Chapter 1 The Dagger Island Incident

Since the eighth "Submersible No. 3" was salvaged from the Frost Sea and sent to Dagger Island near the city-state, the island had been designated a military restricted zone by the city-state authorities, and the two nearby shipping lanes were no longer open to civilians.

This naturally aroused speculation from many people. Not only were the locals of Frost speculating, but also the shipowners and nearby pirates and explorers who had been forced to stay away from Dagger Island. They were curious about what had happened on the island, curious about what secrets the Frost authorities were hiding, and many of their speculations were quite plausible, ranging from "researching new weapons" to "holding dangerous rituals"—but none of them were reliable.

Few people in this world still know about the "Submersible Project."

"It's getting harder and harder for our people to gather information on Dagger Island," Aiden said to Tyrian with a serious expression on the small road at the edge of the harbor area. "The island's security level has been adjusted recently. They are even monitoring every inch of the coastline. It's no longer feasible to approach by diving. And the moles and insiders we have bought and controlled have recently been transferred from key positions—they haven't been exposed, but the material transportation and personnel transfer on Dagger Island are now completely carried out within a special list of the authorities, and we can't get involved."

"...Completely turned into a military restricted zone?" Tyrian stopped. "Did they find something on that 'Submersible No. 3'? Or have they already opened the hatch?"

"Hard to say," Aiden shook his head. "However, the last time we found out about the island, we saw an order issued by the Frost authorities, which specifically mentioned that the submersible's hatch should not be opened, and any samples scraped from the submersible's outer shell must be put into the incinerator after the research is completed—at least from this order, it can be seen that the city-state governor is still very cautious. But this was a few days ago, and no one knows if there will be any changes now."

"...If we can't get investigation results for a long time, and there are some dangerous and strange experimental accidents, the most sensible thing for the Frost authorities to do is to directly throw the submersible into the furnace and not continue any research, just like we did back then," Tyrian frowned. "But they are still blockading Dagger Island... This shows that they must want to dig some secrets out of that submersible."

"...In theory, the Frost upper echelons should know about the Submersible Project back then, at least they should know the dangers and horrors in the deep sea."

"Knowing is one thing, understanding is another—later generations can hear stories from their ancestors in books and orally, but unless they experience it again personally, it is difficult for them to imagine that kind of fear and powerlessness," Tyrian shook his head. "Faced with the uncontrolled supernatural, the greatest advantage of human beings is that they can 'forget,' and the greatest disadvantage is also the same."

Aiden looked at his captain, and after a dozen seconds of silence, he finally opened his mouth: "Captain, should we take some more... proactive actions?"

"More proactive actions?"

"Contact the Frost authorities, warn them, or more directly... the fleet raids Dagger Island and snatches that 'Submersible No. 3' over," Aiden said bluntly. "With the current defense force on Dagger Island, it should not be able to withstand a round of strong attack from the Sea Fog Fleet."

He paused at this point and added, "Otherwise, if we let those guys who don't know anything knock and beat on a twisted copy that floated up from the deep sea, I really don't know when they will cause big trouble. It's too worrying."

Tyrian fell into a brief thought.

After a while, he shook his head: "Even if we successfully raided Dagger Island, can you be sure that we can find the whereabouts of Submersible No. 3 before the Frost main force reacts? The scale of that island is not small... Once it takes too long to search, we will have to face several times the city-state navy. The Sea Fog is not invincible, and besides..."

He stopped, and the face of the Frost Queen appeared in his mind.

The next second, Tyrian stopped his wild thoughts in time—it was a close call that another face exactly like the Frost Queen didn't appear.

"It's nothing," he shook his head. "I need to think about this carefully."

"Then you need to make a decision earlier," Aiden nodded, and at this moment, a bell suddenly came from the direction of the harbor square. The first mate immediately looked up in the direction of the sound. "Ah, it's late at night... Captain, why don't you just go to the square and have some fun? Adjusting your mood may be good for you to make a decision next."

"I'm not going," Tyrian shook his head subconsciously. "I'm not interested."

