Chapter 374

Chapter 374: Envoy

Tyrian stood on the tall bridge of the Sea Mist, his gaze passing through the wide windows to the misty, endless sea in the distance.

That had once been the direction of Dagger Island—but now there was only a wide stretch of open water, and a few scout boats still searching for clues in vain.

Dagger Island had been gone for a long time now. Yet neither the people of Frostholm nor the Sea Mist fleet had found anything in these waters.

The Pirate Lord let out a quiet sigh, turned away from the bridge, and walked into his captain’s cabin. On the desk inside sat an antique oval ritual mirror, completely out of place beside the Sea Mist’s advanced fittings.

Tyrian stopped in front of the mirror and looked at his own reflection, hesitating a little.

Soon he pushed that hesitation aside. He reached into a drawer, took out a carved ritual candlestick used for ceremonies, and set it in front of the mirror.

“The Sea Mist calling the Vanished…” Tyrian muttered under his breath. At that moment, he felt like those seafarers who were bewitched by the manifestations on the Boundless Sea and driven into madness, offering up sacrificial victims in their final frenzy to call the horrors in the dark depths. And in truth, this was not so different. The power he was about to call really was the most terrifying force in all these waters.

It just happened that this power was his Father.

The candlestick lit itself. Bright flame danced above the candle, its light and shadow reflected in the mirror. Tyrian watched the tiny flame, a little nervous. It flickered a few times, then quickly turned a ghostly green. He knew his call had been received.

Flame swept across the oval surface of the mirror, while the center turned black as ink. Tyrian’s own reflection vanished. A moment later, another figure appeared there: Duncan’s true body, still aboard the Vanished.

Duncan was holding a piece of bread. He lifted his head, glanced this way through the mirror, and said: “I was just about to have lunch—have you eaten?”

“Uh… not yet.” Tyrian froze for a second and answered, still not quite used to this. Ever since his Father had regained his humanity, he seemed to have changed in small, quiet ways. His greetings had become so different. The good part was that those greetings felt warm and friendly. But Tyrian had gone too many years without speaking so naturally with his Father. He still felt very awkward.

“You should eat lunch on time. It’s good for your health,” Duncan said casually. “So, what did you need from me?”

“We’ve already searched the entire sea around Dagger Island and found nothing,” Tyrian steadied himself and turned back to business. “The people of Frostholm are still searching, but I think they will also come up empty.”

“The Deep Sea swallowed that island. The real problem is below the surface. Searching from above is meaningless. And right now our biggest problem is that we don’t have proper diving apparatus,” Duncan said, shaking his head. “Also, the city is getting tense. The Church will soon expand their search to the Second Waterway. Don’t worry, I’ve already sent warnings to your informants.”

Tyrian tensed up at once when he heard that the Church was going to search the Second Waterway, but he relaxed again at the second half of Duncan’s words. Then he frowned and asked: “They suspect the heretics’ nest in the city is hidden in the Second Waterway?”

“After all, they’ve already turned the rest of the city-state upside down,” Duncan lifted his eyelids. “Other than the Second Waterway, they have nowhere else to look.”

Tyrian frowned without speaking. Seeing this, Duncan asked: “What is it? Do you have some idea?”

“I don’t think they’ll find any clues in the Second Waterway,” Tyrian said slowly, shaking his head. “My informants don’t control the whole Second Waterway, but they know what it’s like down there and hold several key nodes. If a large number of Annihilators were hiding below and holding some great ritual there… I should have heard something.”

“Maybe they’re hiding very well. Or maybe the ritual they’re holding has already twisted the minds of every informant who noticed anything—either they didn’t notice, or if they did, they were corrupted. That would keep you from getting any reliable information.”

Tyrian nodded slowly. “That does make sense. You already confirmed that there is cognitive corruption inside the city-state.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the Second Waterway as well,” Duncan said from inside the mirror. “I’m very curious where those Annihilators are hiding. If I see your people getting into trouble along the way, I’ll try to help.”

“Thank you very much.” Tyrian bowed his head at once.

Just then, a sudden knock at the door cut off the conversation in the captain’s cabin.

“Someone is looking for you,” Duncan said from the mirror, having heard the noise. “If there’s nothing else, you should go take care of your own work.”

“Okay, Father.”

Duncan’s figure faded from the mirror. The flames along the edge of the fiery surface vanished, and the candlestick in front of the mirror slowly went back to normal.

