Chapter 202: Chapter 206: Encounter Battle
A steel warship with a towering bow sailed across the vast Endless Sea, while a thin layer of cold fog hovered and undulated within hundreds of ters around the ship—this fog was just like the curse that clung to the Sea Mist in the frozen seas to the north, and even though they were now in the relatively warr central waters, the coldness within the fog remained dense and undispersed.
On the deck of the steel warship, six triple-barreled main artillery cannons and dozens of secondary guns of various sizes were already in readiness for battle, with the undead sailors, shrouded in chill, moving busily between facilities, preparing for potential combat.
Below the deck, in the ammunition storage, elevators clattered as they transported powder bags and shells to the turrets’ transfer chambers, while other sailors operated the pipe hubs scattered around, checking the delivery and pressure of the sacred steam and grease throughout the vessel.
At the stern of the warship, a small church had lit its independent boiler, and steam pipes on top of the church spewed plus of vapor into the sky. Accompanied by the sound of the church’s steam whistle, the scent of incense mixed with the steam and gradually enveloped the entire deck.
An undead priest dressed in a somber long robe stood in the prayer room of the ship-borne church, solemnly lighting incense and candles before the statue of the Storm Goddess—Gomona. This priest, with his shriveled, pale skin, appeared quite old; one side of his skull was caved in, and the corresponding half of his body seed perpetually soaked, presenting an eerie wetness as if still imrsed in the sea, while in his eyes, the milky whites seed to eternally churn with twin dark clouds, faintly reflecting the flickering candlelight before the goddess’s statue.
Before the priest stood the statue of the Storm Goddess Gomona—a protector of every ship upon the Endless Sea, even if those ships were manned by the deceased. The base of this statue sat on top of a large pipe, with many smaller pipes stretching out like blood vessels into every corner of the church; the lower half of it was buried deep into the hull, penetrating through several decks, all the way down to the ballast chamber—the darkest and coldest room that connected directly to the Endless Sea.
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A fully equipped ship-borne church, an independent church boiler, as well as sacred steam pipes that penetrated all decks, had beco the standard configuration for every warship that needed to sail and fight for long periods on the Endless Sea since the great military technological revolution of 1835 among the City-States. These facilities effectively prevented the outbreak of ntal contamination within a ship under high-pressure, harsh, casualty-ridden combat conditions, or the collective ntal breakdown of sailors leading to their capture by Subspace.
From a certain perspective, the beginning of the great revolution in technology in 1835 could even be traced back thirty-five years, all the way to the “Holoss incident” in 1800—humanity’s most advanced exploration vessel, the finest explorers, plunged directly into Subspace after a lengthy voyage, a direct shock to everyone concerned with mariti endeavors.
The priest withdrew his gaze from the statue, but thoughts related to the Holoss and the ship-borne church before him involuntarily stirred within him.
His icy, numb brain and heart, which had stopped beating for half a century, were restless and anxious about what was about to happen.
“May you protect us,” the priest bowed his head, praying devoutly to the goddess, “We shall confront the shadows of Subspace head-on, please bear witness…”
Suddenly, an electric bell beside him rang out, and a small light flashed at the communications desk.
The priest approached the communications desk and opened the corresponding brass tube: “This is the church… Yes, the grease and steam are in place, blessings have arrived.”
On the bridge, the captain of the Sea Mist, Tirian Abnormal, stood quietly at his station, gazing at the seemingly calm sea in the distance.
His eyes ached slightly, his mind echoed with frustratingly low murmurs, and next to him sat a brass chanical device of intricate and complex construction, comprised of intershing gears, several delicate Compasses, and nurous arc-shaped tracks, at its center a half-spherical bowl supported by three brass columns.
At that mont, about one-third of the bowl was filled with fresh blood, which rolled and boiled as if alive; the entire brass device, trembling, was continuously adjusting the angles of its gears and Compasses, with its many pointers aiming towards the distance.
The first mate, Aiden, approached Tirian with a nod: “Captain, all units are prepared, and the church has just sent feedback—the goddess’s blessing has descended.”
“… Holoss is right ahead,” Tirian murmured so softly it was almost to himself, then he turned to glance at the brass machine beside him, “I think ‘he’ must have felt , too.”
The gaze of the first mate Aiden also fell on the brass device, especially the boiling blood.
This pale, bald man spoke in a deep voice, “The blood compass will guide those bound by blood to reunite, but this item never brings good fortune or reunions… It only points to slaughter and desolation.”
