Chapter 748: Returning to the Deep Sea… But the Deep Sea Doesn’t Want You
Owen Dyson stood silently, his gaze fixed on the stone slab before him. The black-robed creature had dissolved into a murky pool of seawater, slowly spreading across the surface of the stone.
Only when the tainted water began to seep onto the floor did he step back half a pace, expression unreadable, careful to avoid letting the liquid touch his boots.
A pungent mix of seaweed and muddy brine filled the enclosed chamber.
“Can we track its soul?” Count Owen asked the mage in charge of the room.
“The soul has vanished,” the mage, clad in a moon-patterned robe, traced a complex rune over his chest. His eyes shimmered faintly silver as he scanned the chamber, then shook his head. “But it didn’t dissipate instantly—there’s no lingering spirit here. It’s as if something took the soul away.”
“A soul taken… now that’s interesting,” Owen frowned briefly, then relaxed. “For now, keep any news of this creature under wraps. We don’t want to cause panic. Master Petory, I’ll need you to thoroughly cleanse this place—including the black robe and that half of the amulet. We must ensure no lingering curse from the deep sea remains.”
The mage bowed respectfully. “Yes, my lord.”
Owen nodded, withdrawing his gaze from the stone slab and exhaling softly.
The heavy scent of salt and seaweed seemed to fade slightly.
“Those Stormborn who once betrayed House Dyson appear to have run into trouble this time… How ironic. They turned to the deep sea, but the deep sea doesn’t seem to want them,” the ruler of Mobius Harbor chuckled darkly. “Fitting, really—the fate of cultists.”
“My lord,” Petory spoke hesitantly, “what about our planned sea route explorations…?”
The black-robed creature’s eerie transformation had left a chilling impression on everyone present. Even the most learned mages felt a deep unease facing the unknown powers of the deep sea. The fine scales, webbed hands, and the final dissolution into seawater haunted their minds. Now, with Mobius Harbor actively preparing oceanic expeditions under imperial orders, Petory couldn’t help but voice his concern.
“Proceed as planned,” Owen said firmly, his blue eyes gleaming with fearless resolve. “It’s just a cultist courting doom. That won’t stop His Majesty’s plans to open new sea routes.”
“But the dangers lurking in the deep sea—”
“The ocean has never been safe,” Owen interrupted calmly. “But we can’t stay confined to land just because it’s safer. I will report everything about this creature to His Majesty, but preparations for the expedition must not pause for a moment.”
“Yes, my lord.”
…
Life at sea was rarely calm—mostly violent, always perilous.
In the eastern reaches of the Endless Sea, an unnamed archipelago lay shrouded in storms and magical turbulence.
Relentless thunder and lightning tore through the dark skies, each flash illuminating the raging waves below. A massive cyclone hovered over the islands, forming an inverted funnel of terror. The storm’s clouds, governed by the cyclone, connected the sea’s surface around the islands, creating a ring of tempestuous walls between sky and ocean.
This terrifying spectacle of wind, towering waves, lightning, and magical chaos formed an inescapable cage around the archipelago. From any vantage point on the islands, the endless storm walls loomed like prison walls, crushing hope.
Yet this was the norm across the Endless Sea.
Only the priests who followed the Way of the Storm knew how to navigate safe passages through this violent, seemingly impenetrable blockade.
A ship pitched and rolled through the tempest, weaving deftly through magical eddies and deadly waves as if dancing on a razor’s edge. Magical glimmers flickered around the vessel, massive runes glowing along its sides, propelling it at astonishing speed. Like a bird skimming the sea’s surface, it darted through the most dangerous waters, closing in on the largest island at the archipelago’s heart.
Atop the island’s peak stood a striking temple built from blue stone, pyramid-like and imposing, overlooking the entire sea. Above it floated enormous runes symbolizing storms and gods. Their potent supernatural power held back the tempest, maintaining a fragile calm over much of the archipelago, allowing its inhabitants to survive in this fearsome realm.
The ship slowed as it neared the island’s shore, smoothly entering a man-made harbor and docking alongside the pier.
A crowd awaited—some dressed as simple fishermen, others in black or blue robes adorned with storm runes.
A long gangplank extended from the ship. Several robed storm priests stepped onto it, making their way to the pier.
Behind them marched silent soldiers clad in enchanted leather or chainmail, their faces hidden behind oak masks. These Stormborn warriors carried several stretchers, each tightly bound with rune-etched chains and sturdy ropes, wrapped in black cloth like mummified corpses.
Murmurs rippled through the dockside crowd.
