Chapter 871: The Ocean

The chaotic torrents of magical energy and towering waves churned like a vast, monstrous forest, twisting and thrashing across a wide stretch of sea. Yet even a forest has its edges. Through the curtain woven from raging waves and turbulent energy currents, a ship—shrouded in a powerful protective shield—broke free. It was lifted suddenly by a rising ocean current, then staggered and crashed across the restless surface before finally reaching a calmer stretch of water.

Brilliant sunlight and a gentle sea breeze gathered around, welcoming this challenger who had braved countless perils.

A sailor emerged from his hiding place and cast a flight spell to reach the upper deck. He gazed toward the stern, watching a wall of dark gray clouds rapidly recede from view. The radiant sunlight sparkled on the sea surrounding the Courage, creating a stark contrast—as if two different worlds lay side by side.

“…Goddess of Magic…” the sailor murmured, “This is far more terrifying than any magical turbulence I’ve seen in the Mage Tower…”

“We need to recalibrate our course,” another sailor joined him on deck, looking up at the clear sky. Suddenly, faint blue rings of light appeared before his eyes, layered like lenses, through which the stars twinkled. After a moment, he frowned. “Tch… we’ve definitely drifted off course, but not by too much.”

Inside the Courage’s command room, a mage floated midair, monitoring the controls. He looked to Count Owen Dyson. “Captain, we’re recalibrating the heading.”

Owen nodded. “Get us back on the right course as soon as possible. The chaotic currents on this ocean could reappear at any moment. The longer we linger here, the greater the danger.”

Powerful magical energy pulsed through the ship’s compartments. The intricate runes etched throughout the vessel and the crew stationed at their posts were operating at peak efficiency. Many devices had been damaged—experimental arcane engines had suffered severe malfunctions during the storm. Now, this advanced exploration ship was almost entirely reliant on manpower to sail. Fortunately, the ship’s main amplification runes remained intact, and the sturdy anti-magic hull had protected the spellcasters during the magical turbulence. The Courage was still in good enough shape to continue its mission—this was the only piece of good news amid all the setbacks.

“We need to reassess these ‘chaotic currents’ in the ocean,” Owen began, reflecting on the voyage now that the immediate danger had passed. He turned to the first mate, his tone grave. “It’s not just a simple mix of wind, waves, and magical turbulence. The most dangerous part is how it appeared without any warning.”

“We built a ‘Storm Warning Astrolabe’ modeled after the relics of the Storm Church,” the first mate said, shaking his head. “But it didn’t work as expected—at least, not reliably. It went haywire after the Courage was caught in the storm, but it only added to the confusion.”

The Storm Warning Astrolabe…

Owen glanced toward a long table near the porthole. Fixed at the center of a complex rune circle sat a sophisticated magical device. It consisted of a core sphere surrounded by multiple orbiting rings and smaller spheres, resembling the celestial globes used by astrologers to chart the stars. But instead of representing the earth, the core shimmered with a deep blue glow like ocean water.

This was a reconstructed artifact of the Storm Church, pieced together from ancient relics and technical documents. Seven centuries ago, storm priests used such instruments to predict changes at sea and find safe routes. Since the Typhon Empire had once been the Storm Church’s headquarters, and the Dyson family maintained close ties with the order, Mobius Harbor preserved many related technical records. After considerable effort and resources, imperial scholars had successfully restored this device. Yet during this voyage, its performance was disappointing.

“The lab environment is nothing like the real ocean,” a scholar aboard sighed softly. “The sea is far more complex than we imagined. And this device… clearly needs the cooperation of storm divine magic to function properly. Our mages can’t directly control divine artifacts. Where are we supposed to find a sane storm priest in this age?”

Owen said nothing, staring at the magical projection of the ship’s exterior. His voice was low. “Just to break through the first storm zone near the coast, the Courage was pushed to its limits. Relying on shields and anti-magic hulls to force our way through the storm is unfeasible—at least for now. The only safe method is to find a secure route through the storm.”

“But safe routes shift constantly,” the scholar added. “The farther out to sea we go, the more complex the chaotic currents become, and the harder it is to predict safe paths. We currently lack effective observation or forecasting tools.”

“Then we keep working in that direction,” Owen said firmly. “Though the Storm Warning Astrolabe didn’t perform as hoped, it did activate once we entered the storm zone. That means the Storm Church’s technology isn’t completely beyond our grasp. The Cecilian people managed to turn druidic alchemy into industrial tech—there’s no reason the Typhon Empire can’t do something similar.”

The scholar’s expression grew serious. “…You’re right, Captain.”

Owen exhaled softly and turned to the mage monitoring the ship’s systems. “What’s the status of the arcane engines?”

“The flooding and elemental corrosion in the engine room have been contained,” the rune-encircled mage replied immediately. “The repair crew is assessing the damage. The core seems intact, but the transmission was jammed during the rough ride. If we can dock in a safe harbor, we have a chance to fix it.”

