"Uneasy?" Upon hearing Agatha's reply, Bishop Ivan's tone clearly changed. He stared intently into Agatha's eyes. "For a saint, 'uneasy' is not a good sign... What happened? When did this start?"

"It started right after returning from that contaminated sewage treatment center," Agatha didn't hide anything, knowing that the old bishop before her was the most trustworthy person in the entire city-state. "I keep feeling like I've forgotten something, like... I left something behind there, but I've reviewed the events that happened there several times and haven't found anything amiss."

"That sewage treatment center..." Bishop Ivan's voice was low. He of course knew what Agatha was talking about. The incident had been reported to the Cathedral and City Hall immediately, and the subsequent investigation and purification work was still in full swing. "I've also been following this matter—the surviving manager is still receiving treatment in the mental hospital, and the original dozen or so employees of the treatment center are still missing. According to the sampling reports from the scene, you should have already purified the entire facility's contamination—theoretically, there shouldn't be any hidden dangers left."

"But I still feel uneasy," Agatha admitted frankly. "Although I have no evidence, I must have overlooked something."

"...Have you checked your mental state? What were the results of the cognitive calibration?"

"Of course I've checked," Agatha nodded. "Whether it's self-cognitive calibration or subconscious examination with the assistance of a psychiatrist, I've done it all. No problems were found."

Bishop Ivan didn't speak for a moment. After a few seconds, he broke the silence thoughtfully: "Then it's possible that your own 'inner self' is issuing a warning—perhaps from your subconscious, perhaps from your spiritual vision, or even from your faith."

"I will return there to confirm," Agatha nodded. "Before that, I will go to the prayer room to pray for a while—hopefully, the Lord will give me some guidance."

Bishop Ivan nodded slightly: "Go, I hope prayer can alleviate your distress."

Agatha hummed in agreement, got up and left the platform where the spirit coffin was parked, and disappeared outside the gate of the Meditation Sanctuary a moment later.

The spacious sanctuary was quiet for a while, only the mummy-like Bishop Ivan still sitting on the edge of the spirit coffin, he looked in the direction Agatha left, as if lost in thought, after an unknown amount of time, he sighed softly and stretched out his hand to outline the triangular emblem of Bartok, the God of Death, on his chest: "May the Lord guide..."

In the silent Meditation Sanctuary, the candlesticks embedded in the niches burned quietly, and in the silent trembling of the flames, the mirror-like black marble floor reflected the brilliance of the candlesticks everywhere. Around those dancing flames, there seemed to be many fleeting phantoms.

Outside Frostwind City, on the boundary line of the near-sea area, a patrol ship flying the Frostwind Navy flag was patrolling the sea according to the prescribed route.

A naval commander came to the bow deck, frowning as he looked at the distant sea—the cold light of the World Scar sprinkled down from the sky, causing a trace of paleness in the shimmering waves on the sea, and among those waves, you could occasionally see fragments of floating ice of various sizes. Those fragments of floating ice drifted along a neat direction in the distance, vaguely forming an invisible "boundary line."

The commander of course knew what those seemingly naturally generated "floating ice" were—they weren't actually "fragments of floating ice" at all, but part of the Sea Mist Fleet.

That was the floating ice around the Sea Mist, when that cursed ghost ship appeared on the sea, such floating ice would appear around it. They symbolized the "sphere of influence" of that pirate captain and were also a manifestation of the Sea Mist's cursed power—any ship that recklessly approached the Sea Mist without permission would first be baptized by those "floating ice." The lighter ones would have their actions hindered, and the more serious ones would even be directly frozen on the sea, with everyone on board turning into ice-bound souls.

The Sea Mist often used this method to block shipping lanes, intercept merchant ships passing through its sphere of influence, and collect so-called "floating ice disposal service fees"—in most cases, that ship didn't even need to fire its cannons to complete this shameful extortion.

Of course, the Sea Mist Fleet had temporarily lifted its hostile relationship with the Frostwind Navy, and those floating ice wouldn't actively spread to the heads of the naval patrol ships, but their existence itself was a deterrent attitude, and the meaning it conveyed was obvious:

Even if this was Frostwind's doorstep, further ahead was the sphere of influence of the Sea Mist Fleet.

The commander wearing the Frostwind Navy uniform sighed through gritted teeth, trying to calm his mind.

The overall situation was important, and soldiers should obey the judgment of their superiors—the city-state needed security, and that security required the Sea Mist Fleet.