“That fits the situation,” said Tirian indifferently, as at the edge of his vision, a misty dark dot seed to be erging faintly, “… It’s really here, pointing straight at Pland.”
“We could open fire,” the first mate couldn’t help but remind, “Actually, we could have done that just now.”
“… No, keep closing in, we need to be within close-firing range,” Tirian shook his head, “Half a century ago we already tried, artillery fire from certain distances will never land on the Holoss; that ship is influenced by so kind of distorted space-ti, with a disconnection and misalignnt between it and our current dinsion.”
Aiden bowed his head, “…Yes, the Sea Mist will continue to advance.”
…
Duncan put down the monocular he held and hung it back at his waist, then continued to grasp the wheel tightly.
He had seen that ship.
Sea Mist, as its na suggested, was shrouded in a mist of thin ice, which didn’t look normal at all.
But what truly took him by surprise was not the seemingly transcendental ice fog, it was the attitude the ship itself exhibited—
It was an extrely advanced steel warship, boasting heavy armor, towering smokestacks, a bridge structure with sensible design and majestic style, and advanced, multi-gun turrets that brought to mind the main guns of a battleship.
All this did not look like sothing a century-old ship could be equipped with—let alone retrofitted; it was hard to imagine how a sailing warship could be transford into this.
This brought to mind so of the rumors related to the Sea Mist and the Brilliant Starship that he had heard while making inquiries in the City-State.
For instance, Tirian’s warships would devour tals from the seabed and the remains of the defeated, and grow and modify themselves during the unobserved midnight.
Now it seed that there was so logic to the birth of these rumors—just like if you had to explain why a ’59 suddenly perford a faster-than-light jump, you could only say that the machine spirit was greatly pleased…
Duncan shook his head, temporarily casting aside the discordant thoughts in his mind.
The Sea Mist showed no intention of retreat and appeared to be ready for battle; Holoss didn’t have ti for evasive maneuvers, a head-on confrontation seed inevitable.
He didn’t understand naval battles, but in theory, he shouldn’t have to worry about fighting—the cannons on Holoss could handle everything that was coming.
He was just a little… dazed, and in that daze, there was also a touch of nervousness and… anticipation.
Tirian Abnormal, the captain of Sea Mist, one of Captain Duncan’s son and daughter.
Theoretically, Duncan’s current identity was the pirate chieftain’s father.
He never would have thought that he’d be encountering the Sea Mist under such circumstances… Wasn’t that ship supposed to be in the Chill Sea? Wasn’t it supposed to be busy raiding and collecting protection money in that icy region? What was it doing here?
Tirian seeking out daddy? A tender father-son relationship?
Unimaginable.
The tale of Captain Duncan sounded more like the storyline of unfortunate family affairs.
“Captain,” ca the enthusiastic voice of Goat-head, “Sea Mist has entered firing posture. Should we adjust our heading?”
Adjusting heading to avoid the first salvo’s direct hit, while positioning the ship to bring the smallest profile into the combat position and allowing as many of their own guns as possible to be at firing angle—Goat-head was clearly prepared for an artillery duel.
Duncan raised his eyebrows, “You sound like you’re looking forward to it?”
“Sea Mist is a good opponent. First of all, it can’t beat us, and secondly, it dares to fight us,” Goat-head’s voice was filled with delight, “And lastly, it’s very resilient—the ship is full of the Undead, and even the ship itself has a bit of the ‘unsinkable undead’ trait. If Holoss wants to stretch its limbs, there’s no better target.”
“…In other words, the kid can take a beating, right?” Duncan comnted offhandedly when suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he noticed several clouds of fog erging in the far distance around Sea Mist and slowly dissipating.
After a short while, he suddenly heard the shrill wailing from the sky above, accompanied by a powerful force diving straight towards Holoss’s position.
Sea Mist had fired the first shot—with its technological superiority as a steel warship, it had the range advantage and was able to initiate the attack even if it delayed to close-range firing, it could still fire before Holoss.
Duncan’s heart tensed for a mont, and then he saw huge water spouts rising one after another near Holoss, where each powerful hit from the battleship-grade main gun demonstrated extraordinary force, causing Holoss’s massive body to slightly shake.
But not a single shell hit Holoss—Sea Mist’s first round of firing was all for naught.
Duncan watched the spouts fall one by one, and thought that this might just be a normal occurrence in a sea battle—without guided weapons and modern fire control computers, the hit rate of ship cannons was probably at that level.
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