General Belazov stepped into the mysterious chamber.
Upon entering the massive building, made of sturdy reinforced concrete and a fusion of colossal stone foundations, the stocky, gray-haired soldier felt an atmosphere of grandeur, solemnity, and deep mystery. This ambiance stemmed from the rune inscriptions scattered throughout the structure and the numerous closed doors that lined the hallways.
The pervasive runes functioned as the building’s security system, designed to resist supernatural attacks from outside and prevent unwelcome visitors from delving into its depths. However, hidden behind the closed doors were a network of shadowy corridors, each potentially leading to an anomaly containment room, dangerous specimen storage, temporarily unhinged researchers, or ancient archives that were off-limits yet indestructible.
Navigating the building was akin to being caught between reality and a chaotic abyss as if standing on an invisible boundary and gazing into another treacherous world. Even ordinary people without supernatural abilities or spiritual talents might feel their nerves tense and their hair stand on end.
“Is the security here truly sufficient to ensure that ‘thing’ won’t cause any problems?” General Belazov couldn’t help but ask as he followed the military scholar leading him past a dark alloy door.
“The ‘Secret Chamber’ facility is Dagger Island’s most heavily fortified building. Each room has individual security and supernatural barriers, and any object with a danger level above three is directly connected to the furnace below,” the head scholar proudly stated. “Even without considering the supernatural barriers, the building’s structural integrity could withstand a full-scale attack from a saint-level adversary. It is impregnable unless an ancient deity decides to exert its power here.”
After a brief pause, the leading scholar continued, “Moreover, despite the unusual nature of ‘that thing,’ it has proven to be much more ‘stable’ than initially expected, even docile.”
“Stable? Docile?” General Belazov unconsciously furrowed his brow and inquired.
“Yes, although it might not be entirely accurate to describe it that way,” the guiding scholar nodded. “For several days now, it has been suspended in the center of the secret chamber. Usually, such peculiar entities would display signs of ‘life’ and affect their surroundings in various ways, but this one has remained inert. It hasn’t emitted any substances, released any energy, or shown any properties beyond the realm of reality. Although samples obtained from it exhibit some unusual physical properties, they remain confined to the physical world. Compared to most other hazardous items of the same level, it is as docile as a rock.”
“That’s a fascinating situation; I’ll report it to the city-state’s executive officer,” General Belazov casually commented.
A researcher in a blue coat approached from the opposite direction, briskly walking past. As he passed the general, he respectfully nodded but continued without stopping, causing a soft, squelching noise reminiscent of the wriggling limbs of a soft-bodied creature.
“Everyone here seems to be quite busy,” General Belazov remarked casually.
“Yes, the secret chamber is always bustling. Our work isn’t limited to analyzing the diving bell; we also oversee other aspects of the facility,” the guiding scholar responded with a shrug. “Please excuse any perceived impoliteness.”
“It’s fine; I’m not concerned with formalities,” the general said, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is it just me, or is there a strange smell in here? I’ve noticed it since I arrived; it reminds me of the scent of a sea creature.”
“This is the bay area of Dagger Island – the building’s ventilation system connects directly to the outdoors, so such a smell is expected. Moreover, the odors from disinfectants and sedimentation tanks add to the scent,” the guiding scholar explained, sighing. “We’ve been meaning to request funding to renovate the ventilation ducts, but the higher-ups always say ‘if it works, it’s fine.’”
The general refrained from commenting further, instead looking up at the end of the corridor.
Professor Maelson was already standing at the door.
…
Tyrian checked his coat and hair one last time in the mirror before moving away and approaching a nearby shelf containing a few items.
He pondered for a while, deciding what to bring with him.
Should he take his sword? His gun? His amulet?
Weapons seemed impractical, as neither a sword nor a gun would provide reliable protection on the Vanished. Furthermore, he was invited as a “guest” aboard the ship, and carrying weapons could seem insincere and potentially provoke his father.