An elderly man in dark gold storm robes, wearing a triple crown of storms and wielding a heavy trident—the Sea King’s scepter—emerged from the throng. As he passed, people respectfully parted, whispering, “His Holiness the Pope has arrived…” “It’s His Majesty Thor…”
Under countless watchful eyes, the Stormborn’s Pope, Thor Stom, ascended the gangplank and approached the priests. His gaze swept over the soldiers bearing the stretchers and the bound bodies.
The sea breeze lifted the black cloth, revealing dense blue-green scales beneath.
The highest-ranking storm priest stepped forward, bowing deeply to the Sea King. “Your Holiness.”
Thor nodded slightly, voice low. “It seems Hurricane Island has returned to the deep sea…”
“Yes, Hurricane Island and its two satellite isles. All our brethren there have been claimed by the deep sea. The seven islands we lost contact with are confirmed fallen,” the priest said heavily, shame etched on his face. “I’m sorry, Your Holiness. I bring no good news.”
“No need for guilt. Human effort has its limits,” Thor said, eyes resting on the stretchers. “So these are our transformed brethren…”
“Strictly speaking, only halfway transformed. Their minds are in chaos, currently sedated with powerful drugs, but their bodies continue to mutate,” the priest explained. “When we first captured them, only a few scales appeared. Now over sixty percent of their skin is covered, and they’ve grown webbing. The worst case has legs mutated into something between sea serpent and fish tail.”
“And still no cause found?”
“Yes. The fallen islands show no signs of attack. We suspected sea witches spreading curses, but none have been sighted nearby—unless their powers have grown enough to curse hundreds across hundreds or thousands of miles, which we find impossible based on what we know.”
The priest paused, expression darkening.
“Also, Your Holiness, we discovered something else…”
“Speak here.”
“I fear some have fully mutated,” the priest lowered his voice. “On the night before we left Hurricane Island, a night watchman reported seeing several figures moving along the shore. They were covered in scales, with fins on their backs and arms, gills, and tails somewhere between sea serpent and fish, sliding across the sand before quickly diving into the sea. Since only one soldier saw this, I hesitate to say if it was nerves or magical interference causing hallucinations.”
Thor glanced again at the stretchers.
“Sounds like a deepening of this terrible mutation.”
“Yes.”
“Those fully transformed fled into the sea without contact or attack?”
“Yes, according to the watchman.”
“I see,” Thor said softly after a moment’s silence. “You’ve all done well. Rest now. We’ll discuss what comes next once you’ve recovered.”
“Thank you for your concern,” the priest bowed, then shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his neck.
He suddenly felt an itch near his skin—as if… scales were beginning to form there.
…
Storms were the Endless Sea’s constant, but safe havens still existed. The colony starship Antavien and the crash site continent of Eos were such places.
Within the crash zone and surrounding waters, storms were rare. Clear skies or gentle rains prevailed most days, and deadly magical turbulence was nearly absent.
This anomaly had long intrigued the sea witches. After extensive study, deep-sea engineers proposed a theory: during Antavien’s crash, it had activated nearly all engines in emergency reverse thrust. The immense energy melted nearly a quarter of Eos’s landmass and pierced part of the continental shelf, permanently altering the seabed near the coast. This likely changed the local magnetic field and, indirectly, the magical environment—creating a vast safe zone amid the Endless Sea’s storms.
For the sea witches, the good weather near Antavien was a boon—they could bask in the sun as much as they liked.
But even the best days brought unexpected visitors.
On the western coast of Eos, at the sea witches’ sunbathing beach in the Antavien crash zone, Petia frowned slightly as she watched the uninvited guests occupying the sand.
These creatures resembled humans but bore unmistakable deep-sea traits. They darted across the beach—or rather, slid on their smooth, scaled tails—completely at ease and gleeful, as if they owned the place.
Petya shifted slightly to the side and whispered to her personal attendant, “Rosalia, what exactly are these… creatures?”
“We haven’t figured it out yet,” Rosalia, the deep-sea attendant, replied. Her long tail swished irritably across the sand—she wasn’t happy, especially since her usual sunbathing spot had been taken over. “They’re way too agitated right now. There’s no way to have a calm conversation with them. But Mistress Hecate says this excitement should fade soon. Once they settle down, we should be able to communicate.”
“The witch says so, huh… Then let’s wait for them to calm down first. No need to provoke any conflicts—we don’t want trouble we can’t handle later. We’ll deal with everything once we establish contact,” Petya said, rubbing her forehead. “By the way, did she mention what we should call them? They must have some kind of species name or code, right?”
“We couldn’t find any matching names in the existing databases,” Rosalia said, her tail now furiously digging little holes in the sand. She was especially annoyed because the creature occupying her sunbathing spot had curled up and was already dozing off there. But she dared not show her frustration in front of the queen. “So Mistress Hecate gave them a name herself…”
“Oh? What is it?”
“She calls them ‘Naga.’”
(Oh, wow!)
(End of chapter)