Deep Sea Embers

Very few people in the world still knew about the “Abyss Plan.”

“It’s becoming increasingly difficult for our people to gather intelligence on Dagger Island,” Aiden said seriously to Tyrian on the small path at the harbor’s edge. “The island’s security has been tightened recently, and they are even monitoring every inch of the coast. Approaching by diving is no longer feasible, and our spies and insiders have recently been transferred away from key positions. Not exposed, but Dagger Island’s current supply and personnel transfers are all completed within a special list controlled by the authorities. We can’t intervene.”

“…Has it become entirely a military-restricted zone?” Tyrian stopped walking. “Did they discover something from that ‘Number Three Submersible’? Or have they already opened the hatch?”

“It’s hard to say,” Aiden shook his head. “However, the last time we got information about the island, we saw an order issued by Frost authorities specifically mentioning not to open the hatch of the submersible, and any samples taken from the outer shell of the submersible must be incinerated after the research is completed. At least from this order, it seems that the city-state’s authorities are still very cautious. But this was several days ago, and no one knows whether there have been any changes since then.”

“…If they can’t obtain investigation results for a long time, and there are more dangerous experimental accidents, the wisest move for Frost authorities should be to dispose of the submersible directly without continuing any research, just like we did back then,” Tyrian frowned. “But they’re still blockading Dagger Island… It means they definitely want to uncover some secrets from that submersible.”

“…In theory, Frost high-ranking officials should know about the Abyss Plan back in the day, or at least they should know about the danger and horror in the deep sea.”

“Knowing is one thing, understanding is another – the descendants can hear the stories of their ancestors from books and oral accounts, but unless they experience it again themselves, they can hardly imagine the fear and helplessness,” Tyrian shook his head. “In the face of extraordinary uncontrollable events, humanity’s greatest strength is the ability to ‘forget,’ and its greatest weakness is the same.”

Aiden looked at his captain, and after remaining silent for more than ten seconds, he finally spoke up: “Captain, should we take some more… proactive actions?”

“More proactive actions?”

“Contact Frost authorities, warn them, or even more directly… have the fleet raid Dagger Island and seize that ‘Number Three Submersible’,” Aiden said bluntly. “Given Dagger Island’s current defense capabilities, it should not be able to withstand a powerful assault from the Mist Fleet.”

Upon saying this, he paused for a moment and added, “Otherwise, those clueless individuals tampering with a twisted replica that surfaced from the deep sea might cause significant trouble. It’s too worrisome.”

Tyrian contemplated for a brief moment.

After a while, he shook his head: “Even if we successfully raid Dagger Island, can you be certain we’ll find the location of the ‘Number Three Submersible’ before Frost’s main forces react? The island is quite large… If it takes too long to search, we’ll have to face several times the number of city-state navy forces. The Sea Mist is strong, but not invincible. Besides…”

He stopped, and the image of the Frost Queen appeared in his mind.

The next second, Tyrian immediately halted his wild thoughts, realizing he was drifting off again.

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head, “I need to think about this more.”

“You’ll need to make a decision soon,” Aiden nodded, and at that moment, the sound of bells suddenly rang from the direction of the harbor square. The first mate immediately looked towards the source of the sound, “Ah, it’s late… Captain, why not just go to the square and enjoy yourself? It might help you make a decision.”

“I won’t go,” Tyrian shook his head instinctively, “I’m not interested.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to show your face once in a while,” Aiden insisted enthusiastically, “The dancers aren’t something you can see all the time. Their dancing is even more beautiful and agile than the Black-tailed Rock Thrush flying through storms…”

“I meant that I’m not interested in that,” Tyrian said helplessly, spreading his hands, “And honestly, if I, the captain, were to appear at the party, would the sailors really be able to have fun?”

“Of course they can,” Aiden replied casually, “You know how thick-skinned those guys are, tough and regenerating…”

Tyrian: “…”

In the end, Aiden still couldn’t convince the stubborn captain and went alone to the harbor square to join the party.

The pirate island was still bustling with activity after midnight.

The sleepless undead had unlimited energy, and the lack of curfews meant plenty to celebrate on the island.

A platform on one side of the square had been converted into a stage.

Temporary wooden walls blocked the cold wind from the sea, and the blazing fire pits around the stage somewhat resisted the winter night’s chill. The undead no longer feared the cold or heat, but the “human guests” visiting Pirate Island tonight still needed careful protection.

Young girls from the Cold Harbor danced passionately between the bonfire and the cold wind.

As their skirts fluttered and the dancers spun, the bonfire burst and leaped in the night, and the sound of the distant waves was endless. The terrifying undead made noise in the audience, and on the fog-covered Pirate Island, there was a rare bustling night scene in this world.

Tyrian stopped at an inconspicuous corner near the square, looking up at the stage.

He wasn’t here to attend the party but to return to his residence, just passing through the square.

The weekly gathering of sailors was a tradition that dated back to their time in the Frost Navy. Even after departing from Frost, the custom persisted within the Mist Fleet.

Decades had gone by, and though much had changed, many things remained the same.

Tyrian observed his former subordinates creating a ruckus in the square, a smile slowly forming on his face. However, his smile soon diminished.

He glanced at the nearby stage where the dancers performed, their passionate dance and graceful movements reminiscent of startled birds, but their eyes appeared dull and lifeless.

They had likely consumed a potion beforehand consisting of various herbs and a small amount of supernatural catalysts – a common practice.

The potion enabled them to endure the cold to a certain degree but also impaired their cognition and thinking.

This prevented them from experiencing fear, leaving only their instinct to dance.

Evidently, the masters of these dancers didn’t want their instruments to jeopardize the harmonious relationship with the Cold Sea pirate leaders due to fear.

Tyrian clucked his tongue.

This was quite typical. Those who dared to engage with pirates, even sending people to Pirate Island, employed similar methods. As the church and authorities wouldn’t intervene in their shady dealings, ordinary people could only devise “alternative” ways to cope with the shadows and horrors of the Boundless Sea. The lives of pirates and “risk speculators” were never as romantic or exciting as depicted in adventure tales.

In a way, administering the potion also served as protection for the dancers.

Tyrian felt a hint of disappointment – he had hoped “Curved Blade Martin” would have made some progress over the years, but it seemed the man continued to rely on decade-old tactics to run his “Cold Sea Entertainment Industry.”

He shook his head, ready to turn and leave.

But as he was about to depart, a faint crackling sound of fire unexpectedly caught his attention.

This peculiar yet familiar sound caused Tyrian’s heart to clench for a moment, nearly making him stumble. He then fixed his gaze on the source of the noise.

A ghostly green flame flickered on a nearby ice wall, and as the light and shadow expanded, the center of the icy surface turned pitch black, like night. A tall, imposing figure emerged from it.

“Good evening, Tyrian,” the figure said, “I hope I haven’t interrupted your rest.”

Tyrian stared at the figure materializing from the ice, holding his breath momentarily before attempting to maintain a composed expression and reply to the other’s greeting: “Good… good evening, Father. Why have you suddenly…”

“I have some matters to discuss with you, and I wanted to see how you’ve been recently,” Duncan said nonchalantly. “What are you doing?”

As he spoke, he looked up, and his eyes moved past Tyrian’s shoulder to focuse on the stage in the distance.

There, his gaze fell upon the young girls wearing thin dresses while dancing despite the cold wind.

“Six…”

“It’s not what you think!”