Deep Sea Embers

Vanna, benefiting from her extensive experience, assessed the ongoing circumstances within the metropolis. She declared, “The city is now under curfew. Guardians will be conducting patrols, but their numbers will be relatively limited in certain outlying areas. Even in an urbanized locale like Pland, the lower city’s security personnel cannot maintain surveillance over every nook and cranny. The general alert protocol for the city’s fringes involves ensuring a response team can arrive on the scene within 20 minutes in case of a serious breach of control and that casualties don’t spill over into neighboring streets.”

“Regarding the Seagull incident, the ship exploded in the waters nearby the city-state, leaving no survivors on board. This event can’t be concealed. The authorities of Frost should be preoccupied with it as we speak, but it’s likely they won’t draw any conclusions soon,” Morris chimed in from his corner. “We ought to issue them a warning.”

“Fair enough, I’m well-versed in diverse modes of reporting which invariably unsettle the local departments,” Duncan responded nonchalantly. “But beyond issuing a warning, we should undertake our own investigation. There’s something strange about this event. It reminds me of the scenario back in Pland and the activities of those cultists… they’re likely far from insignificant.”

With that, he reached for the map that Tyrian had meticulously prepared.

This map was extraordinarily detailed, filled with unique markings. It was clearly not something made available by the regular city-state inhabitants. It was evident that Tyrian’s network of informers within this city-state had made substantial contributions to the map’s creation.

Duncan rapidly singled out two notable locations: the Fireplace Street bordering the inner city and the cemetery zone closer to the heart of the inner city.

His gaze zeroed in on the unique block designated as the cemetery district. He studied the whole area that was divided into nine sections, each one numbered and denoting a cemetery. They were almost symmetrically distributed around the central city’s church district, creating a subtle circular pattern. It didn’t reflect the usual urban planning design.

Could this have been a necessity for the followers of the God of Death, Bartok?

“We’ll make a pit-stop at Fireplace Street first to meet your ‘old friend’,” Duncan looked up at Morris. “Following that, once the curfew is lifted, you and Vanna should find accommodation within the city. Alice and I will proceed to Cemetery No. 3.”

“Cemetery?” Morris queried reflexively.

“Wasn’t the plan to give the city authorities a subtle warning? We can’t exactly waltz into the city hall or the cathedral to report, can we?” Duncan offered a knowing smile. “A single channel to transmit the message is sufficient, and I happen to know of such a channel located in Cemetery No. 3.”

Unable to resist commenting, Vanna interjected, “Delivering the message is one thing, but ensuring we capture sufficient attention is equally critical…”

Turning his head, Duncan wore a self-assured smile, “Don’t worry, they’ll be all ears.”

Underneath the quiet, moonless night sky, a solitary white dove took flight from the coastline, soaring into the night towards the distant city lights.

Meanwhile, aboard the Vanished, nested in the icy depths of the ocean, the captain’s cabin door finally swung open, and out came Duncan’s main body.

Beneath the crisp night sky, he stretched his arms, legs, and shoulders, savoring the unique sensation of his consciousness controlling multiple bodies autonomously. As the time-lagged sensation gradually diminished, he softly exhaled.

He had just taken a moment to adjust to his new physical form in Frost. Compared to the initial clumsiness when he first attempted “multitasking” in Pland, the process of assimilating an additional body this time was considerably quicker and smoother.

In a short span, he managed to orchestrate affairs on the Vanished while concurrently maintaining his physical activities in Frost.

Gathering himself slightly, he mentally queried, “Where is Tyrian?”

Goathead responded promptly, “He is near the stern of the deck. Do you need me to summon him?”

“No need, I’m headed there,” Duncan dismissed the offer, shaking his head, then casually commanded, “Change course to Dagger Island, full speed ahead.”

“Understood, Captain!”

The creaking sounds of strained ropes and masts filled the air as the colossal ship altered its course, disrupting the hush of the night by making waves. Startled by the sudden noise, Tyrian, who had been standing on the stern deck, gazing pensively into the distance, looked up in surprise. He saw the black steering wheel on the elevated platform slowly turning under the faint light of the World’s Creation as if manipulated by an unseen entity.

Despite not being the first time he had witnessed such an event since his return aboard, he couldn’t suppress a furrow of his brows.

