Ashes Of Deep Sea

Chapter 133: Chapter 137 “Two Descendants

North of Pland and the city-state of Rensa, beyond the bustling “Great Cross Route,” an eternal and cold breath loiters over the seascape known as the “Chill Sea.” Under the influence of this seemingly never-dissipating mysterious cold air, the entire Chill Sea displays a visage distinct from other places.

Here, the sea water shows a profound quality starkly different from warmer regions. Tiny ice fragments often appear where currents meet the islands. Periodically, colossal icebergs rise from below the sea surface, forming temporary barriers or movable lands. These serve as navigational markers or emergency shelters for some sailors making their living in the Chill Sea. Various mysterious cold fogs, icy winds, and phantasmal light phenomena add unique scenic features to this cold maritime area, bringing countless bizarre legends that impart a mystical aura to the two major city-states of Frost and Cold Harbor.

However, more frequently discussed by captains making a living in the Chill Sea than these predictable icebergs and mostly legendary transcendent phenomena are the terrifyingly real yet enigmatically shrouded fleet active since half a century ago—led by Tirian Abnormal, the son of Duncan Ebnomal, its influence spans a third of the Chill Sea’s routes, known as the Mist Fleet.

At the edge of an island concealed by special currents and fog barriers, a steel warship with a gunmetal grey hue and rigid lines, its bow jutting high, was quietly docked in the shipyard. Crew members and sailors bustled about, loading the warship with fuel, fresh water, and ammunition.

If someone familiar with the history of the Frost City-State were standing here, they would immediately notice the sailors still dressed in Frost Navy uniforms from half a century ago and see the white badges worn on their shoulders or chests—signifying mourning in the Frost tradition.

In the captain’s quarters atop the warship, a man in a black naval cloak was perusing some documents.

This man was slim, with a high nose and deep-set eyes, his black hair short and neat. Over his left eye was a black eyepatch made from unknown leather, giving him an even more somber appearance, reminiscent of the notorious “Ghost Captain.”

A large, brightly feathered parrot perched on a nearby wooden stand intently watched a brass device beside the slender man—it was a complex assembly of lenses surrounded by a ring of arms and smaller lenses, with a large crystal ball at its center, luxurious and full of a mysterious ambience.

Without looking up, the slender man said, “Perly, if you touch it, I’ll send you to the Brilliant Starship next month to be with the puppets and ghosts.”

“Ah, cruel!” the large parrot immediately shrieked, shaking its perch, “Ah, cruel! Tirian is such a cruel captain!”

“…I really should find out which bastard taught you that,” Tirian Abnormal frowned, “Can’t you say something else?”

The large parrot flapped its wings pridefully: “Perly learned by himself! Perly learned by himself!”

Tirian rubbed his forehead, “Dammit, there’s that line too…”

Just then, a knock suddenly came from the side, interrupting the exchange between Tirian and the parrot.

“Come in,” Tirian turned and said.

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

His skin was pale, like that of a long-dead body, and his eyes harbored a perpetual murky gloom. A faint fishy smell wafted around him, mixed with a chilling, almost tomb-like coldness.

A walking corpse, a lingering remnant of a deceased soul.

Tirian looked at the “living dead” entering the room: “Aiden, how much is left for the fuel uptake?”

“It’s nearly complete, Captain,” the tall bald man named Aiden slightly bowed his head, his voice hoarse and rough, a faint cold mist escaping his mouth and nose as he spoke, “The boilers are preheating now.”

“Good,” Tirian nodded slightly, “Any movement from Cold Harbor?”

“Quiet as a stone,” Aiden’s tone carried a hint of disdain, “They wouldn’t dare offend our territory—even with only half the Mist Fleet in the Chill Sea, those cowards lack the courage to cross the line.”

“They are wise and adept at precisely calculating the losses and gains, just like half a century ago,” Tirian chuckled, “Then go prepare, we’ll depart on schedule.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The cold breath of death lingered as the first mate pushed open the door and left the room, with Tirian’s gaze gradually retracting.

His first mate was an “undead,” and in fact, aside from him the “Long-Lived One,” everyone in the Mist Fleet was this type of being, teetering between life and death.

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

In a way, he himself, cursed by Subspace to never die, was no different from his crew members.

Tirian shook his head, and just then, the brass device at his side suddenly emitted a mechanical sound—turning towards the noise, he saw the complex levers and lenses moving rapidly and arranging themselves in a specific pattern, focusing the lens at the center of the Crystal Ball. The next moment, the Crystal Ball emitted a faint glow, and a blurry image emerged.

A young lady with black straight hair, clad in a black silk dress, with delicate features exuding a hint of cold mystery appeared in the Crystal Ball—behind her, one could faintly see many Magical Mechanisms operating automatically and specks of phosphorescent light floating in the air.

“Lucrecia,” Tirian glanced at the lady in the Crystal Ball and nodded slightly, “I didn’t expect you to remember to send greetings before your brother embarked.”

The young lady in the Crystal Ball was about to speak, but paused upon hearing Tirian’s words, “You’re leaving today?”

Tirian frowned, “… didn’t you send greetings because I was leaving today?!”

“No,” the lady, carrying an air of a mystic mage, shook her head calmly, “My Deep Sea Detector exploded.”

Tirian’s lips twitched, then he heard his sister continue, “Everything else is easy to fix, but I can’t find a replacement for the core crystal lens.”

Tirian remained expressionless.

“Do you have any new ones? I’ll trade you border minerals and samples for it.”

“… Only two City-States can produce the Spirit Realm lenses that meet your precision requirements, and the main trade channels are controlled by the Academy of Truth, the number that circulates outward is extremely, extremely… limited,” Tirian finally couldn’t help but sigh, “It’s only been two months since the last time you wrecked your detector…”

“I’ve found a very interesting sample, possibly drifted up from the Abyssal Sea,” Lucrecia said.

“… Samples from the Abyssal Sea won’t work either, although those things really can be sold to the Academy of Truth…”

“I also collected phantasms left from the collapse of the border.”

“That’s not…” Tirian rubbed his forehead with a headache, “Mainly, I really don’t know where to find you a new set of lenses right now…”

Lucrecia pondered, “Robbery?”

“I can’t always rely on robbery,” Tirian sighed, “The Mist Fleet is preparing for legitimate operations, we’re primarily relying on protection fees now…”

“Oh, then forget it,” Lucrecia finally shrugged; her first part of the statement relieved Tirian, but the latter half made the renowned pirate leader tense, “Then I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

“You… Oh well, I can’t possibly stop your exploratory plans,” Tirian eventually sighed helplessly (he didn’t know how many times he had sighed in just these few minutes), “Tell me about your situation, my ‘respectable’ great explorer sister… You wander the frontiers of the civilized world all day, have you really discovered any signs that our world is heading towards its end?”

“I can detect your mockery, brother,” Lucrecia said expressionlessly, “You’ve always been disdainful of my urgency, never really cared about what I’ve discovered at the border. I understand that you are focused on more practical matters, and hence I appreciate even more that you have provided all possible help even when you don’t understand. But don’t forget, our father… the warning he once made.”

“…Our world is just a heap of dying embers…” Tirian leaned back in his chair, murmuring as if sighing, ” I still don’t know what exactly he saw that day, but one thing is clear, he was already mad when he made that warning—and you are repeating the same actions he once took, even trying to uncover the truth that drove him to madness.”

Tirian shook his head and looked seriously at the figure in the Crystal Ball, “Lucrecia, one Homeloss in this world is already bad enough.”