Above the North Sea, the howling wind grew increasingly bitter, its speed rapidly climbing to 32 knots—a Force Seven gale.
Tier upon tier of great waves surged, their height already approaching three meters.
Common sense dictated that in the prelude to this clearly gathering storm, all sailing ships at sea, whether majestic First-Rate Ships or inconspicuous sampans, should have long since sought a Sheltered Harbor to drop Anchor and take refuge.
If any dared to continue sailing on the high seas, even with all sails furled, they would tragically see their masts splintered.
Capsizing and sinking would be their only fate!
Strangely, such utterly irrational behavior was precisely what was occurring just beyond the perpetually fog-shrouded Iron Anchor Bay.
Upon that stretch of sea, characterized by countless "small hills" of water, a vast Fleet advanced like a crab scuttling sideways, straight into the wind.
The conspicuous Blood Cross Flags on a black background billowed from their masts.
They were unmistakably the Hethings Strait Fleet that had departed from Bristol Port three days prior.
Their largest Flagship, the Second Grade ship King Edward, had moved from its leading position to the very center of the Fleet.
Dozens of other Battleships and Cruisers surrounded it, forming an almost perfect circle.
Whenever fierce winds and towering waves struck them, their force would inexplicably diminish by more than half. It was as if the wind and waves themselves feared something within the Fleet, leaving the Hightings Navy unaffected by the Storm.
No, more accurately, they were not merely unaffected by the Storm; it seemed the Storm itself originated from them.
It was exactly like the sudden tempest during the battle of the Red and White Roses in the Strait of Dover!
"Report to the Commander! Redbeard Edward has completely lost contact. A few hours ago, he sent a message stating he was trapped in Valhalla by the combat segment of the Military Governor election. However, there has been no response to the new messages I sent him ten minutes ago. I fear he truly won’t be able to unlock the Maze Lock of Iron Anchor Bay for us as planned."
A young officer, appearing not yet thirty, entered the command room and delivered the bad news to General Norwich York, the Fleet Commander.
The Commander, who had been standing by the glass porthole gazing out at the white, fog-veiled Maze Lock, showed no sign of annoyance at the report, merely nodding casually, "I understand. That renowned Great Pirate was merely an expendable piece in our game—advantageous if successful, inconsequential if not. The more intricate the plan, the higher the likelihood of error. This is akin to our dealings with those outlandish Bizarre entities and Evil Spirits overseas; the unexpected itself is a source of danger and must be prepared for well in advance. I want you to remember: stratagems can be employed, but when unforeseen events arise, the only thing we can truly rely on to see us through is our own strength!"
This young officer, who bore a strong resemblance to Fleet Commander Norwich, was clearly of a different status. Hearing the Commander’s counsel, yet still finding it hard to accept, he raised an identical black conch horn, his face etched with distress as he said, "Father... Commander. Before we defeated Lancaster and seized the Kingly Title, you entrusted me with coordinating with Redbeard to plan for Iron Anchor Bay. Over this long period, we’ve invested far too much manpower and resources in him. This doesn’t even include the Third-Rate Ship, the Goddess of Vengeance, that we sold to him at a discount much earlier. Not to mention, the hundred-plus Privateer Ships that later pledged allegiance to him; their annual 10% contribution of plunder to the York Family’s maritime court alone is a terrifying sum. If Redbeard, that fool, squanders it all in the combat segment, next year’s family financial report will undoubtedly be grim!"
Norwich York, Commander of the White Rose York Family’s Fleet and overall director of operations, waved a hand at his son, Young Norwich. He patiently explained, "Child, the noble Yorks are not like those desperados. Our capital allows us to bear the cost of countless trials and errors, while they have only one life to live. As long as we hold power and Wealth, we can make Transcendents and talented individuals from every Sequence risk their lives for us. Paying a mere sum, using their lives to prove the insider plan unfeasible and the Bayfolk unexpectedly strong—isn’t that a worthwhile trade? Once we eliminate them, that money will still be ours. Besides, this sea may lack many things, but never Pirates chasing wealth and power. Didn’t Redbeard send back a list of independent Pirates? Afterwards, as long as any of these ignoble Pirates who wish to swear allegiance to the York Family and seek patronage from us are still alive, we can easily relax the restrictions on the Privateering License and let them become new Privateer Captains, continuing to serve the family."
Seeing his young son nod thoughtfully, Norwich patted his shoulder, glanced at the clock on the desk, and issued the order to attack, "Alright. At least Redbeard already initiated the Black Mass Ceremony and successfully marked the stubborn Bayfolk of Iron Anchor Bay with the counterfeit Thirty pieces of silver. Since they’ve willingly renounced the option to convert, let them be utterly destroyed! The time has come. Take my written order and go activate that thing with the Law Mages. In the future, these seas will belong to your generation. Although you are only a Law Mage of the Second Order Professional Rank, from now on you must learn to stand on your own."
