Ashes Of Deep Sea-Chapter 314 - 318 Gradually Distorted
Chapter 314: Chapter 318: Gradually Distorted
Chapter 314 -318: Gradually Distorted
In the minute that followed, Terrian was immersed in a state of temporary disorientation and sluggishness caused by the huge shock. He found it difficult to focus his gaze, and his mind was filled with tumultuous noise—his psyche, like a lone boat in a storm, pitched and tossed—yet even so, his reason remained lucid.
He knew it was the Spectral Flames that had appeared in the darkness which preserved his sanity and prevented it from being tainted by the power of The Saint of the Profound.
Moments later, he gradually regained his breath. Since he hadn’t suffered severe psychic contamination, the hallucinations in his head quickly dissipated. At the same time, he heard a calm voice coming from across: “It looks like you’ve recovered.”
Terrian lifted his head and looked at the tall figure across the navigation table, “It was you who ‘pulled’ me out just now…”
“You were staring at it for too long, and Fenna said you were falling into a nightmare,” Duncan said composedly, “fortunately, I have been doing some research on ‘intervening in dreams’ recently.”
“Nightmare,” Terrian subconsciously rubbed his brow, “did I seem like I was falling into a nightmare just now…?”
“It looks like you’ve had no ordinary experience?” Duncan’s tone held a hint of curiosity—he indeed had urgently intervened in Terrian’s psyche, but unlike what he usually saw when entering others’ dreams using the power of the Spirit Realm, this time he “saw” nothing after the intervention. Terrian’s “nightmare” was just darkness as if the “source” of the nightmare had left before his intervention, which made him all the more curious about what had transpired.
“I… encountered an existence that is difficult to describe with words,” Terrian struggled to recall the images he had seen, carefully describing them, “I can’t articulate its exact shape, nor dare I recall all its details, but I suspect that was The Saint of the Profound…”
Terrian recounted what he had witnessed and heard in the darkness, supplementing it with the many sensations he had felt on a psychic level, leaving out nothing except the inability to fully recall the complete contours of the mountainous shadow.
After listening to Terrian’s account, Duncan immediately furrowed his brows: “You mean to say, the only sentence that the suspected ‘Saint of the Profound’ said to you was to ‘run fast’?”
“Strictly speaking, it’s the only sentence I understood,” Terrian spread his hands, “It seemed to speak a great deal to me, but it all perished in the overwhelming noise. In the end, it appeared to give up and uttered just one simple word, which I barely made out…”
Duncan pondered, “So, it turns out that one can’t hear the mutterings of ancient gods clearly when in a highly inspired state…”
Terrian was taken aback, “What did you say, father?”
“Ah, nothing, it’s irrelevant,” Duncan waved his hand, refocusing his attention on the matter at hand. After musing for a moment, he turned to Fenna, “Do you think Terrian encountered The Saint of the Profound? Do you think it told Terrian to ‘run fast’ with protective intent?”
“Based on Captain Terrian’s description and his own feelings, even if it wasn’t The Saint of the Profound, it’s at least an existence akin to heretical deities,” Fenna replied promptly, “but as for what that ‘run fast’ meant… I’m sorry, Mr. Duncan, I dare not make an unruly judgement.”
She paused, seeming to feel that her answer was inadequate, and added, “There’s always been scant information about The Saint of the Profound, even the Four Churches have limited data. The prevailing view is that The Saint of the Profound is a massive solitary being at the center of the Abstruse Domain, without the ability to move or actively project power into the real world. It’s incapable of communication, seems not to think, like…”
Fenna tapped her forehead, struggling to find the right words to describe such an entity. Duncan, seeing her struggle, offhandedly said, “Like a slime mold sunk in the Mysterious Deep Sea? Alive, massive, but neither thinking nor moving mycelium?”
“…You’re probably the only person in the world who would describe The Saint of the Profound as slime mold,” Fenna said with an odd expression, yet she gently nodded, “But indeed, as you said, if the information we tortured out of the souls of those Profound Demons and Heretics is accurate, The Saint of the Profound is such a ‘silent heretical deity’. All it does is continually divide more Profound Demons out of its body, or absorb those Profound Demons that die in battle.”
Duncan couldn’t help but rub his forehead, “… This sounds like some kind of fungal mat tumor…”
The captain spoke in “Subspace dialect” that was incomprehensible again.
