Chapter 747: Challenging the Ocean

For mortals, the greatest courage lies in daring to challenge the sky and the sea.

A salty sea breeze blew in from the east, sweeping along the long coastline of the East Sea, past rows of harbor houses topped with black slanted roofs and ancient spires. Black crowns and shielded banners fluttered fiercely above the main fortress of the port city of Mobius, their flags facing the endless ocean. On the shimmering sea surface, the sun was just beginning to rise.

Count Owen Dyson, with his short black hair and deep blue eyes, stood by a window overlooking the sea. Clad in a black double-breasted long coat, he stood at the highest point of the castle, quietly surveying the bustling city below and the distant, glimmering calm of the ocean.

This was Mobius Harbor, the largest seaport on the eastern coast of the Typhon Empire, the essential gateway for the eastern peoples to reach the ocean.

At least, it once was.

The Dyson family had ruled this land for centuries. Owen’s ancestors had led the first settlers through countless hardships, reshaping the empire’s eastern coastline with massive stones and powerful magic. Seven hundred years ago, this was a thriving city. The young Typhon Kingdom had used this harbor to open the gateway to the sea, establishing important colonies on several eastern islands. The pioneers mined ores and cultivated spices there, providing a steady stream of precious resources to the fledgling nation. The bustling eastern continental trade routes maintained the flow of goods to the empire’s southeastern and northeastern regions. Mobius Harbor was the hub of it all, its status unrivaled.

But that prosperity was short-lived.

The fall of the three great dark cults shattered humanity’s right to challenge the ocean. The departure of the Stormborn severed mankind’s ability to sense the storms and magical turbulence of the boundless sea, and to calm the ocean’s fury. Safe waters shrank to just a few dozen nautical miles from shore, and even those “safe routes” were fragmented and disconnected.

At first, brave captains and scholars tried to maintain these routes with experience, courage, and substitute supernatural spells. But the high cost and the empire’s early financial struggles forced these challengers to give up. The distant colonial islands were abandoned, and the flow of minerals, plants, and marine life from the ocean was cut off. Mobius Harbor, once so prosperous, fell into decline for centuries.

It transformed from a bustling port city into a gathering place for coastal fishermen and a rest stop for nearby merchants. The city survived on meager coastal catches and tolls from passing travelers.

Until today, when it unexpectedly flourished once more.

Owen’s gaze swept over the city’s outskirts, past the towers rising near the shoreline and the faint smoke curling into the sky.

Those were the mining sites for fuelstone.

No one had imagined that the very stones once deemed worthless—grayish-white rocks less valuable than mud—would be the key to Mobius Harbor’s revival.

Fuelstone was scattered along the coast. These stones were raw materials for producing Fertile Dust and crystal matrices. New technologies had transformed them from valueless to highly sought-after. As the largest city on the eastern coast, Mobius Harbor had miraculously come back to life overnight. In just a few short years, it had regained its prosperity.

And just as rapidly as Mobius changed, so too did the entire Typhon Empire.

The great Emperor Rosetta Augustus had brought prosperity and transformation to the empire. Though many of his reforms angered some stubborn, conservative nobles, Count Owen Dyson of Mobius was not among them. For this border lord, who had witnessed his lands rise from hardship to wealth, the emperor’s changes were an unmitigated blessing.

What thrilled Owen even more—what stirred a rare excitement in his heart—was that after strengthening the empire, the visionary emperor had once again turned his gaze toward the endless ocean.

The shimmering sea rippled gently in the distance, the morning sun scattering tiny phosphorescent sparks across the waves. Owen knew that beneath this calm surface lurked deadly dangers. Beyond a dozen nautical miles, chaotic storms and magical turbulence could swallow even the most powerful supernatural beings. These tempests had shattered the once-continuous coastal routes into fragments. Centuries ago, the young and fragile Typhon Kingdom had failed to reclaim these routes. But now, with the empire reborn, perhaps it was finally strong enough to challenge the ocean once more.

Footsteps approaching from afar pulled Owen from his thoughts. A servant’s voice came from behind him: “My lord, the creature has awakened.”

Owen turned. “I understand. Lead the way.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Leaving the window overlooking the sea, Owen walked down the castle’s long corridors accompanied by the servant. They descended into a deep passage and reached the innermost chamber of the family fortress—a sealed room reinforced with countless runes and fortified with sacred and magical materials. There, Owen saw the creature the servant had mentioned.

Wrapped in a somewhat tattered black robe, it lay quietly on a stone slab in the center of the chamber. Numerous rune-etched chains and holy talismans bound it, suppressing whatever supernatural power it might possess.

At a glance, Owen could tell this was once a human—though now, it was a grotesque mutation.

Its exposed arms, face, and neck were covered in chilling, pale blue-green scales. Its eyes, like those of a serpent, gleamed with golden vertical pupils. Its hair had vanished, replaced by a greasy, seaweed-like growth covering the scalp. Its hands were twisted and elongated, webbing stretched between the fingers. But the most terrifying were its legs—

They were a chaotic mass of flesh, fused and indistinct, pressed tightly together with bent joints, skin fused and covered in scales.

