Chapter 403 - 389: Fishing in Troubled Waters (Part 2)

Chapter 403: Chapter 389: Fishing in Troubled Waters (Part 2)

He stopped himself in time, not mentioning that disastrous defeat.

"The spoils are yours, aside from the mission items. But I have one bottom line."

Velin held up one finger.

"Leave no survivors. I want anyone who sees this flag to be unable to even describe what you look like. They will only be able to guess in terror what’s watching them from the depths of the sea."

The dark yellow light in Korsh’s eyes flared.

"My lord, you truly understand us." Korsh’s voice was low. "We mine just to survive, but creating fear... that is our nature."

"One more thing."

Velin interrupted his excitement.

"Remember, Korsh. This time, you’re not fighting for some ethereal ’glory.’"

He took a step closer, staring at Korsh.

"You are protecting the territory that feeds you. Protecting the fresh meat in your mess hall, protecting the peaceful sleep in your barracks. If the White Tower Territory falls, Marquis Hector’s men won’t pay you. They’ll just flay you, pull out your tendons, and turn you into specimens. Understand?"

Korsh froze for a moment, then his expression turned solemn.

’He remembered the words he had shouted to his people in the mud pit that night.’

’Yes, nothing is more important than surviving and eating.’

"For fresh meat." Korsh reined in his wild demeanor, straightened his back, and performed the highest military salute of the Multi-Armed Race, crossing his four arms over his chest and striking his own carapace with a heavy THUD.

"For the White Tower Territory."

"Go now." Velin waved his hand. "Muddle the waters."

...

「Three days later.」

The southern sea of the Duchy. The night was as black as ink.

The sea was as calm as a vast bolt of black silk, its tranquility broken only by the occasional leap of a flying fish.

The Divine Grace Redemption was a three-masted Holy Ship coated in brilliant white paint. Its sails bore a giant golden sun emblem, signifying its affiliation with the Holy Vault Administration, which operated under the Empire’s College of Cardinals. It was currently laden with "holy grain" and medicinal herbs collected from the Empire’s heartland, sailing toward the northern coast of the Duchy.

Its captain, Buck, was a deacon dressed in deep red robes. He stood on the sterncastle, fiddling with a string of expensive Ruby prayer beads, his eyes radiating an air of haughty arrogance.

"Thank the Lord for His mercy in sending this plague and blockade." A sneer touched the corner of Buck’s mouth. "If not for this, how else would those false believers from the coastal lands obediently empty their coffers to beg for our charity?"

His first mate, a fanatical ascetic, chimed in with a sycophantic smile. "You are right, Deacon Buck. I hear those heretics in Gray Bay are willing to trade even their family heirlooms for food just to survive. This shipment of rye should net us at least a twenty-fold profit."

"We are purifying their sins." Buck kissed the beads in his hand, his eyes glinting with greed. "Confiscating their wealth for the Church is how we save their fallen souls. Remember, fleece them for all they’re worth. It is the Lord’s will, and the best ’redemption’ for these false believers."

Suddenly, the ship gave a violent shudder.

It wasn’t the sharp impact of hitting a reef, but a muffled thud, as if some colossal beast had rammed it hard from below.

"What happened?" The Holy Wine in Buck’s hand sloshed onto his robes. He scowled, his voice laced with unquestionable authority and irritation. "Helmsman, has the devil blinded you? Why have you disturbed the Holy Ship’s peace?"

"Deacon! The helm is stuck!" the helmsman’s voice trembled with fear of the unknown. "The ship... it’s turning on its own! As if an evil spirit is controlling it!"

"Absurd!"

Before Buck could finish his reprimand, the ship began to list violently.

Then, a blood-curdling sound arose.

It was the screech of sharp blades slicing through wood, followed by the wet slap of flesh hitting the deck.

"Something’s down there!"

A church Knight leaned over the railing to look down. The next second, a thick tentacle lashed out from the darkness like a whip and coiled straight around his neck.

SNAP.

The crisp sound of breaking bone was piercing in the night wind. The Knight was dragged directly into the black sea before he could even utter a martyr’s prayer.

"Heretics are boarding! Defend! Defend!"

The alarm bell rang frantically, accompanied by the terrified screams of the sailors.

But this noise was soon drowned out by another.

Hundreds of dark figures vaulted over the railings from all sides simultaneously. They moved with an agility that wasn’t human, their four arms brandishing scimitars and harpoons that glinted coldly in the moonlight.

The slaughter began.

This wasn’t a battle. It was a one-sided butchery.

The Mercenaries of the merchant ship’s guard and the church Knights were pinned to the deck by javelins that flew from nowhere before they could even draw their swords.

Korsh stood at the bow, a scimitar in one of his hands—he still found the weapon comfortable to use.

He didn’t even make a move, merely watched as his subordinates reaped lives like they were harvesting seaweed.

’Too slow,’ he murmured to himself. ’The boss said to create panic, not noise.’

He raised one hand and made a downward chopping gesture.

The attack of the Multi-Armed Race Warriors instantly became swift and silent. The previous battle cries vanished, replaced only by the muffled thud of blades sinking into flesh and the thump of bodies hitting the deck.

Deacon Buck hid behind the door of the sterncastle’s confessional, peering through a crack at the scene. All his usual dignity was gone, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind.

’What are these things? Demons from the abyss? Or is this Divine Punishment?’

Just as he tried to slip out the back door to launch a lifeboat, a massive shadow fell over him.

Buck stiffly raised his head.

By the faint moonlight, he saw a large, smooth, dark blue face, its two eyes staring at him with great interest.

"May... may the light shine upon you..." Buck instinctively tried to raise a cross to exorcise the creature, but his hands trembled too much to hold it. "What... what manner of demon are you..."

"Good evening, Captain."

Korsh greeted him in his not-yet-fluent Common Tongue.

"I am a deacon of the Church... I am a servant of God..." Buck’s voice grew shrill and off-key from extreme terror as he tried to use his worldly authority as a final shield. "Do you want a ransom? There’s gold from the Holy Vault in the cargo hold... it’s an offering for..."

"Shhh."

Korsh raised a finger—a small piece of shredded flesh still clinging to it—and pressed it against Buck’s lips, cutting off his incoherent prayer.

"We don’t want money. We only want fear."

Korsh raised a flag with another hand, the one Velin had given him.

"Remember this symbol? Oh, wait, the boss said no survivors, so it doesn’t matter if you remember it or not."

Korsh thought about it seriously for a moment.

"In that case, please return to the void, Deacon. Die horribly. That way, when people fish you out later, they’ll be filled with a healthy respect for this sea."

...

「Half an hour later.」

The sea was calm once more.

The Divine Grace Redemption had vanished, leaving only a massive whirlpool slowly subsiding.

Some splintered planks and a few deliberately-placed empty barrels bobbed on the surface. A twisted skull was painted on the barrels in fresh blood—the debut of the "Deep Sea Fangs."

And fifty meters below the surface.

A giant squid—Leviathan One—was suspended silently in the deep.

The hatch on its belly was wide open, and the Multi-Armed Race Warriors, fresh from their slaughter, were dragging heavy chests of spoils back inside.

Korsh was the last to swim through the hatch.

He glanced back at the faint moonlight above and released a stream of bubbles.

’First job, done.’

The hatch slowly closed. The enormous metal beast swished its tail fins, stirring the deep-sea currents, and slid silently into the darkness in search of its next prey.

Meanwhile, on the surface, the barrel painted with the bloody skull drifted with the waves, bumping, again and again, against a floating nameplate from the ship.