Ashes Of Deep Sea-Chapter 308 - 312 An Invitation from an Old Father

Chapter 308: Chapter 312: An Invitation from an Old Father Chapter 308 -312: An Invitation from an Old Father No one understood the boundary between life and death better than Tyrion and his undead sailors.

The death god, Bartok, had a door that anchored the boundary between life and death; in short, as long as the soul of the living passed through that door, it would arrive in the world of the dead, and that door was one-way—in other words, unless one passed through that door, whether it was the brief revival of a corpse or the sustained curse of the undead, it wasn’t considered true “resurrection.”

“Many people in the world confuse ‘undead’ with ‘dead,’ even thinking the former are taking advantage of a loophole in the door of the death god,” Tyrion turned around, looked at the noisy sailors in the square, and said calmly, “But in fact, they are just souls rejected by that door due to corruption, thus stuck at the border between life and death. If we go by the strict definitions of the Death Church, ‘undead’ actually belongs to the world of the living.”

Duncan didn’t speak for a moment, instead recalling his own experiences in that graveyard.

Awakening in the coffin, being called a “Restless One” by the caretaker of the graveyard; a group of heretics coming to steal the body, apparently anticipating that there would be movements from the corpse; the shell suddenly disintegrating on its own, as if “it had reached some sort of limit”…

“Frost may not have witnessed true dead coming back to life, but it’s quite likely that people have reportedly seen the deceased within the city, and these events are very possibly related to a group of heretics,” Duncan said slowly after pondering for a while, “It’s just hard to say how much they’ve infiltrated, and what exactly they intend to do.”

“Heretics?” Tyrion was surprised, he hadn’t expected this matter to be connected to heretics in such a way, “How can you be sure it’s related to them?”

“They attempted to take a body from the City-State graveyard, coming prepared, even anticipating movements from the corpse—though the actual situation turned out to be a bit different than expected.”

Tyrion listened in astonishment, then looked at his father with some suspicion: “How… do you know these details? And with such precision…”

“That corpse was me.”

Tyrion: “…Ah?”

“Just a late-night stroll, happened upon a Body Snatcher,” Duncan explained without going into detail, “That’s not important. What is critical is whether these ‘return of the dead’ incidents have something to do with the ‘deep sea’ below Frost.”

“‘Return of the dead’ related to the ‘deep sea’?” Tyrion frowned, he had never put those two things together, and his father’s sudden mention of it now puzzled him, “Why do you say that? How are these two things connected…”

“It’s quite simple. The shell I had ‘borrowed’ exhibited a strange disintegration phenomenon at the end, and the state it showed during the disintegration was very similar to the ‘Replicas’ from the Subspace plan you described.”

“The state during disintegration?” Tyrion’s voice was filled with surprise, followed by confusion, “But… the Replicas from the Subspace project come from below a thousand meters deep at sea, how could the dead from the City-State be related to that…”

He paused, his expression turning complex and solemn. After a moment, he looked up: “Are you saying that this ‘Replication’ power has spread within the City-State, and those heretics you mentioned are the promoters? But the heretics shouldn’t have anything to do with the deep sea either…”

Listening to Tyrion’s muttering, Duncan suddenly remembered something else.

In the deepest part of the Obsidian, within the mouth of “Captain Christo,” that small piece of flesh containing the aura of The Saint!

If that Ghost Ship really came from the deep sea below Frost, if that Captain Christo (regardless of whether he was a Replica or the original) had truly had contact with The Saint… then the heretics within the City-State were related to the deep sea!

Tyrion looked curiously at the figure within the ice: “Father, what are you thinking about?”

“How much do you know about The Saint? About the heretics?” Duncan suddenly asked, lifting his head, “How much have you dealt with them?”

“Not much interaction—the heretics might not be as elusive as the Doomsday Preachers, but they do belong to a group that operates with discretion and mysterious movements. They are obsessed with researching demonic knowledge and ‘purify’ themselves through it, usually not mingling with outsiders.”

Tyrion shook his head, then continued: “As for The Saint… I’ve heard that His status is equivalent to a deity, yet without the authority of one. Described in a few sources, He is a massive flesh organism crawling in the deepest parts of the Abstruse Domain, guarding a great rift leading to Subspace with countless tentacles. There are also claims that He is actually stuck in that rift, that some powerful force has sealed Him there…

“These records are always obscure and bizarre because mortal beings of the mundane world hardly have any means to observe the situation in the Abstruse Domain. All studies on this subject are built on indirect observation of the Spirit Realm’s projection and the soul interrogation of some heretics.”

Upon saying this, Tyrion could not help but ask out of curiosity: “Why do you suddenly bring up The Saint?”

