Chapter 135: Into the North [1]

The heavy, unnatural gloom of the back alley seemed to pulse with a low, oppressive resonance as the distorted voice lingered in the damp air.

The shadows clinging to the red-brick walls continued to writhe and coil, defying the natural laws of light and geometry.

“Oman City, huh?” the distorted voice echoed out from the darkness, the tone carrying a strange, calculating weight.

A momentary pause stretched across the alleyway before the voice resumed, musing softly to itself, “I genuinely wonder what business the seventh successor could possibly have in a lawless sinkhole like Oman City… The boy is moving faster and pulling strings far beyond what the intelligence reports predicted.”

“And let’s not forget about his involvement with Black Winter..” the voice added.

Silence reigned within the secluded alley for nearly a full minute, broken only by the distant, muffled sounds of the bustling port market outside.

The black-skinned man adjusted the brim of his straw hat, his dark eyes fixed steadily on the fluctuating shadow before him.

He broke the quiet, his voice smooth and measured. “Shall I disrupt his journey? I can easily manufacture a maritime delay, sabotage the ship engine source, or throw a wrench into his passage to the Northern Continent if his movements begin to compromise our operational timeline.”

Almost instantly, the distorted voice rejected the suggestion with sharp, absolute finality.

“No. Do not touch him,” the voice commanded, ringing out with cold authority.

“The primary directive of Red Angel is absolute adherence to the will of the Crimson Duke. And the Crimson Duke’s explicit orders are clear: all seven successors are to be observed from a safe, passive distance, not interfered with.”

The voice shifted slightly, adopting a more administrative tone. “For now, you are to log this movement and prepare a formal brief to be relayed directly to the Supreme Angel. But heed my warning: under no circumstances are you to expose the existence or surveillance capabilities of Red Angel to the target. The seventh successor must remain completely ignorant of our eyes upon him. There is zero need for him to start treating us with caution or suspicion at this early stage of his ascent.”

A brief rustling sound emanated from the shifting shadows as if the unseen speaker were shuffling through invisible documents.

“Tell me,” the distorted voice continued, “will you actually be boarding the same vessel and traveling alongside the seventh successor across the Northern Ire Sea?”

The black-skinned man offered a calm, affirmative nod, his expression remaining entirely unreadable. “Yes. Since I was given the direct task of surveilling his every move through the northern maritime corridors, I have no logistical choice but to secure passage on his ship. It is the only way to maintain a constant, unbroken line of sight without relying on easily detectable magical scrying crystals.”

He paused, a faint, dry smirk touching his lips as he added a necessary reminder. “Besides, do not forget the secondary parameters of my assignment. My role isn’t merely to watch him like a ghost; I am also under strict orders to step in and protect the seventh successor from premature death in the event of an imminent, catastrophic danger that threatens to end his life before he even reaches the North. If some external faction or maritime beast tries to assassinate him mid-voyage, I am required to intervene.”

A heavy, exasperated sigh echoed from the distorted void.

“Protecting our own target from other predators… what a tedious contradiction,” the voice muttered, dripping with cynical amusement.

“Very well. Do as you must, but remain completely hidden within the woodwork. Do not let your presence be felt.”

“Before I fade,” the distorted voice added, shifting back to operational security, “what false identity are you utilizing for this maritime transit? What face do you wear in the physical world?”

The black-skinned man reached up, tapping the brim of his brown straw hat lightly with his fingers.

“As of the moment we cleared port security, I am traveling under the fabricated identity of a deceased, wandering mercenary hailing from the southern continent—a man known to the public registry as Andres Mogulis.”

He offered a subtle shrug. “To the external world, the harbor authorities, and the ship’s manifest, I am nothing more than a lone, weary swordsman seeking work in the north. Completely unremarkable.”

“Andres Mogulis… acceptable,” the distorted voice replied simply. “Very well. Keep the alias clean.”

Just as the shadows along the brick wall began to thin and recede back into natural darkness, the voice issued one final instruction.

“Remember: once you successfully dock at the lawless city of Oman, you will no longer operate entirely blind. You will be actively contacted by the regional intelligence Angel stationed within the city’s syndicates. Await their signal.”

The black-skinned man dipped his head in a respectful, submissive bow toward the dark wall.

He slowly placed his brown straw hat back onto his head, pulling it down to shadow his brow, and whispered softly into the fading gloom.

“May the grace of the divine dragon be upon you.”

From deep within the receding void, the distorted voice responded with a soft, trailing whisper that dissolved into the wind.

“May the grace of the divine dragon be upon you…”

With the psychic resonance finally severed, the alley returned to absolute, mundane silence.

The black-skinned man turned on his heel, stepping out of the shadows and back into the glaring, sun-drenched chaos of the port district.

He merged seamlessly back into the streams of passing merchants and sailors, making his way at a measured, unhurried pace through the bustling docks.

By the time he casually strolled past the harbor gates and returned to the stone courtyard of the hotel, an exact hour had ticked away.

Across the busy wharf, the colossal, pitch-black warships docked along the deep-water banks of the Northern Ire Sea let out a series of deep, resonant horn blasts—the universal maritime signal echoing across the harbor that final boarding had commenced.

The time to set sail had arrived..