The amulet might not offer any tangible advantages, but it could provide emotional reassurance. However, he was unsure about his father’s current views on the “gods.” Would he scorn them? Or merely be indifferent?
For the first time, the most renowned pirate leader in the Cold Sea found himself deeply troubled about “setting out.”
He was going to the Vanished, or more accurately, he was returning to the Vanished.
That was where he spent his childhood, where most of his cherished memories resided, and where the aspects he both longed to avoid and confront existed. After a century apart, he suddenly found himself unable to imagine his appearance when he stepped onto that ship.
At that moment, First Mate Aiden’s voice interrupted Tyrian’s thoughts from outside the door: “Captain, are you ready?”
Tyrian scowled and called out, “Almost ready, don’t rush me.”
“I mean, you should hurry,” Aiden’s voice returned, now tinged with urgency. “For the sake of Her Majesty the Queen… the messenger is here!”
“The messenger is here?”
Tyrian was taken aback, only then noticing the strangeness in Aiden’s tone. He hurried to the door and opened it in one smooth motion.
Aiden’s voice continued to echo outside: “Captain, if you don’t open the door soon, I’ll… Ah, thank goodness, you finally opened it!”
Tyrian stared in amazement at the scene in the doorway.
His unwavering first mate stood rigidly there with a terrifying skeletal bird shrouded in green flames perching atop his bald head.
Meanwhile, on the chest of the skeletal bird floated a bronze compass in mid-air. He recognized it as his father’s possession – Anomaly 022, Spirit World Compass.
“Captain, can you stop staring and help me get this bird off my head?” Aiden’s voice trembled, “These flames keep landing on me…”
The skeletal bird tilted its head, seeming to study Tyrian. Suddenly, it opened its beak and produced a peculiar female voice: “Go to Chenghua Avenue, walk to Erxian Bridge… get on! There are seats, big seats! Move back a bit… peanuts, beverages, and mineral water!”
Tyrian was startled by this sequence of sounds, and his first thought was – how could his father’s messenger be like this?
Next, he considered the strange words that had just emerged from the bizarre bird. After pondering for a moment, he remained equally perplexed. It wasn’t until he noticed Aiden was on the verge of passing out that he came back to attention.
“Let’s go,” Tyrian shook his head, forcibly pushing aside the jumbled thoughts. He stopped thinking about how to confront his father upon reaching the vanished ship. Adopting a go-with-the-flow attitude, he glanced at the odd skeletal bird, “How do we…”
Before he could finish his sentence, the enormous bird suddenly soared into the air, stepping on Aiden’s head. It then dove down, and with a burst of green flames obscuring his vision, Tyrian heard an odd scream: “Your father is coming!”
The next moment, he experienced the world spinning as if all his senses were being scrambled and reassembled. He then felt his whole being hurled into the sky, traveling through darkness and cold. Right now, time seemed to lose its meaning, and this peculiar disorientation and detachment vanished abruptly.
The sensation of solid ground returned before he knew it, and the darkness and weightlessness dissipated. Sunlight filtered through the thin mist and bathed him once more. As his familiar senses reappeared, the landscape before Tyrian’s eyes gradually came into focus.
There seemed to be a tall figure standing before him.
But it wasn’t his father—compared to his father, this figure was far too slender, resembling a woman.
She looked familiar.
Tyrian blinked hard, ultimately sharpening his vision, and recognized the person in front of him.
Long white hair flowed over her shoulders, a scar marred her left eye, and she was a tall, beautiful woman.
Vanna, wearing a peculiar expression, looked at the pirate captain, then awkwardly glanced at the spectators anticipating the spectacle.
Finally, she sighed and said to Tyrian, “Captain Tyrian, I know you have many questions…”
Before Vanna could finish, Tyrian recoiled in astonishment, his eyes wide as he gazed at the inquisitor lady.
“He conquered Pland?!”
The most renowned pirate leader in the Cold Sea was in shock.
