Chapter 217

Chapter 217

Evan, carrying three puppets, walked slowly along the stone-paved road of Moon Island.

Most inns on the island were low wooden buildings, with simple signs hanging above their doorways—some said "Seaside Inn," others "Fisherman's Home."

He picked a clean, simple-looking inn. The landlady at the door was wiping a table with a rag. When she saw Evan coming, she greeted him warmly, "Young man, need a room? Single room with a window, two Copper Huote a night, hot water included."

"I'll take it." Evan handed over two Copper Huote and took the copper key she handed him—a wooden tag with a "3" carved into it was tied to the key. He followed the landlady upstairs to a single room. The room was small but tidy, with a wooden bed against the wall, a small table by the window, and the salty sea breeze drifting in when he opened it.

Evan gently set the three puppets on the table. He first checked the spiritual links to make sure the butterfly, mouse, and Assassin Puppet were all fine, then let out a sigh of relief.

After days of making puppets, dealing with the Night Watcher's questions, and sailing, he was completely exhausted. After a quick wash, he lay down and soon fell into a deep sleep—unusually peaceful, with no strange questions in his dreams, just the steady sound of waves hitting the shore, like a soft lullaby.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Evan woke up.

The sky outside was a pale, fish-belly white, with a thin mist over the sea, and the distant lighthouse still glowed faintly. He washed up quickly, took a few Copper Huote from his money pouch, bought a piece of bread and a bowl of hot porridge from the small eatery downstairs, ate fast, and then headed to the beach with his three puppets.

Moon Island's coastline was winding, and near the residential area was a stretch of fine, light golden sand, damp from the tide.

The beach was quiet in the early morning, with just a few seabirds circling low, chirping sharply. The seawater was crystal clear, showing the shallow sand and the occasional small fish swimming by.

Evan found a secluded spot and securely tied the velvet pouch with the Assassin Puppet and the silk pouch with the butterfly and mouse puppets to his waist, making sure they wouldn't get soaked by seawater.

Growing up in a harbor city, diving was second nature. As a kid, he'd played in the waters near the docks with his father, honing his breath-holding and underwater agility.

He took a deep breath, pushed off with his legs, and slipped into the sea like a sleek fish. The cool seawater enveloped him, carrying a deep-sea chill that kept him awake. He regulated his breathing, gently kicked his legs, and swam slowly toward the coral reef in the distance.

As he got closer to the reef, the underwater scenery grew richer. Large patches of coral took various shapes—some like branching antlers, others like open umbrellas—in bright reds, yellows, and purples, gleaming in the clear water. Countless tiny sea anemones clung to the coral, their colorful tentacles swaying gently, like blooming flowers that would snap shut when small fish got close, catching prey.

Schools of tropical fish darted among the coral, their scales glinting like metal. Some were bright red, others striped black and white, skillfully dodging coral obstacles and occasionally nibbling at microorganisms on the coral. Evan slowed down, quietly observing the lively underwater world.

But soon, he noticed something odd—this coral reef area, though seemingly thriving, had no shells or sea snails. Whether in the coral crevices or the shallow sandy areas, it was spotless, not even a tiny shell fragment in sight.

Evan understood. This was probably the easiest diving spot near Moon Island, often explored by Supernaturals or fishermen. Even ordinary small shells would have been picked up.

After about fifteen minutes underwater, confirming the shallow reef held no promise, he slowly surfaced and returned to the beach.

He wrung out his wet clothes, and the sea breeze sent a chill through him. Clearly, the shallow waters offered no chance for a pearl diver. To find valuable pearls, he'd need to venture into deeper waters—where the real test of a Supernatural's abilities lay.

Evan glanced down at the puppets at his waist, gently touching the silk pouch. "Now it's your turn to go to work."

He planned to send the butterfly and mouse puppets into the deep sea first to scout—finding coral trenches, currents, and any dangerous deep-sea creatures—so he could harvest pearls more safely.

Evan wrung the water from his hair, walked to a sheltered spot on the beach, and carefully untied the two silk pouches at his waist. He first took out the dark brown mouse puppet, placed it in his palm, and infused it with a thread of concentrated spirituality—as if bringing a silent wooden toy to life. The mouse puppet's tiny eyes lit up with a faint silver glow, its limbs twitched slightly, and its tail swept across his palm.

"Go down, find shells with pearls, and avoid currents and dangerous creatures." Evan transmitted the command mentally, with a flick of his finger. The mouse shot out like an arrow from a bow, splashing into the sea with a "plop." It moved through the waves as nimbly as a real mouse, paddling its limbs toward the deep sea.

Its fur, treated with Supernatural Factor, was completely waterproof. Its tiny claws kicked through the water, propelling it faster than an ordinary sea rat, and it soon disappeared into the clear depths.

Next, Evan took out the butterfly puppet and set it on his fingertip. After infusing it with spirituality, its pale blue wings began to flutter, making a faint, almost inaudible hum, like a real butterfly's wings.

