Chapter 122

Chapter 122

On the deck of the two-masted brig, a figure slowly materialized. Moonlight and the ship's own shadowy form mingled and shattered, weaving into a flowing silver veil that draped the mermaid's slender form. Her hair, like seaweed, cascaded down, each strand entwined with tiny, shimmering starlight. As her tail fin swept past the gunwale, it scattered not water droplets, but specks of faint golden stardust, drifting down in a gentle shower.

Evan's eyes widened so much they threatened to leap from their sockets. He watched as the mermaid lifted her face, and her song pierced the silence—a melody not of this world, like the tide washing over seashells, mingled with the clear, ringing sound of falling stars. Her fingertips trembled slightly, and starlight bloomed in her palms, one particle after another, as if breaking free from restraint, trailing luminous tails as they plummeted towards Sheffield.

The starlight fell into the streets, and within the cracks of the cobblestones, luminescent blue flowers instantly sprouted, their petals thin as starlight, swaying with the night breeze to cast delicate, shimmering patterns. It drifted onto church spires, gilding the outlines of crosses with a soft gold; the saintly figures in the stained-glass windows seemed to have starlight tears at the corners of their eyes, growing soft and luminous. Landing on the windowsills of sleeping residents, it blossomed into fantastical scenes within their dreams—some dreamed of piloting light-ships, chasing mermaids through seas of stars; others felt cool, gritty stardust by their pillows, waking to clutch handfuls of glowing sand, struck speechless with awe.

Leaning against the windowsill, Evan watched the entire city illuminated by the starlight, as if the Sea God had opened a treasure chest filled with fairy tales. The mermaid continued to cast starlight from the ship, and with each sway of her tail fin, the ship's hull itself began to glow with an iridescent light, as if to merge with the starry sea of the night sky. Evan understood that after this night, every brick and stone of Sheffield, every resident's dream, would be dyed with the gifts of the Sea God and the mermaid—a romance of the ocean that would never fade.

From the shimmering halo surrounding the brig, a softly glowing, thin slip broke free from the entanglement of light and shadow. Like a shooting star across the night sky, it fell straight into Evan's palm.

Trembling, Evan opened his hand to see it was an invitation. Gilded patterns felt slightly warm under the starlight, the edges shimmering with the same iridescent hue as the ship's hull and the mermaid's tail fin. Written upon it in ancient Sea God script were the words "Invitation to the Supernatural Assembly." The characters seemed alive, their light shifting every few seconds, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors in Evan's pupils.

Before he could ponder further, the invitation suddenly gave a soft "hum" and trembled. A phantom figure rose from the glowing patterns—a figure wearing a crown woven from seaweed, its face indistinct, but its voice like the deep bass of the ocean: "Dear Supernaturals, at the peak of tomorrow night's high tide, come to the foot of the North Sea Cliff Lighthouse to witness the Tide's Covenant of the Supernatural World's assembly." Before dissipating, the phantom added, "Here, you will obtain everything you desire. Bring sufficient money, bring sufficient supernatural items for exchange. Do not come empty-handed, or you will be utterly swallowed by the waves."

With that, the crowned figure vanished with a faint *pop*, the starlight particles exploding against Evan's face.

Evan clutched the invitation, his knuckles white. Supernatural Assembly? The one he had in mind? Outside the window, the mermaid was still scattering starlight, but his eyes were now fixed only on the dancing light patterns on the invitation. "A Supernatural Assembly... perhaps I can exchange for some supernatural items I can use there..." he murmured to himself, thinking of the assassination attempt he encountered on the train home. Though he had narrowly escaped death, those were only Sequence 9 assassins. What if the First Prince took him seriously and sent Sequence 8, Sequence 7, or even Sequence 6 operatives?

Would he then be utterly helpless?

Evan felt a surge of bitter frustration at his current weakness. But now, it seemed he might have a way to enhance his combat capabilities. Even if he still couldn't fight back, he needed to be able to escape!

Evan had no intention of letting Sara become a widower so soon. Just as he tightened his grip on the invitation, the entire city of Sheffield seemed to have a mysterious switch flipped.

On church spires, priests who had been praying with closed eyes amidst candlelight suddenly felt the pages of their holy books rustle without wind. From the gilded Sea God scriptures, invitations identical to Evan's slid out. An old priest caught his with trembling hands, the iridescent light patterns casting shifting shadows across his wrinkled face. He looked towards the Sea God statue on the altar and whispered, "The Sea God's will... the Supernatural Assembly, vanished for twenty years, is finally manifesting in the mortal world..."

In another church, a young priest abruptly stood up. The invitation in his hand transformed into a flowing band of light, tingeing his voice, accustomed to reciting scriptures, with a tremor: "This is... the summons of the Supernatural Assembly?"

In the backstreets, a reclusive old hunter was cleaning his rifle when the wolf-head carving on the stock suddenly seeped an eerie blue. An invitation *clinked* onto the table, its light patterns instantly crawling over the firearm. The old hunter's pupils contracted to slits like a wolf's, yet a cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth. In a dark corner of a tavern, a drunkard swirling his glass suddenly saw the phantom of an invitation rise from the liquor. His drunken eyes sharpened. Casually, he splashed the wine onto the floor, and the liquid transformed into a bridge of light, delivering the invitation to his palm. The drunkard slammed the table with a loud laugh, startling the other patrons who turned to look, none noticing the faintly glowing dagger hidden in his sleeve.

Even next door to Noah's house, the old woman who always secretly drew mysterious symbols late at night found an invitation smelling of sea salt within the dried flower bouquet on her windowsill. Her calloused hands traced the light patterns, and her thin lips moved as if conversing with distant memories.

Pastor Campbell, who had just arrived at the church yesterday to hand over a task, was kneeling before the statue, polishing a silver candlestick. As the candle flame flickered, the blue gemstone eyes of the God of Light statue suddenly gleamed with golden light. As he looked up, a ribbon of iridescent light shot from the frontispiece of the Bible, like a docile little snake, gently placing the invitation on the back of his hand, tattooed with prayer verses. The invitation felt hot against his skin the moment it touched. Gilded Sea God script flowed across the parchment, coalescing into the prayer sentence structure most familiar to Campbell. Although he was a pastor of the God of Light and Creation, he was also well-versed in the prayers of other deities, especially in Sheffield, a city where the faith of the God of Ocean and Protection held the majority among the three major righteous gods.

He stared at the drop of solidified wax seal at the signature, shaped like a wave, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily—this was the "Tide Seal," known only to the Sea God's highest priests. Five years ago, when he first became a pastor, the old high priest had used a knife tip dipped in holy oil to draw a similar mark, the "Light Seal," on his palm.

*Thud—* The candlestick fell onto the stone floor with a sharp clatter. Children from the neighboring choir, startled, peeked out to see only the pastor's back, stiff as a reef, his hands hidden beneath his robes frantically rubbing the edges of the invitation. No one knew that this old pastor, who always emphasized "mortal reverence" in his sermons, had whalebone-carved rune pieces hidden in his boot soles, and dried mermaid scales—ones that wept on full moon nights—tucked within the Bible's interleaves.

The entire city of Sheffield was stirred by this sudden "invitation storm," undercurrents swirling. Standing by the window, Evan watched the flickering lights from the direction of the churches, listening to the faint disturbances from the streets, knowing that after this night, those "ordinary people" hidden within Sheffield's daily life would tear off their disguises. It turned out this small town, blessed by the Sea God, was already teeming with Supernaturals, each harboring their own secrets. And this assembly was the wave raised by the Sea God's own hand, forcing them all to surface.