Chapter 105: A Vow

Chapter 105: A Vow

Lyman picked his way through the chaotic streets and made his way back to the church. The church was already reduced to rubble, and the surrounding buildings were hardly in better shape. People ran frantically through the streets, wailing nonstop.

The Archon was dead, but the island's administrative machinery hadn't ground to a halt. A guard patrol was active in the lower district town. They were busy evacuating people and pulling the wounded to safety.

Lyman glanced at the hourglass pendant. There wasn't a single grain of sand left in it. There would be no next loop. If there were still sand, he could have gone straight to the priest in the next loop and stopped the disaster before it even started. But... maybe this was already the best possible outcome.

It suddenly hit him that his real body was probably still in the church, so he found a crack and slipped inside, dropped the Shadow Play, and then let out an over-the-top cry for help.

Before long, someone dug through the dirt and rubble on top of him and hauled him out from under the wreckage.

"You're still alive! Praise the God of Dawn!" Aether stared at Lyman in surprise, noting that the Silver-haired Youth had come through with nothing worse than a few scrapes.

"What happened, sir? An earthquake? A tsunami?" Lyman pretended to be terrified.

"There were some... heretics on the island." Aether all but ground his teeth when he said the word. "Don't worry, the fighting's over. Stick close to me and don't wander off!"

Lyman immediately glued himself to Aether's side like a lost puppy. He watched the Inquisitor direct the guard patrol to keep order, and wondered: what did Aether really think about all that had happened?

Aether's feelings were a tangled mess right now. The Father Kaimon he'd respected was a heretic, and there were monsters lurking on the island. For something like this to happen right under the Inquisitor's nose—what was the world coming to?

And what about that dwarf craftsman and the Shadow Transcendent? Were they agents of the mysterious organization, or members of the Storm Fleet? Or were the two the same thing?

What really left Aether speechless was that he'd been saved by the dwarf craftsman. They could've just left him to die. Was the mysterious organization actually friendly toward the Holy Nation, not hostile? What exactly did they want?

He'd have to report this to the Chief Inquisitor when he got back. For now... he'd focus on the rescue efforts.

The night dragged on forever. When the sun finally crept over the horizon, spilling pale light across the sea, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. Some believers even dropped to their knees right there, thanking the God of Dawn for his grace. Little did they know that half these disasters had been caused by a priest of that very god.

But their relief didn't last long. A black sail rose on the horizon. A jet-black ship was sailing straight for Ninovel.

The Storm Fleet!

In the eastern seas, the Storm Fleet was a byword for sea monsters, natural disasters, and sheer terror. Even though there'd never been any reports of them sacking a harbor, the islanders still panicked. First monsters, now the Storm Fleet—was Ninovel doomed?

But the Storm Fleet didn't come ashore. The black ship just hung around for a bit less than a mile offshore, then turned and sailed off into the deep sea.

And just like that, the crisis fizzled out for no apparent reason.

Maybe the Storm Fleet was just on patrol nearby? That's what some folks said.

No one knew the truth. Only the island's seabirds knew, chattering away about everything they'd seen near that black ship.

When the Storm Fleet showed up, a seagull flew over to the black ship and dropped a Little Straw Effigy onto the deck. The little straw effigy suddenly sprang to life and tossed out a puppet. The puppet then shifted into a man wrapped in a ragged black cloak.

A warrior in black armor strode toward the bow. Blue eyes glinting beneath a fearsome helmet studied the cloaked man, burning with fervent intensity.

"Are you... Mr. Shadow?" the black-armored warrior asked.

Lyman nodded.

The black-armored warrior's eyes blazed with fanatical fervor: "The Primordial Prophet's prophecy was spot on! To think I'd be the first to meet you—what an honor!"

Actually, this is our second meeting, Lyman thought. But he didn't say it out loud, only asking, "You came to the island hunting for the wanted criminal?"

"Exactly! You really do know everything!"

"The wanted criminal's dead. The Pirate Lord Federico sent him to pull off the heist. As for the Pirate Lord himself..."

Lyman took Father Kaimon's body out of the Divine Casket. Seeing a corpse appear out of thin air, the black-armored warrior first tensed and gripped his sword hilt, then slowly released his grip.

"You killed him?"

Lyman let out a sigh: "It's a long story."

He briefly recounted how the priest had summoned the Waking Nightmare, how the Archon had kept the bird-tongued monster, and how the two had fought each other into mutual destruction.

Though he couldn't see the black-armored warrior's expression, Lyman felt the man was listening in stunned bewilderment.

"I see. Since the culprit's already dead, there's no need for us to set foot on the island."

Lyman found this somewhat odd: "You trust me that easily? What if I'm lying to you?"

