At nine forty on Saturday night, the sailboat Trident dropped its anchor in the shadow of a massive undersea rock formation and came to a halt.
Not far from the rock lay the remnants of a steel ruin—collapsed and corroded beyond recognition. Still, from what little remained, it was clear that it had once been vast in scale, though now it had shrunk to a mere fraction of its former glory.
Standing on the deck, the Mysticism Magister Stewart gazed into the decayed ruins whose original appearance was impossible to imagine, and suddenly felt an urge to compose and sing a fitting hymn.
—When the Trident traveled beneath the sea, the entire hull was wrapped within a transparent shroud, preventing seawater from flooding the deck.
Stewart's presence aboard the Trident was because, in addition to his public identity as a Senior Deacon, he was also a member of another elite squad under the Church of the Storm—an unseen and secret team known as the Deep Divers.
As for the story about vacationing with Madam Filina in Dacy Bay, that was merely a cover, using her as a convenient distraction… In truth, he had long since changed his appearance and joined this covert mission.
At that moment, a tall young man in a white shirt, brown vest, and double-breasted black tailcoat approached. He wore a high black top hat that glimmered faintly even in the dark seawater.
"What are you looking at?" the man asked with a smile.
He was Stewart's close friend, Gawell Byrne, a Sequence 5 Priest of Light.
—Since the Deep Divers was a secret force that operated in the shadows, none of its members belonged to the Sailor pathway.
"Nothing much. I just saw the remnants of a civilization I've never known and suddenly felt like singing a hymn, though I can't find the right one." Stewart spoke honestly—he had no reason to hide his thoughts from his friend.
"I thought you were thinking about that Madam Filina…" Byrne teased before turning toward the ruins as well. Then, smiling, he added, "I think I understand your mood now. In Emperor Roselle's words, this would be called mono no aware—the pathos of things.
"Haha, back when we were in the choir, you were always the best singer… So, how about composing one on the spot?"
"I can sing, not write songs," Stewart complained, then shifted the topic. "Why did Lord Drake have the Trident anchor here? Aren't we supposed to keep searching for the cave where Feysac keeps its sea monster?"
"I was just about to tell you…" Byrne said. "According to Lord Drake, he's already pinpointed the region where that cave lies. But he needs to perform a ritual to confirm the exact location.
"The ritual takes some time and can't be interrupted, so he chose this concealed rock formation to anchor behind." Byrne finished speaking, handed over a bottle of Soniya Blood Wine, and continued, "Here, for you. This is the good stuff—I've kept it for years."
Stewart accepted the bottle, glanced at his friend, and asked in a low voice, "You don't have confidence in this mission, do you?"
Byrne took out another bottle of Soniya Blood Wine for himself, drank a mouthful, and said, "Isn't it obvious? We don't even have a retreat plan…
"Though we'll probably complete the mission, I can't say how many of us will make it back alive.
"I think your odds are the best, though. As a Mysticism Magister, you have plenty of tricks—enough to handle just about anything."
Hearing this, Stewart sighed quietly. When he'd looked at those ruins earlier, he hadn't only been feeling mono no aware—he had also been mourning for himself. As his friend said, since the Feysac side hadn't fallen for their bait, this mission had become exceedingly dangerous.
So dangerous that Stewart began to doubt whether sacrificing so many elites—and an entire escort fleet—for a single sea monster was even worth it.
And perhaps it was just paranoia, but he felt the same unease he'd once felt back in Tingen City, the sense that someone was manipulating events from behind the scenes.
And this time, his prime suspect was none other than their commander, Lord Drake.
"Pity there's not enough time…" Stewart had barely uttered the sigh when his friend's face suddenly flushed red. Byrne began to cough violently, unable to even cast a Holy Light upon himself.
This was… a mystical disease? Stewart immediately recognized the nature of the ailment afflicting the Priest of Light, and then noticed that his own breathing had begun to rasp faintly as well.
Byrne's symptoms flared faster because he'd been drinking—his blood circulation had quickened!
Realizing this, Stewart immediately mimicked the powers of a Doctor before the illness worsened, treating himself.
But soon he realized the effect was poor… or rather, it only delayed the progression, not cured it. So he switched to his Potions Professor abilities, quickly concocting a targeted antidote from the materials he carried.
"Could a Demoness have infiltrated the ship?
"Why didn't the Trident's barrier issue any alarm?
"Why hasn't Lord Drake responded yet?"
Stewart forced himself to think despite the intensifying sickness, mixing ingredients while his thoughts raced.
Then, from the direction of the captain's cabin came a deafening roar. A moment later, a massive dragon appeared in Stewart's sight—its back sprouting two grey, leathery wings; its limbs thick and muscular; its scales pale and engraved with layer upon layer of intricate, three-dimensional runes.
Terrified, Stewart immediately averted his gaze and cast a secret art to create a paper effigy double, letting it bear the brunt of the divine corruption.
Even so, one of his eyes exploded on the spot, blood spraying across his stunned friend.
Fortunately, Stewart was also proficient in Flesh Magic and had developed several secret arts for regenerating limbs. It would take only a few weeks for his eye to grow back.
Woo!
A violent wind rose around the grey-white dragon, as if born from both reality and illusion.
The gusts carried a will of their own, sweeping in all directions. All creatures caught within were afflicted by strange and grotesque distortions—though at the same time, the "disease" that had spread through the ship was temporarily suppressed.
Had Lord Drake finally acted? Stewart had barely thought this when he noticed three women standing in midair on the opposite side of the ship—one ethereal and dreamlike, another dazzling yet languid, and the third regal yet sinfully seductive.
Each was different, yet each stirred one's blood to a dangerous degree.
"Three… demigod Demonesses?" Stewart froze at the sight, forgetting even to drink the potion he'd just brewed.
…..
The three Demonesses attacking the Trident were, of course, the work of Ebner and Klein.
One had summoned the DespairNightingale using a self-made emblem; another had released the demigod succubus gifted by the Mother Tree of Desire within Creeping Hunger.
The last was a historical projection of the Blue Saintess invoked by the Scholar of Yore, Daphne.
Their plan had been to quietly seize control of the Trident, then sail it to attack the sea monster's lair—tricking the Twilight Hermit Order members on the Feysac side into believing that everything was proceeding according to "script."
This was all part of Klein's plan, which was why he had asked Arrodes where the Trident would anchor.
And as for why they chose three Demonesses… well, since they didn't plan to kill the Storm Church's secret team, someone had to take the blame, didn't they?
What they hadn't expected was that the Manipulator aboard the Trident, though already under Ebner's hypnosis, suddenly broke free of the suggestion, regained his self-awareness, and immediately transformed into a dragon—completely disregarding the lives of everyone else aboard.
If Ebner hadn't secretly intervened to "filter" out part of the mythical creature's corruption, Stewart's injury would have been far worse than merely losing an eye!
(End of Chapter)