It looked like an unfinished transformation spell—or rather, a being caught midway between human and some bizarre, eldritch form.

The “monster” had awakened. As Owen approached, he saw its eyes shift, those dreadful golden pupils sweeping over him. Yet its body remained still on the stone slab, its chest rising and falling faintly.

Owen frowned. A mage in a moon-patterned robe stepped forward.

“My lord, I have stabilized its mental state with sedative spells and an extract of Moonsleep herb. The creature is currently secure.”

Owen nodded and glanced toward another figure nearby—a knight of average build, with a thick beard and deep-set eyes.

“Tell me again how you found this… creature,” Owen said.

“Yes, my lord,” the knight replied. “We discovered him near the southern desert edge. Locals reported unusual storms and howling winds over the sea. We feared magical turbulence might be encroaching on land, so we investigated. On the rocky shore, we found this… thing.

“There were no shipwreck remnants nearby, no signs of a vessel. I suspect he didn’t arrive by boat—perhaps he swam.

“He was semi-conscious, sunburned and weak. But when we approached, he suddenly woke and became aggressive, attacking us with some kind of acid-like spell. Fortunately, we had two mages with us who countered and subdued him.

“He fainted from exhaustion. Before passing out, he muttered unintelligible phrases. The soldiers were frightened—some said it sounded like the cursed words fishermen speak, the language of those swallowed by the waves.

“Besides a half-broken talisman, he carried nothing identifying. His clothes were definitely human-made. I believe he’s a poor soul cursed by some terrible power from the deep sea. But that’s just my guess.”

Owen hummed thoughtfully and turned to the mage. “Any clues from the talisman?”

“None, my lord,” the mage said, handing over the shattered charm. “It’s completely damaged, its magic drained. The remaining spell pattern is useless. Oddly, the surface decoration seems deliberately polished away—no identifying marks remain.”

Owen took the talisman, about half the size of an old imperial gold coin, and examined it. It was half of a circular charm, likely made of mythril, once a powerful artifact. As the mage said, one side was roughly ground down, erasing any recognizable patterns.

He tossed the talisman to a nearby servant.

“You were once human…” Owen said, bending close to the scaled, webbed figure, staring into those unsettling eyes. “Is that right?”

A raspy, hissing sound emerged from the creature’s throat—an amphibious, guttural voice no human could produce.

“You’ve been in the sea a long time… the fishy stench, the smell of mud, the magic of storms,” Owen continued, eyes locked on the creature. “What lies beyond the far sea? What did this to you?”

Only that strange, chaotic voice answered. Listening to it, Owen’s mind faintly conjured images of rolling waves.

“Some unknown supernatural force has twisted this poor soul,” the mage said beside him. “My lord, I’ve tried hypnosis and other methods to communicate multiple times. This poor creature has completely lost the ability to speak human language.”

“No,” Owen said. “Your methods are wrong.” He removed a pendant from his wrist, glowing with a faint blue light.

He held the pendant close to the creature lying on the stone slab. The creature’s eyes fixed on the mysterious, ethereal blue glow, suddenly widening slightly.

“Long ago, when Mobius was still a thriving seaport, the Dyson family was closely allied with the Storm Church,” the count said slowly. “We preserved many sacred relics connected to the storms—like this pendant, once blessed by the Storm High Priest. Now, tell me, Stormborn, what has happened to you?”

Even though there was nothing on the man’s person to identify him, and even though the patterns on the talisman had long since been worn away, Owen Dyson could still guess the origins of this stranger from the distant seas.

After all, he and his family had been guardians of these waters for centuries.

The black-robed “creature” lying on the stone slab fixed its gaze on the pendant in Earl Owen’s hand. Suddenly, it drew a deep breath, and with a voice hoarse like a broken bellows, it spoke in a tone that seemed half-dream, half-mad: “Have you… heard the call of the deep sea?”

“The call of the deep sea?” Owen frowned. “What are you talking about?”

The creature’s voice grew more ethereal, as if its mind was slipping away: “Ah… beneath the dark and endless depths… the gods have changed… The devourer of flesh calls out with the sound of the tides… Listen closely… can you hear it?”

“It seems your mind has been utterly corrupted,” Owen said regretfully, shaking his head as he prepared to pocket the talisman. “But I thank you all the same—for reminding me once again of the ocean’s dangers, and the caution it demands.”

The talisman, glowing faintly with blue light, slipped from the creature’s sight. The black-robed figure breathed heavily, then suddenly its breathing steadied, and a strange smile spread across its face—an eerie blend of calm and joy.

The fine scales covering its skin made that smile all the more chilling.

Earl Owen heard the creature utter its final words from deep within its throat:

“I hear it… I hear it… She is calling… Eva is calling us… back to the path…”

With a long, lingering sigh, the creature on the stone slab suddenly shattered—its body dissolving into a liquid as murky as the sea itself.

(End of chapter)