“In the deepest part of the Obsidian, I found a small piece of flesh that might very well be from The Saint.”

Tyrion: “…?”

His shock tonight had clearly surpassed that of seeing the twelve Bardic dancers on stage earlier alongside his elderly father.

“I know you don’t believe it, but it’s true,” Duncan could see the disbelief on Tyrion’s face, “I have a Profound Demon here that can help verify it.”

Tyrion’s tone was still somewhat puzzled: “Profound Demons? To help verify?”

“An Abyssal Hound—you’ve seen it,” Duncan mentioned offhandedly, “Though you only saw it for an instant.”

Tyrion paused, as if remembering something, then subconsciously touched his forehead.

Duncan nodded: “Yes, that’s the one.”

Tyrion didn’t know what to say anymore.

“`

Duncan then lifted his gaze, looking past Tyrion’s shoulder towards the direction of the square.

After several rounds of dancing, even the dancers who had taken the potion in advance should rest.

“The conversation should come to an end,” Duncan suddenly said, “this matter seems more complicated than we both imagined, and it is difficult to reach any conclusions through such a conversation behind a layer of mirror.”

“You mean…”

“I will send a messenger, who will take you to the Homeloss, where we can talk more conveniently about some matters and allow you to see for yourself what I have brought out from the depths of the Obsidian.”

Go to the Homeloss?!

Even though it was a calmly phrased invitation, Tyrion couldn’t help but feel a sudden chill and tension.

He struggled to control his facial expressions, but the instantaneous reaction in his eyes still caught Duncan’s attention.

“If you do not wish to, I can come directly,” the voice from the frosty mirror spoke indifferently, “but that would require you to make some preparations with your subordinates first.”

Tyrion’s expression tightened somewhat.

To go to the Homeloss himself, or to let the Homeloss sail into the Mist Fleet’s base?

Either option seemed to challenge the achievements of one’s life.

However, after a brief deliberation, he made a decision with reason.

“Send the messenger please, it’s even more convenient for me to go over.”

Tyrion looked calmly at his father in the frosty mirror.

Reason told him that if his father really had regained his humanity, then even the Homeloss returning from the subspace… theoretically was not a forbidding dangerous place.

What’s there not to go to?

If he were to go, he only needed to make some psychological preparations; but if the Homeloss were to sail directly into the home port, then not only he would need to prepare psychologically.

It’s just a matter of fighting a bit of nervous instinct.

“That’s good,” Duncan nodded, seeming pleased with Tyrion’s response. He then stepped slightly back, and his figure quickly dimmed and blurred in the frosty mirror, “I will leave first, there is still much to do. I will notify you before the messenger departs.”

Tyrion bowed slightly in front of the mirror, which was gradually returning to normal, and only straightened up as the last flicker of green flame disappeared.

He then collected himself and turned to walk towards the square.

In the square, the hubbub of the late night had not subsided; the undead sailors were either feasting and drinking, talking and laughing wantonly, and some of the cruder folk near the stage were attempting to whistle at the dancers on stage—only producing comical noises due to leaks in their mouth or throat.

On the stage, the dancers had finished their performance and stood in a line under the direction of the lead, appearing to await the next command to disperse; the chilly wind blew through the gaps between the bonfires and the windbreaks, and a few of the girls seemed to shiver, while a living expression started to emerge in their numb and sluggish eyes.

The effects of the alchemical elixir were about to end, and normal emotions would return to their minds.

A couple of the girls’ faces gradually showed a bit of curiosity, but for most, what emerged in their eyes was fear.

The square filled with oddly shaped undead—even with prior psychological preparation, it was not a scene that ordinary people could easily withstand.

First mate Aiden ran out. He had been watching the movements on the stage the whole time and now headed straight to the highest point in the square, shouting loudly at the still noisy sailors with his hoarse voice: “Disperse, disperse! No more dancing! The most frightening among you cover your faces, those missing arms and legs crawl under the tables; the girls are leaving—clear the path beside the stage… Willem! You crawl under the table! If I see that face of yours, it scares the daylight out of me!”

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The sailors on the square roared in response, covering their faces, hiding away, making a noisy, laughing mess; the dance troupe leader on the stage first looked bewildered at this scene, then realized what was happening and hurriedly, awkwardly bowed to Aiden, quickly leading the girls down from the stage.

The girls with nervous and fearful expressions tried hard to hide behind others, hastening toward the temporary lodging arranged for them.

Two very bold girls deliberately paused, blinking curiously at the undead on the square.

One girl looked up at Aiden as she passed by, said something with a giggly smile, making the first mate so embarrassed that he nearly fell off the high platform.

The dancers from Cold Harbor left the scene.

Finally, Aiden noticed Tyrion, who had arrived in the square.