Tyrian let out a long breath and felt the pressure in his chest ebb away. Then he frowned, stood up, and opened the door: “What is it?”

“A fast boat from Frostholm,” said an Undying sailor with a hole in his head, standing in the doorway and saluting as he spoke. “They’re coming up under flags and light signals saying ‘non-military action’ and ‘request for contact’. Looks like a group of… envoys.”

“Envoys?” Tyrian was startled for a moment, then his face showed keen interest. “Now that is interesting… looks like they really couldn’t sit still.”

“Open fire?” the sailor asked, looking at his captain with some expectation.

“Fire my ass—let them come,” Tyrian glared at him, then added: “Only three people are allowed aboard. If they can’t accept that, they can go back where they came from.”

On the mechanical cutter flying Frostholm’s city-state flag, a man in a neat formal coat and gold-rimmed glasses stood on the foredeck. He nervously took off his glasses to wipe them again and again, then lifted his head to look at the ironclad warship that was growing larger in his field of view.

The Sea Mist came closer and closer. Its raised prow loomed like a mountain floating on the frozen sea, and the sense of pressure grew stronger. All across the surrounding water, small chunks of ice drifted like living things. They swam in the sea, circled the cutter’s hull with purpose, and kept ramming the planks near the waterline.

The constant crack of ice throwing itself against the hull set people’s teeth on edge and drew their nerves tight.

The confidential secretary wiped his glasses again. In his mind rose the stories told in Frostholm, passing from mouth to mouth. They were all about the curse on the outer sea, the Pirate Lord in the fog, sailors frozen into ice sculptures in their sleep, and a Pirate Lord who ate one small child with every meal.

“We’re close enough,” the confidential secretary said. He put his gold-rimmed glasses back on, took a slow breath, and spoke to the accompanying officer beside him: “Stop here. If we go any closer, that warship will start shooting.”

“Slowest speed, port rudder!” the officer turned and shouted orders to the signal sailor.

The cutter’s speed dropped at once. It adjusted its heading a little, slowly turning until it lay parallel to the vast ironclad warship.

At the same time, the officer kept his eyes on the Sea Mist.

He saw flashes of light appear on the warship. Then a seaman stepped out by the rail and waved signal flags toward the mechanical cutter.

“They’re sending a signal,” the confidential secretary said quickly. “What does it mean?”

“The Sea Mist has accepted our request… thank the gods, this time it’s a signal living people can read,” the officer let out a long breath. Then he saw a small boat being lowered from the warship’s side. “And they’re putting a boat in the water to pick us up.”

“God of Death bless us… I thought they would just start firing,” the confidential secretary said, also clearly relieved. As the first “envoy” sent to negotiate with the Sea Mist fleet, he had already prepared himself to die for the city-state before coming here. Even so, he still felt the sharp joy of someone who had just escaped death.

The small boat from the Sea Mist soon reached Frostholm’s cutter. Several Undying sailors in Old Era naval uniforms sat aboard it.

The Queen’s emblem on their arms and their uniforms from a bygone age drew every eye. Even more striking than their clothes, though, was the fact that they were Undying.

Two of them had gaping holes in their heads. Another had a hole straight through his chest. Only one seemed to be without visible wounds—yet his swollen, bloated body looked like the corpse of someone who had been soaking in seawater for three days.

The Frostholm seamen on the cutter grew nervous at the sight of these Undying sailors. When they watched them step onto their ship, many showed complex and troubled looks.

The Undying did not seem to care how the living felt. They walked straight toward the person who looked like the highest-ranking officer on deck.

“Who is the envoy?”

“That would be me.” The man in the short formal coat and gold-rimmed glasses stepped forward at once. He fought down his nervousness and forced himself not to stare at the Undying sailors’ terrible wounds. Keeping his voice as calm as he could, he said: “My name is Eddie Ruhl. I represent the city-state of Frostholm in talks with the Sea Mist fleet.”

“A clerk?” The swollen Undying sailor frowned and gave Eddie a slow once-over, his tone mocking. “I thought you would at least send some military men. Has Frostholm’s navy already run out of soldiers with enough courage?”

The officer beside Eddie stepped forward half a pace at once, but before he could speak, Eddie lifted his hand to stop him.

“I am the envoy,” the civil official with the gold-rimmed glasses said, looking at the Undying sailor. “Take me to see General Tyrian.”