Chapter 405 - 391: Deep Sea Hunt (Part 2)

Chapter 405: Chapter 391: Deep Sea Hunt (Part 2)

The sailors on deck didn’t even have time to scream before a terrifying force from beneath their feet launched them into the air. Like a handful of beans scattered by a mischievous child, they flailed wildly as they tumbled through the smoke and dust.

The alchemy cannons snapped their mooring ropes and careened across the tilting deck, pulverizing every barrel and crate in their path.

The mainmast let out a mournful groan, unable to bear the strain. As the ship’s hull collapsed in the middle, the entire mast and its massive sail came crashing down, covering the chaotic crowd like a shroud.

Carlson felt the deck vanish from beneath his feet, the solid ground he stood on just a moment ago ceasing to exist. Before he could even activate the combat aura shield he was so proud of, he was sent hurtling toward the sea along with the splintered wreckage of the ship.

"Bastards!"

Carlson roared. Mid-air, he drew his longsword, preparing to unleash a brilliant wave of Sword Qi to sweep his surroundings—he had to force the enemy out!

However, what awaited him was not an enemy, but a net.

A net of death woven from high-voltage electricity.

"BZZZZT—!"

The Storm Snare, which had been lying in wait, activated instantly. Blue-purple serpents of lightning danced wildly across the water’s surface, naturally drawn to the metal-encased Carlson.

Carlson’s protective combat aura lasted for a mere half-second before shattering. The current bored through his armor, paralyzing every muscle in his body.

The wave of Sword Qi, only halfway unleashed, was sent veering off course by the spasm in his arm, slicing the sinking bow of his own ship in two.

"Guh..."

Before the Level 5 Knight could even get out a full-throated curse, the electricity made his eyes roll back in his head. He plunged into the water, stiff as a board.

The moment he hit the water, several thick tentacles emerged from the depths, dragging him down into the endless, dark abyss.

From beginning to end, he never even saw his enemy’s shadow. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

’All that martial skill, completely useless.’

...

「Meanwhile, on the supply ship.」

The captain was trembling, his hands clamped tightly on the ship’s wheel. He had heard the commotion, but he couldn’t see a thing—only the massive CRASH of the flagship sinking and Carlson’s final, frustrated roar.

"Damn it! What in the hell was that thing!"

There was no answer.

Suddenly.

A slimy tentacle covered in fine suckers shot out from the mist and wrapped around his throat.

"CRACK."

The sound of his neck snapping was crisp and clear.

Korsh’s figure materialized in the fog, his eyes fixed on the tangible aura of curses emanating from deep within the ship’s cabin.

"Search!"

The Multi-Armed Race warriors, like a troop of silent Ghosts, swiftly cleared the grunts on the ship.

In less than five minutes, the entire supply ship had been cleaned out.

"Commander! The search is complete!"

An adjutant hurried out of the cargo hold, his face pale. He clutched a black lead canister painted with a skull and warning runes. Even through the thick layer of lead, he could feel the sickening fluctuations from within.

"Such a strong curse reaction... My skin stings just being near it." The adjutant swallowed hard. "There are thirty crates of this stuff in the lower hold. All of it."

"Confirmed. It’s the ’plague ingredients,’ without a doubt."

Korsh glanced at the black canister, a flicker of fear in his eyes. If these thirty crates had been unleashed in the White Tower Territory, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

"Extract a sample. Destroy the rest."

Korsh glanced at his pocket watch and gave the calm order.

"Set the alchemical explosives with a three-minute delay. We can’t let this stuff exist. It must be blown to bits and sunk to the bottom of the sea. All hands, withdraw!"

The warriors carried out the order with swift, synchronized movements. They attached the explosives to the structural points of the keel, then, dragging the sample case, they slipped silently over the ship’s railing and into the deep sea.

"BOOM—!"

While the last escort ship was still running around like a headless chicken, the supply ship was blown to smithereens in a brilliant flash of light. The sinful plague ingredients, their mission to ravage the Duchy now canceled, were left to torment the fish and shrimp of the deep sea.

The fog dissipated.

The sea was empty, save for a few splintered planks and a deep-sea vortex that was slowly closing beneath the surface.

...

「One week later.」

「Black Hand Merchants’ Guild.」

"SMASH!"

An exquisite bone china teacup shattered against the wall, splashing tea everywhere.

Hector stood by the window, his chest heaving. His usually elegant and composed face was now so dark it looked like storm clouds were about to burst.

In the corner of the room, two Mages in tattered robes lay slumped on stretchers. Their bodies were charred black, their skin still twitching with the residual patterns of electrocution. They were the only two survivors. The moment the ship’s hold exploded, they had burned their own life force to cast "Phase Shift" and "Water Spirit’s Cocoon," barely managing to escape the death trap. They had then drifted back to shore on the ocean currents.

"You’re telling me... it’s all gone?" Hector’s voice was soft, yet utterly chilling. "All of the ’stock solution’—thirty entire crates—is gone?"

"Y-yes, my lord." One of the Mages coughed weakly, spitting up bloody foam. "The enemy... they didn’t even give us time to react. That powerful lightning magic... Lord Carlson was... instantly..."