"It's good to show your face occasionally," Aiden urged enthusiastically. "The Badika dancers are not something you can see all the time—their dance is more beautiful and agile than the black-tailed rock finches that cross the storm." "What I said I'm not interested in is this," Tyrian spread his hands helplessly. "And to be honest, if I, the captain, really show up at the party, can the sailors really fool around to their heart's content?"

"Yes, why not," Aiden said casually. "You don't know the faces of those guys, they are hard and thick and can regenerate..."

Tyrian: "..."

But in the end, Aiden still failed to persuade the stubborn captain, and went to the harbor square alone to participate in tonight's gathering.

On the pirate island after midnight, it was still boiling and noisy.

The tireless undead have unlimited energy, and there are no curfew regulations on this island that has been transformed and shrouded by supernatural power. Their celebrations can last all day, from sunrise to sunset, and from sunset to sunrise.

The high platform on one side of the square has been transformed into a stage.

The temporarily added wooden plank wall blocked the cold wind from the coast, and the burning fire pots around the stage somewhat resisted the cold of the winter night—the undead were no longer afraid of the cold and heat, but the "human guests" who visited the pirate island tonight still needed careful protection.

Young girls from Cold Harbor danced enthusiastically between the bonfire and the cold wind.

Skirts fluttered, dancers spun, bonfires burst and jumped in the night, the sound of distant waves was continuous, terrible undead cheered under the stage, and the misty pirate island had a rare noisy night scene in this world.

Tyrian stopped at an inconspicuous corner next to the square and looked up at the vicinity of the stage.

He was not here to attend the party, but was preparing to return to his residence, just passing through the square.

The weekly sailor gathering was a "custom" that existed in the Frost Navy, and now even after leaving Frost, this habit has been retained in the Sea Fog Fleet.

Half a century has passed, many things have changed, and many things have not changed.

Tyrian looked at the commotion of his old subordinates in the square, and a smile gradually appeared on his face, but suddenly, his smile was a little restrained.

He looked at the stage not far away, at the dancers on the stage, and saw that their dances were enthusiastic and their leaps were like startled geese, but their eyes were slightly dull and numb.

They should have drunk a potion made from a mixture of various herbs and a small amount of supernatural catalysts in advance—not a rare thing.

The power of the potion can, to some extent, allow them to resist the cold, but it also affects their cognition and thinking at the same time.

This can prevent them from being afraid, and temporarily leave only the instinct to dance in their minds.

Obviously, the owners of these dancers did not want their tools to destroy the peaceful relationship between themselves and the pirate leaders of the Cold Sea because of fear.

Tyrian smacked his tongue.

This is actually very common. The "big figures of the Cold Sea" who dare to do business with pirates, and even send people to pirate islands, have some similar methods. After all, the Church and the authorities will not interfere in their gray business, so ordinary people can only think of some "folk remedies" to resist the shadows and terrors of the Boundless Sea. The lives of pirates and "risk speculators" have never been as romantic as those written in adventure stories.

In a sense, drinking the potion is also a protection for the dancers.

Tyrian just felt a little disappointed—he thought that "Cutlass Martin" would have made some progress after so many years, but he didn't expect that the other party was still using the old tricks from ten years ago to operate his "Cold Sea entertainment industry."

He shook his head and prepared to turn around and leave.

But just as he was about to leave, a slight crackling sound of flames suddenly entered his ears.

This strange and somewhat familiar sound of flames instantly made Tyrian's heart tighten, and he almost didn't steady his steps. Then, he stared at the direction of the sound.

A faint green light was jumping on a frozen wall next to him, and as the light and shadow spread, the center of the ice surface instantly turned black like night, and a tall and majestic figure stepped out of it.

"Good evening, Tyrian," the figure said. "I hope I didn't disturb your rest."

Tyrian stared at the figure that emerged from the ice, and after holding back for a long time, he tried to maintain a normal expression and responded to the greeting: "Goo... Good evening, Father. Why are you suddenly..."

"There are some things to discuss with you, and also to see how you have been doing recently," Duncan said casually. "What are you doing?"

As he spoke, he raised his head, his eyes passed over Tyrian's shoulder, and he saw the stage in the distance, and the young girls who were still wearing thin dresses in the cold wind. /

"..."

"It's not what you think!"