However, Fenna was no stranger to this and elegantly ignored the indecipherable words, naturally steering the conversation forward, “Overall, The Saint of the Profound can be considered a relatively harmless heretical deity since it has never shown any tendency to Corrode the real world. But even so, in the classification of the Four Churches, it is still categorized as an ‘Evil God’.”
“Regardless of its subjective intent, its very existence is a danger?”
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“Yes—both the Profound Demons that split from it and those who sign pacts with Profound Demons, the spiritually deranged and annihilated Heretics, are formidable enemies to the civilized world.”
Duncan didn’t speak, instead falling into contemplation for a moment.
For some reason, he found himself thinking of the Black Sun that supported a false crown, dying in flames.
But he merely pondered this and refrained from making any judgement on the nature of The Saint of the Profound—simply put, there wasn’t enough evidence; he wouldn’t readily come to conclusions about things he hadn’t personally encountered.
Tirian rubbed his brow; the noise in his head had completely subsided, leaving only a slight dizziness and a fatigue akin to having stayed up for several nights. As Fenna recounted intelligence related to the Sanctum Lord, he had his own thoughts.
“Regardless of whether that ‘Run’ was meant kindly, one thing is certain: the situation of the Obsidian was clearly an outcome of the Sanctum Lord’s influence. Now, with annihilation cultists active within the Frost City-State, they’re likely here for this very issue,” Tirian said slowly, “If the influence I just experienced is truly related to those involved in that project back then, then even the Submersion Project is now linked to this matter—further reasoning suggests that our main focus should perhaps be on ‘Dagger Island,’ a remnant of the Submersion Project from half a century ago to this very day.”
“The eighth ‘Number Three Submersible,'” Duncan spoke gravely, “What do you know about the situation on Dagger Island?”
“That area is now a military restricted area, not easily accessible even with the power of the Mist Fleet—Homeloss might be able to forcibly land on the island due to its exceptional nature, but finding the submersible in a short time won’t be easy, after all, the island is large with a complex research facility structure. The military personnel on the island might directly order its destruction in case of an emergency…”
Duncan listened with increasing discomfort, hurrying to interrupt the pirate leader: “Stop, stop, stop, when did I say we were going straight in?”
Tirian was startled and then realized, “Sorry, Father, I thought…”
Duncan waved his hand, indicating there was no need to explain: “Nevermind that; just give me a brief on your understanding of Dagger Island, it might be useful.”
“Alright, about that island…”
…
Belazov’s expression was grave as he scrutinized the diving bell suspended in the center of the hall.
He had spent two days in this research facility, and during those two days, half of his time was spent in this hall, dealing with the diving bell.
He was not a professional researcher, understanding neither mechanical matters nor the significance of the series of physical and chemical tests the scholars conducted on those samples. His presence here was purely out of curiosity about this mechanically mysterious device with a curious history.
An irresistible curiosity.
As a Frostfolk not yet forty years old, he had not experienced that major event from half a century ago, but as one of the upper echelons of the City-State, he had at least learned about the Submersion Project from those secret files.
The Number Three Submersible held the most important position within all the files, the most chilling aspect of the entire Submersion Project.
Rusted and dirty, both inside and out, it hung honestly on a hook like a piece of scrap metal, appearing utterly unremarkable.
Professor Melson stood beside the general, introducing the safety measures of this laboratory.
“… Directly underneath the hoist rope leads to the furnace; in case of an emergency, the hook will release instantly, and the submersible will smash through the grate and plummet into the furnace. If after the release mechanism is triggered the submersible does not fall into the channel, an interlocking mechanism will be activated, causing this entire room to release from its ‘sanctum’ framework, sliding into a cave behind the bay—filled with stacked nitroglycerin explosives.”
“And the lab personnel?”
“We have thirty seconds to evacuate—after which, the escape passages will be sealed,” Professor Melson stated, “But if it’s truly the worst-case scenario… the person in charge, that is, me, can also choose not to initiate the escape protocols.”
Belazov gave a slight nod, slowly approaching the diving bell.
He looked at the dirty circular glass window, curiously peering inside.
A murky red mud swirled lightly within the submersible, as something resembling an eyeball pressed against the glass, meeting Belazov’s gaze through the gaps in the grime.
After a while, the general withdrew his gaze: “It’s pitch black inside; can’t see a thing.”
“Yes, we haven’t opened its hatch yet,” Professor Melson nodded, “and naturally, we’re unable to clean its interior.”
General Belazov smiled: “So it should be.”
