and when it returned it had already become a carrier of corruption,” Duncan did not hide anything. “Now I suspect that the situation on Dagger Island may already have reached a runaway state. For some unknown reason, the whole alert system on the island has not reacted at all, and the Frostholm main island has not received any abnormal report.”

“…Penetrating corruption. Something has silently punched through the defenses on Dagger Island,” Tyrian understood at once, but right after that came strong disbelief. “But that… the defenses over there should not be that easy to pierce…”

“No defense system is flawless. Besides, corruption comes from the Deep Sea and is more likely tied to the Abyssal Lord,” Duncan shook his head. “The Frostholm authority should already be alarmed by that warship’s self-destruction, but I do not have much faith in them. I had better go take a look myself.”

“…Then what about me?” Tyrian thought for a moment and roughly understood what Father meant. “What do you need me to do?”

“I will send AI to take you back later. Bring your crew and stand by near Frostholm,” Duncan said after a brief pause, already having decided in his heart. “Prepare for the worst case.”

“The worst case?”

“The warship that suffered corruption sank, and it sank with an Anomaly speed,” Duncan said as he spoke, drawing useful memories and information out of the new body he had just taken over. “It was as if something under the sea was dragging it down…”

Tyrian’s expression slowly changed. A heavy look rose in his single eye. “You mean…”

“Since the Frostholm rebellion ended, half a century has passed. Let us assume that the ‘thing’ disturbed by the Abyssal Trench Project has never actually slept during those fifty years, but has been active all along, even consciously gathering strength,” Duncan looked toward the distant sea, his calm voice brewing a storm. “Tyrian, how many ships do you think have sunk into the waters near Frostholm in the past fifty years? Under that city-state… how many things might be hidden now?”

The deck fell silent.

Under the quiet, freezing veil of night, the Pirate Lord suddenly shivered.

…

A White Dove flew into the city. Deep in the cold, empty streets under curfew, a flash of ghostly green fire passed by.

A patrol squad of Guardians had just left this spot, and the citizens of the city would not come out at this hour of the night. No one noticed the sudden flicker of flame in the shadows of the alleyways, and no one noticed several strange figures stepping out from those shadows.

An old-looking house stood at a corner of Hearth Street.

It had gray outer walls, a dark sloped roof, a black front door, and a gas lamp with ironwork carvings fixed to the outer wall. It was a typical northern city-state building, and it looked like someone had been living here recently.

Morris took two steps forward and, by the light of the gas lamp, checked the house number beside the door.

This was indeed the residence Brown Scott had mentioned in his letter.

“I will go check first with Morris,” Duncan said to Vanna and Alice behind him. He wore a long black coat and a wide-brimmed hat. His voice came out from under the thick bandages, low and muffled. “You two wait nearby. Just do not alarm the patrolling Guardians.”

They did not need many people to check what was going on inside a house, and if this “Brown Scott” really was inside and able to talk, bringing too many people would only create more chances for trouble. After all, Duncan had not come tonight to cut down everyone in his way. He had come to gather information.