"Hover over the sea surface, keep watch, and signal if anything unusual happens." As the command was given, the butterfly puppet soared into the air, tracing a graceful arc, circled twice above Evan's head, and flew toward the sea surface above the coral reef. Its pale blue form blended into the morning light, indistinguishable from an ordinary sea butterfly from a distance.

Confirming both scout puppets were at their posts, Evan took a deep breath, his chest swelling like an air bladder—a Supernatural's physique far exceeded ordinary people's, with lung capacity three times greater, enough to stay longer in the deep sea and withstand higher water pressure. He checked the Assassin Puppet pouch and the short blade at his waist once more, then bent his legs and leaped, diving back into the sea like a swift sailfish.

As depth increased, the light dimmed, shifting from clear azure to deep indigo, with only occasional glowing jellyfish tracing faint fluorescent trails in the darkness. The water pressure grew, compressing his chest and making breathing labored, but Evan channeled his Supernatural Factor, forming a thin spiritual barrier around his body to offset most of the pressure.

He opened his eyes, using his Supernatural night vision to observe the surroundings clearly—the coral here was thicker and more jagged, some like clawing monsters, others like twisted vines, with unknown deep-sea fish hiding in crevices that darted away as he approached.

Just then, a spiritual signal from the mouse puppet reached his mind—a faint directional cue, carrying a "target found" pulse.

Evan swam toward the signal, weaving through a dense coral forest, and the scene opened up: a relatively flat seabed of fine, silvery sand shimmering faintly. The mouse puppet was crouched in the middle, its tiny paw pointing at a slightly raised spot, body tense, clearly having locked onto a target.

Evan swam closer and signaled the mouse to stand guard.

He drew his short blade, which still gleamed coldly in the deep sea. Gently, he used the blade to push aside the surface sand, careful not to damage any shell beneath.

The sand parted gradually, revealing the outline of a thick shell—larger than an ordinary scallop, dark brown with dense spiral patterns, edges encrusted with tiny coral polyps and seaweed, clearly resting on the seabed for years.

Evan's heart leaped. He quickened his digging, carefully prying the sand around the shell with his blade until it was fully freed from the sediment.

When he lifted the shell in both hands, he could feel its weight—heavy, about the size of a palm, with a hard, smooth surface, suggesting it likely contained a pearl.

He gave it a gentle shake, and a faint clinking sound came from inside—soft, but enough to quicken his pulse.

At that moment, the butterfly puppet above sent an alert signal—not danger, but another Supernatural approaching.

Evan's eyes sharpened. Without hesitation, he clutched the shell tightly, kicked hard, and surfaced rapidly.

Evan swam upward with all his might, breaking the surface with a splash, gasping for air as the salty sea breeze hit his throat, making him cough lightly.

He held the palm-sized shell close to his chest, about to swim to shore, when he caught sight of a simple wooden boat slowly rowing toward him on the right.

Two burly Supernaturals stood on the boat, their skin tanned dark by the sea breeze, each with a fishing hook and short blade at their waist. One squinted at him, his gaze lingering on the shell with undisguised curiosity. Clearly, they were also pearl divers who happened to spot him surfacing.

Evan's heart tightened. He didn't hesitate.

In these royal-controlled waters, though private fights were banned, some Supernaturals might still risk it for high-quality pearls, competing for territory or loot.

Alone, he had no need to provoke a conflict. He took a quick, deep breath, filling his lungs, then submerged again with the shell.

The seawater enveloped him, cutting off light and sound. He didn't pause, kicking hard like a nimble eel, swimming away from the boat.

His Supernatural physique made him far faster than an ordinary person in water, leaving two clear wakes behind him.

The two men on the boat watched Evan vanish beneath the surface, leaving only a fading ripple.

One raised a hand to call out, but his companion stopped him.

"Forget it, no need to stir up trouble." The companion shook his head, glancing at where Evan had disappeared, his tone flat. "The royal guards are strict; grabbing it would cause issues. Besides, the deep sea here is vast—plenty of spots." He picked up an oar, gently paddling, steering the boat toward another coral reef area.

The other man clicked his tongue and gave up the chase—after all, the goal was earning gold coins, not wasting time on an unknown diver. If it escalated to the royal guards, they'd be expelled from the island, not worth the risk.

In the water, Evan relied on the mouse puppet's spiritual signals to avoid several currents and sharp corals. Sensing the boat had moved away, he slowed down, catching his breath.

The shell in his arms remained heavy, steadying his nerves.

He turned to see the mouse puppet perched on a coral, its tiny eyes glowing silver, vigilantly watching the surroundings. Seeing him safe, it nimbly followed his pace.

Evan swam toward the shore, taking a detour to avoid the earlier area. After about ten minutes, he surfaced again, confirming no other divers were nearby, then sped up toward the beach.