Many facets of the Vanished were indeed as he remembered, but the ship continually reminded him, through various subtle nuances, that it had transformed into a haunted vessel baptized by subspace.

As Tyrian was engrossed in his thoughts, he heard the steady, strong footsteps approaching. He looked towards the sound and saw his father’s figure materializing on the deck under the night sky.

“Startled by the sudden movement?” Duncan noticed Tyrian’s gaze fixated on the steering wheel and joked with a half-smile, “Goathead is the one navigating.”

“I’m aware, I’ve witnessed it twice,” Tyrian regained his composure, his expression returning to its usual demeanor. “It’s just a bit unsettling still. While the Sea Mist did exhibit some ‘living’ characteristics, the ‘liveliness’ of your ship is significantly more intense.”

“It does provide unexpected conveniences,” Duncan casually commented.

After observing the ship’s sailing position, Tyrian tried to refrain from responding but couldn’t help asking, “The Vanished is accelerating and shifting course. What are you intending to do?”

“I came here to inform you – we’re charting course to Dagger Island.”

“Dagger Island?” Tyrian was taken aback, then instantly realized, “Has an incident occurred there?!”

“A Frost military vessel sunk due to self-implosion on its route back to the main island. It had made a brief halt at Dagger Island, and by the time it returned, it had turned into a vessel of contamination,” Duncan didn’t hold back the information. “Now I suspect that the situation on Dagger Island may have spiraled out of control, but for reasons unknown, the entire alert system on the island has remained unresponsive, and the Frost’s main island has not received any abnormal reports.”

“… A thorough contamination, something has silently breached the defense system of Dagger Island,” Tyrian immediately understood but found it hard to believe, “But… the defense system there isn’t supposed to be so easily compromised…”

“No defense system is infallible, especially when the contamination originates from the deep sea and is likely associated with the Nether Lord,” Duncan shook his head, “The Frost authorities should be on high alert following the self-implosion of the military vessel, but I don’t place much faith in them, hence our need to personally investigate.”

“… What about me?” Tyrian asked after a moment, vaguely grasping his father’s intention, “What do you require of me?”

“I will dispatch Ai to escort you back later. You mobilize your team and standby in the vicinity of Frost,” Duncan pondered for a moment, his decision firm, “Prepare for the worst-case scenario.”

“The worst-case scenario?”

“The contaminated military vessel sank, and it sank at an unusually rapid pace,” Duncan elaborated as he accessed valuable memories and intelligence from the body he had recently assumed, “As if something from the sea bottom was dragging it down…”

Tyrian’s expression gradually transformed, and a layer of solemnity surfaced in his one eye, “You mean…”

“Since the Frostbite rebellion ended, half a century has passed. Let’s assume that the ‘entity’ disturbed by the Abyss Project has never actually been dormant during this half-century but has been active, even consciously accumulating power,” Duncan’s gaze traveled into the distance, his voice calm yet seemingly presaging a storm, “Tyrian, how many vessels have sunk into the sea near Frost in this half-century, and what might be lurking beneath that city-state now?”

Underneath the tranquil and chilly night sky, the pirate suddenly shivered.

…

A white dove flew into the city, and in the depths of the cold, deserted streets during the curfew, a dim green light streaked by.

A patrol of guards had just vacated the area, and the citizens of the city-state wouldn’t dare venture out at such an ungodly hour. No one noticed the abrupt illumination in the shadows of the alley, nor the strangers stepping out from the darkness.

An old-fashioned house stood at the corner of Fireplace Street.

With its gray exterior walls, a dark-colored slanting roof, a black door, and a gas lamp with iron art decoration on the external wall, this design represented the typical architecture in a northern city-state. It also seemed to have been recently occupied.

Morris advanced two steps, utilizing the light from the gas lamp to confirm the doorplate number next to the main entrance.

This was indeed the dwelling mentioned by Scott Brown in his letter.

“I’ll accompany Morris to inspect the situation,” Duncan, clad in a black trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat, turned to Vanna and Alice beside him, his low and muffled voice emanating from beneath the thick bandages, “You two remain nearby – just ensure you don’t alert the patrolling guardians.”

Investigating a house’s interior didn’t necessitate a large number of people, and if “Scott Brown” was indeed inside and in a communicable state, having too many people might incite unforeseen complications. After all, Duncan’s intention for today wasn’t a killing spree; he was here to collect information.