Realizing the moment of harvest had finally arrived, Young Norwich promptly stood at attention and saluted, "Yes, Commander! I will deliver the order immediately!"
He exited the command room and descended the wooden ladder from the deck hatch, making his way to the lowest hold.
The Second Grade ship King Edward had a displacement of 1,870 tons, a gun deck length of 54.1 meters, and a beam of 15.14 meters. It carried 90 cannons: twenty-eight 32-pounders, twenty-eight 18-pounders, thirty-two 12-pounders, plus four 9-pounders on the weather deck, with a crew complement of 750. Below the weather deck, there were upper, middle, and lower continuous gun decks, making it virtually a small, three-dimensional fortress.
Along his path, there was a guard every three paces and a sentry every five. Only the elite soldiers with the strongest will, most outstanding abilities, and utmost loyalty to the York Family were qualified to be stationed here.
Moreover, a solemn and majestic aura permeated the air, making one subconsciously hold their breath, as if they had entered a Tribunal in session.
Transcendents who activated Spirit Vision would see the ship’s interior teeming with a silver-white Law Network. At every turn, illusory golden lions, crowned and cradling pure gold balances in their paws, crouched, their eyes like copper bells, staring intently at any newcomer. Entry was strictly forbidden to those without authorization. This level of security alone rivaled the King’s treasury.
Young Norwich proceeded unimpeded to the lower gun deck. It was pitch-black, all gunports completely sealed. It was well known that in strong winds and high seas, the gunports on the leeward side of a Battleship would be submerged below the waterline. During sailing, carpenters had to nail wooden battens from inboard to seal the gunports and secure them with gunport bars. Then, they had to use caulking material made of pine resin mixed with hemp fibers to fill the gaps around the gunports, ensuring strict waterproofing.
Even with that object aboard the King Edward suppressing the wind and waves, the seas outside still rose above the lower gunports. To prevent disaster from a sudden change in wind direction, they had simply sealed all gunports on both sides. Preventing water ingress was one concern; more critical was a taboo that meant life or death:
"Absolutely, absolutely do not let that thing get soaked in seawater!"
In the lowest hold, a group of a dozen or so Law Mages vigilantly guarded a chest heavily bound by chains and legal seals. They were uniformly clad in bright red robes and white wigs, symbolizing the retreat of Human Nature, leaving only impartial Divinity and judicial fairness. In their hands, they held batons symbolizing punishment and authority, channeling the power of the Silver Law and the Royal Iron Rule - Great Charter to weave a Law Net that enshrouded the chest. This united the power of the entire Fleet, transforming this space into the Kingdom’s maritime territory, a domain under royal Authority.
But Young Norwich knew that the Law Net’s primary purpose was external defense; its restraining force on *that thing* was negligible at best. What they truly relied on was...
The leading Third Order Law Mage, Chief Justice Dudd Light, drew an ancient Shepherd Flute from his belt, nodding at Young Norwich, indicating he was ready.
"Unseal it! Summon the Calamity!"
The Fleet Commander’s written order turned to ash, and the seals on the chest were lifted, layer by layer. Everyone gripped their batons tightly, all on high alert.
As the final seal was broken, a thick vapor carrying a pungent, bone-chillingly foul stench instantly filled the Warship’s hold.
Inside the chest was a large, brightly colored pottery urn. Within it, soaked in an unknown potion, lay a piece of a pale tentacle, thick as a human thigh and appearing severely decayed. Unlike an ordinary octopus tentacle, the center of its suckers bristled with ferocious mouthparts.
No one needed to see it with their eyes. The instant it appeared, everyone felt as if something slimy were writhing in the sulci of their brains. Bizarre images, languages, and texts madly flooded their senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, skin, any point of perception.
The wooden planks, rivets, pig-iron ballast, and wine barrels in the corners of the hold began to twist and deform into the tentacles of some colossal mollusk. From the center of its mottled suckers sprouted slavering maws and teeth, surging like a tide toward the Law Mages in the hold.
The Law Mages, eyes closed, slammed the batons in their hands hard against the deck beneath them. An Array inscribed on the floor with forbidden knowledge suddenly lit up, taking a compass-like form. A blood-red pointer within it slowly turned, finally pointing towards Iron Anchor Bay, ten nautical miles (18.5 kilometers) away.
The illusory tentacles paused.
"Do not commit its form to memory. Do not receive the information it disseminates. And do not investigate its origin. As long as we are not marked, it will not actively attack us."
The Chief Justice’s authoritative voice resounded, slightly easing the tension in everyone’s hearts.
A series of jarring, nauseating flute notes suddenly erupted. Dudd Light blew into the Second-Class Relic in his hand: the Pied Piper’s Shepherd Flute.
Miraculously, upon hearing the flute’s call, the phantasmal tentacles swayed gently like snakes, then instantly vanished, reappearing outside the Warship. The clouds in the sky and the waves in the sea seemed to be affected by it, manifesting Indescribable forms.
Once its bearing was determined by the compass-like Array, it suddenly plunged into the void and vanished.