The blockade of the entire sea area was above all else.

"The sea is getting foggy again," a junior officer came to the deck, looking at the distance and muttering, "It's getting foggy almost every day."

The patrol ship commander raised his head and looked at the sea ahead.

As his subordinate said, the sea was getting foggy, and fog like yarn and silk was gradually condensing on the sea, spreading around that "floating ice boundary." The light of the World Scar permeated the fog, making it appear pale.

"It's probably brought by the Sea Mist again," the commander frowned. "Wherever that ship goes, floating ice and fog follow."

"The Sea Mist hasn't moved from its original position," the subordinate said. "Maybe that 'Pirate General' just wants to show off his presence?"

"No matter what he thinks," the commander shook his head. "We shouldn't approach places with fog and floating ice—Frostwind can't be the first to break the agreement."

"Yes."

The commander hummed in agreement, then looked at the fog in the distance again, with some doubts in his expression: "But then again... Isn't the fog tonight a little bigger than usual?"

The subordinate followed his superior's gaze and saw that the fog spreading around the floating ice was indeed expanding, and it seemed more dense than usual. In the depths of the increasingly thick fog, something seemed to be shaking.

"The fog is really getting thicker..." the junior officer muttered. "Is there something in the fog?"

"...Something's not right."

As the patrol ship commander spoke, his expression suddenly changed, and then he quickly picked up his binoculars and looked in the direction of the dense fog. After a moment of careful observation, he finally confirmed that there was indeed something shaking in the dense fog—it was very large and was approaching.

It was a ship!

"It's a ship, a ship coming from the Sea Mist Fleet's patrol area," the commander put down his binoculars, speaking quickly. "Send a light signal—the Sea Mist Fleet has crossed the line, tell them to stop immediately."

"Yes!"

The junior officer responded loudly, then ran quickly to the back of the deck. After a while, the large searchlight installed on the upper level of the patrol ship lit up and sent a series of light signals towards the dense fog.

However, the approaching shadow in the dense fog showed no signs of slowing down.

The patrol ship commander stared intently at the blurry shadow in the fog, watching as the other party not only didn't slow down, but instead accelerated towards them. As the other party approached, even the fog on the surrounding sea surface seemed to be spreading consciously—in just a short moment, the surging fog had spread to within a hundred meters of the patrol ship, and even had a tendency to surround the ship from all directions!

"Damn pirates!"

The patrol ship commander couldn't help but curse inwardly. He turned around and ran quickly to the bridge, shouting as he rushed towards the control panel: "Reverse, turn, that thing is crashing straight into us—has the Sea Mist Fleet responded?"

"No response to the light signals! No response to short-range calls!" the soldier in front of the console shouted back. "We are calling the Sea Mist using the agreed frequency, but there's no reply from that side yet... Wait, there's a response!"

The communication light on the console suddenly lit up, and the automatic recorder began to click and whir, a long strip of punched tape constantly spewing out of the machine. The signalman quickly picked up the tape and deciphered the marks on it, but after a moment, he raised his head blankly: "The Sea Mist Fleet says they haven't crossed the line—all their ships are in place and haven't moved."

"All in place?"

The patrol ship commander widened his eyes, then suddenly raised his head and looked outside the porthole—the dense fog had already spread to the bow of the patrol ship. Although the helmsman was trying to turn, it was clear that the ship's speed couldn't keep up with the spread of this strange fog. In the constantly surging fog, that hazy shadow was getting closer and closer.

"Turn, hard to port, turn!"

The patrol ship tilted violently, the steam core let out a hoarse roar, the rudder and side thrusters worked together, driving the ship to turn in the fog with a force that seemed to be tearing the entire ship apart. In a series of violent shaking and a series of noises, the patrol ship commander gripped the railing next to him tightly and stared at the scene outside the porthole—

In the suddenly broken fog, a huge ship rushed out, almost scraping the patrol ship's railing.

It wasn't a member of the Frostwind Navy, nor was it a member of the Sea Mist—it was a mottled and rusty old-era warship, its severely damaged hull paint and outdated bow structure seemed to silently tell of the vicissitudes of life it had experienced.

The patrol ship commander stared blankly as the huge ship brushed past his patrol ship. After several seconds, he suddenly reacted and recalled an illustration and record he had once seen in an old document—

"It's the 'Warrior', which sank forty years ago..."