A soft chuckle rang out from beneath the fearsome helmet: "The Primordial Prophet has said that Mr. Shadow is worthy of one hundred percent trust."

"Who exactly is this Primordial Prophet you speak of?"

"He is the founder of the Storm Fleet. Though he has passed away, you will learn his identity one day. But now is not yet the time."

Lyman pursed his lips. Great. Another old riddle-monger.

The black-armored warrior knelt down and rummaged through the priest's body, finally finding a pearl earring from a pocket.

"So it's here..."

Lyman asked, "What is that?"

"This is the treasure that was stolen from our Storm Fleet." The black-armored warrior explained, "As long as one wears this earring, wounds heal quickly. I find it strange—the Pirate Lord Federico clearly had it on him, so why didn't he wear it when he was injured?"

At that, Lyman also found it puzzling. He thought of the book in the priest's study called "Confessions of a Saint." It was a book the priest absolutely despised, yet he had used it as the mechanism for his secret chamber.

"Perhaps he, too, hoped someone would stop him." Lyman said softly.

Every time he entered the secret chamber to inscribe the ritual array, Father Kaimon had to face the thing he hated most. He wished he could stop himself, yet he still went down that path without looking back.

"We'll take his body for a burial at sea. Do you have any objections?" the black-armored warrior asked.

Lyman shrugged. For a former Pirate Lord, returning to the sea he both loved and hated might be the best ending of all.

The black-armored warrior said, "Thank you for recovering this treasure. Would it be acceptable for me to keep it for now?"

"Huh? Isn't it originally your thing anyway?"

The black-armored warrior chuckled again: "Ah, right. As a token of gratitude, please accept this."

The black-armored warrior traced a complex rune in the air, and a horn made from a conch shell appeared in his hand.

"As long as you blow this horn where the sea exists, the Storm Fleet will answer your call and come to fight alongside you."

Lyman took the horn. Its heavy weight spoke of the promise of an oath.

"This is too precious. And I'm not exactly well acquainted with your Storm Fleet..."

"For a friend of the Storm Fleet, no gift is too precious."

The black-armored warrior traced another magical symbol in the air. This time, a long rectangular wooden box appeared in his hand.

"The Primordial Prophet has said that if we ever encounter Mr. Shadow, we are to give this to him."

Lyman took the wooden box. The box lid was engraved with exquisite magical runes. The shape, the weight—it all felt so familiar!

"Could this be...?"

"A long, long time ago, when the Storm Fleet was first established, the shape of the land and sea was not what it is now," said the black-armored warrior. "This thing fell into the sea, and its power churned the waves, drowning mountains under the water and pushing the seabed up into new peaks. Our Storm Fleet sealed it away and kept it safe ever since."

The black-armored warrior stepped back, placed his right hand on his chest plate, and gave Lyman a solemn bow.

"The mission the Primordial Prophet entrusted to me, I've now fully completed."

Lyman opened his mouth, but no words came out. He felt like some unseen force had guided their meeting, but when he tried to follow it, all he saw was a shifting, elusive mist.

"Then I'll accept it," he said. "By the way, what do I call you?"

The black-armored warrior hesitated, then said, "You can call me Joyce."

It was a pretty common name, but Lyman still asked, half-hopefully, "...Joyce Blanco?"

The black-armored warrior gasped: "How do you know my last name?"

Before Lyman could answer, he began muttering to himself: "Just as I'd expect from Mr. Shadow, just as I'd expect from the superhuman the Primordial Prophet himself praised—you really do have the power to see the future. No secret can slip past you..."

"Uh, no, that's not it." Lyman cut him off, feeling awkward. "I ran into your mother at Crowsrest Ferry. She's been looking for you."

"Is that so..." The black-armored warrior's mood turned a little somber.

"I know you left home to find your father. But he's actually... actually already dead."

"That doesn't matter anymore," Joyce said. "After I ran into the Storm Fleet out at sea, I realized how narrow-minded I'd been. I've already let go of my hatred for my father. Now I've got a bigger, more important mission."

Lyman couldn't help but ask, "And what about your mother? Don't you love her?"

"It's exactly because I love her that I have to keep walking this path."

Joyce lowered his head and said, "We've got to get back to our patrol. Looking forward to seeing you again."

That was a polite way of saying "get lost." Lyman had no choice but to nod and say, "I'll write to your mother and let her know you're okay. Take care."

He put the horn and the wooden box into the Divine Casket, then linked himself to the Little Straw Effigy, packed up the puppet and the Shadow Play, and finally dropped the manifestation.

Back in his own body, he immediately inspected the two new items in the Divine Casket.

"Name: ???"

"Description: Remains of a god. A leg."

"Name: Storm Horn"

"Description: A call. A pact. An oath."