“Repair the engines as much as possible,” Owen ordered. “This ship needs engine power. The sailors must conserve their strength for the dangers on the surface.”

“If only we could get our hands on Cecilian engine technology…” the first mate sighed. “I hear they’ve built engines that run steadily on large ships and know how to protect machines from harsh elemental conditions…”

“They build riverboats, not ocean vessels,” Owen shook his head. “Their engine tech is more advanced, sure—after all, arcane machinery originated with them. But they won’t hand over the good stuff to the Typhon Empire out of kindness.”

Just then, the mage watching outside suddenly called out, “Captain! Land spotted ahead!”

“Bring me the sea chart!” Owen commanded the first mate.

The first mate quickly retrieved a newly drawn sea chart, though most of its details came from centuries-old records. Former Typhon coastal colonies were marked among a web of lines, and a flickering red line traced a path across the map. At its end floated a vivid magical projection of the Courage itself.

The ship’s onboard astrologer, working with the vessel’s star-charting runes, confirmed their position at sea. The mage controlling the ship’s core projected this data onto the bridge, where the specially enchanted sea chart marked the Courage’s location on the pale yellow parchment. One of Owen’s mission objectives was to verify whether the centuries-old map annotations still held true and to test this new method of maritime navigation.

Given the risks, the Courage had not ventured far from the mainland. Their target island was the closest colonial outpost to Typhon’s homeland. Yet even here, nearshore, the ocean had proven perilous.

Owen’s gaze moved slowly over the glowing parchment. The tiny ship swayed gently between ancient coordinates, perfectly mirroring the Courage’s current state. Ahead, the outline of an island began to emerge.

“If our course is correct…” the nobleman tapped the table lightly, excitement mingling with gravity in his voice, “that’s Tasos Island. Territory we once had to abandon…”

“That’s our destination,” the first mate said. “After the Age of Sail ended, the Children of the Storm took control of the island and the surrounding coral reefs…”

“Those dark cultists have likely moved further offshore, into the deep eastern ocean,” Owen shook his head. “But perhaps some traces remain on Tasos Island… that could help us understand what those mad cultists have endured all these years.”

He raised his head and gave a loud order:

“Tell the sailors to push harder—full speed ahead for Tasos Island! The waters near the island are safe. We can repair the engines and the anti-magic hull there!”

…

Far from the Loren Continent, deep in the open ocean, a vast archipelago lay quietly beneath the waves and breeze.

On the largest island, a human settlement basked in sunlight. Buildings rose and fell in orderly tiers, with port facilities, a lighthouse, a clock tower, and at the center, a pyramid-shaped grand temple standing watch over them all.

Yet this once-thriving community was now shrouded in an eerie silence—

The streets were deserted, the port unattended, the clock tower and lighthouse standing lonely in the sea breeze. Fallen leaves littered the temple’s approach, untouched for days.

Between the lifeless alleys, only a few frightened, dazed eyes flickered briefly from the doorways of the few remaining inhabited houses. The island’s last residents hid within their homes, which offered little comfort, as if awaiting an impending apocalypse, the final reckoning of fate.

A gust of sea wind swept through the streets, stirring scattered papers at a corner. These peculiar sheets, emitting a faint scent of seaweed and made from an unusual material, fluttered and drifted, some sticking to nearby walls.

Written on them in a mix of common human letters and a strange, wave-like alien script were fragments of messages, barely legible beneath grime:

“…Authoritative scholars have studied the mutations; they are harmless. Please do not panic…”

“The Queen has decided to accept mutated humans. We will help you through this crisis…”

“Do not take rash actions. The deep sea is actually friendly…”

“Seaside homes near sunny beaches available for rent or sale. The first hundred new Naga registrants enjoy zero down payment…”

“Limited resident permits available for Antavien City…”

“…Deep Trench City urgently hiring construction workers. The Queen promises free vocational training and job placement for deep-diving promotions. High-frequency resonance excavator technology fully taught and assigned…”

These things are invitations from the sirens—temptations from the deep sea, eerie whispers from those indescribable ancient ocean realms.

Starting a month ago, the sirens began scattering these “letters” across the entire archipelago using some kind of flying device. And now, they wait openly near the islands, patiently watching for the last humans to transform into those terrifying deep-sea creatures.

At first, the Children of the Storm still had the strength to clear away the leaflets and soothe the frightened hearts. But now, there isn’t a single healthy resident left to stand against it. Instead, more and more people have fully transformed and left the islands—already making up more than half of the former population.

Those who remain are barely clinging to life, caught in the slow, relentless erosion of the deep sea’s corruption.

Beneath the calm surface at the island’s edge, shadowy figures glide swiftly through the water, weaving between the shifting patterns of sunlight.

The sirens are waiting.

Patiently.

(End of chapter)