"I don’t care how that useless oaf Carlson died!" Hector whirled around, his roar echoing through the room. "I care about my inventory! That was the last batch! Do you have any idea what it cost me to get it out of that place?!"

He paced the room anxiously.

Without that batch of high-concentration curse stock to act as a "catalyst," his plans in the Duchy would stall. Once the plague’s intensity dropped, those damned peasants would have a chance to catch their breath.

’I have to restock... immediately! The plague’s chain must not be broken!’

Hector strode to his desk, snatched a quill, and began to write furiously, the nib scratching loudly against the parchment. He penned an order and stamped it with a heavy seal.

"Relay this to the Black Wing Knight Order." He tossed the order to his steward, his eyes glinting with the ferocity of a cornered beast. "Have them select their three strongest Griffins, equip them with the specially made lead-sealed canisters, and fly to the rendezvous point on the Empire’s border at full speed. I’m not waiting for the next shipment. I want them to fly the ’stock solution’ back to me directly!"

The steward, who had been listening with a mounting sense of dread, turned deathly pale. "My lord, that’s high-concentration curse stock! Even with lead canisters and Divine Arts to shield it, the negative energy will still corrode living organisms... If Griffins and Knights carry it for thousands of miles, man and Magical Beast alike will die in agony within a month!"

"Then let them die at the finish line!" Hector shot him a cold glance. "As long as they bring back the stock solution, their lives will have been a bargain."

After dealing with the supply issue, Hector walked back over to the two surviving Mages.

’This method... an instant kill on a Level 5 Knight, an explosion that bypassed magic shields, and they left no one alive...’ Hector murmured to himself, his fingers unconsciously stroking the ring on his thumb.

His gaze grew colder, finally settling on the map of the Duchy hanging on the wall. His eyes locked onto the position of the Royal Capital.

’Which old fossil was behind this...?’

Hector sneered. "It seems our Royal Faction has finally decided they can’t sit still any longer. They don’t dare declare war openly, so they resort to these dirty tricks of cutting off my supplies. Trying to trap me in the Black Stone Mountain Range?"

He walked back to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the busy, yet fragile, port below.

His territory—Limborg Province—though known as the "Iron Wall," was in an extremely peculiar geographical position.

It was a classic example of a land encircled by high mountains.

The towering Black Stone Mountain Range acted as a natural black wall, isolating Limborg Province from the outside world. Overland transport was a nightmare. Caravans had to cross eighteen treacherous passes. Not only was it incredibly time-consuming, but the roads were also narrow and rugged, making it impossible for slightly larger supply wagons to pass through.

A blizzard or a rockslide could cut off the land route for months.

For Hector, who desperately needed a massive throughput of supplies, relying on land transport was like having a thin rope tied around his neck; it simply couldn’t supply enough blood.

The only lifeline was the Giant Snake River, which cut through the mountains and flowed directly into the sea.

The wide waterway allowed cargo ships of a thousand tons to reach the heart of his territory. It was the fastest, most efficient, and cheapest method of transport.

"Trying to cut my main artery?" Hector’s fist slammed down on the windowsill. "In your dreams!"

He turned around, his fury replaced by grim determination.

"Listen up. Change of strategy."

"From this day forward, no single ship is to set sail. All merchant vessels will assemble in the port and travel together in a large, unified convoy."

The steward hesitated before speaking up. "My lord, if we do that, we’ll need a great deal of protection. Ordinary Mercenaries would just be cannon fodder against an attack of that level."

"Then mobilize the regular army," Hector said, his voice like ice.

"But... our available mobile forces..."

"Recall the Obsidian Knight Order."

The steward’s head snapped up, his face a mask of terror. "My lord! That’s our trump card for suppressing rebellions inland and intimidating the neighboring lords! If we move them to sea for escort duty, the northern defensive line, and the wretches within our own territory..."

"Are you questioning me?"

Hector’s voice was very soft. He tilted his head slightly, his gray eyes staring at the steward without a shred of emotion, as if looking at a corpse about to be placed on a dissection table.

A chill shot up the steward’s spine and burst out the top of his head. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground with a THUD, pressing his forehead hard against the carpet as cold sweat soaked his back. "I wouldn’t dare! Your servant wouldn’t dare!"

"Hmph." Hector looked away. "So what if I empty out the Knight Order? The Church’s Holy Water has already been distributed to every village. Those wretches who drank it are like spineless dogs. What brains do they have left to rebel with?"

He walked to the map, his finger tracing the area around his territory, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

"As for the northern defenses... Hmph, the lords around here are all lapdogs of the Imperial Faction, eager to curry my favor. As long as the sea route is open and support from the Empire flows in endlessly, this place is an iron fortress. With the heartland secure, you want me to keep my ace troops at home to collect a pension?"

Hector spun around, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Since the Royal Faction wants to play games with me in the water, then I’ll play with them until the very end."

"Have the entire Obsidian Knight Order refit with heavy naval boarding gear. Shove everyone—the Mage Corps, the heavy crossbowmen—into the convoy."

Hector looked out the window at the seemingly calm, yet turbulent, blue sea. Murderous intent filled his eyes.

"I will turn this waterway into a great wall of steel that would break the teeth of the Royal Fleet itself if it dared to come."