Chapter 1 An Invitation

Aiden jumped down from the high platform and came to his captain. Noticing the particularly grave expression on his captain's face, his own expression immediately turned serious.

"Captain, what's wrong?"

"An invitation. I can't refuse it," Tyrian looked around, then sighed. "I may have to leave here for a trip tomorrow or the day after."

Aiden's eyes widened. "News arrived on the island? Just now? And… how could there be an invitation on the frigid seas that even *you* can't refuse?"

Tyrian sighed again. "…It's my father."

Aiden blinked, speechless for a long moment. "…How long will you be gone, approximately?"

"I should be back soon, a day or two perhaps." Tyrian didn't notice the subtle change in his first mate's tone; his mind was too preoccupied to pay attention. "A messenger will arrive at the port to take me to the *Ghost Ship*. Don't announce this to anyone for now. During my 'disappearance,' you take charge of everything."

Aiden immediately bowed his head in acceptance. "Yes, Captain."

After a two-second pause, the first mate seemed slightly hesitant. He couldn't help but look around before leaning in to whisper to Tyrian, "Is he… nearby?"

Tyrian thought for a moment, then patted Aiden's shoulder. "The *Ghost Ship* is hidden in the mist around us."

More color appeared on him, and more solid details appeared on his originally misty, illusory body.

He knew what his captain was worried about.

And the other part were the true "original backbone" under "Iron General" Tyrian: they were former members of the *Ghost Ship* fleet.

More and more memories began to surface from the depths of this soul.

However, the majestic gatekeeper simply lowered his head and quietly looked at the soul at the door for a moment, then moved slightly to the side. "Please enter. Your debt is paid."

Suddenly, the figure stopped at the end of the road.

The Sea Fog Fleet was vast in scale, and apart from a few special individuals who were bought off or hired through contracts as peripheral members, most of the fleet's members were "undead" like himself. These undead sailors could be divided into two groups.

"Yes," the gatekeeper said, a hoarse, deep voice coming from beneath the bandages. "I am only a messenger."

It seemed as if individuals that had once been torn and separated from him were now returning to their correct positions one by one.

In the endless battles of half a century, in the constant clashes with rebels, death and the cursed power of the *Sea Fog* had gradually turned them into the "undead sailors" they were today, becoming part of the Sea Fog Fleet.

He raised his head and continued forward.

Duncan Abnormall was their "Old Captain." They had witnessed the *Ghost Ship*'s transformation and fall with their own eyes, personally experiencing the storms of the past century. They had followed Tyrian in allegiance to Aiden, and then watched Aiden undergo earth-shattering changes in the upheaval—these sailors who had been loyal for a century were called the "First Generation," while those who had been loyal for half a century were called the "Second Generation."

Aiden immediately lowered his head. "Yes, Captain."

"…Captain, after stopping breathing for so many years, I can finally feel what 'cold' means again today," First Mate Wei Xiong's voice was noticeably cautious. "Are you sure the Old Captain… is just asking you to meet him?"

A tall figure suddenly appeared in front of the door, blocking his path.

Including the details of his own death.

What delayed his journey? What forced him to trudge endlessly through this wilderness?

A century of experience allowed Duncan to see many things hidden beneath the surface.

He gradually gained a face—a middle-aged woman with white hair.

His tone was somewhat mournful. "I'm not qualified to cross that door, am I?"

A set of clothes appeared on this cloud of white mist—a navigator's uniform.

Christo looked at this nearly three-meter-tall "giant" with some trepidation. Memories from when he was alive surged back, restoring his ability to speak. "Are you… the master of death?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to know. I just have a feeling that this trip shouldn't be dangerous," Tyrian said softly, then glanced back toward the plaza, looking at the sailors who were still unwilling to disperse and were preparing to party until sunrise. He then turned back to look at the first mate. "But other sailors might not think so. You understand what I mean."

A large part of them were members of the post-Aiden Navy. These soldiers, who had once been loyal to the Frost Queen, were originally ordinary people. After the Frost Rebellion, these loyalists who insisted on staying in the ranks were gradually transformed into their current state.

"…The dancers of Cold Port are indeed passionate and unrestrained—passionate in personality, unrestrained in aesthetics."

Christo Barberi raised his head in astonishment, seeing that he had unknowingly walked onto a wide road. On both sides of the road were ancient stone pillars standing in silence, and at the end of the road, an incredibly tall, magnificent gate with ancient and complex patterns stood in the air.

The empty black shadow lowered his head and looked at himself, seeing that some colors seemed to be appearing on his hazy body.

"The *Ghost Ship* is nearby. It's best to keep ordinary people away from this island for the time being," Tyrian shook his head, carefully making an excuse. After all, he would be embarrassed to admit the reason was "My Dad Shocked Me." Then he paused and added, "But what you said earlier reminded me—if we just send them back directly, that mean cutlass Martin might mistreat those boys… I'll write a letter later. You give it to the dance leader."

Just then, Tyrian's voice came again, interrupting Wei Xiong's thoughts. "Send the dancers back to Cold Port first thing tomorrow morning."

Tyrian silently looked at the first mate's shiny bald head.

The hazy, empty black shadow pondered, but soon, the fragmented thoughts were swallowed by a greater emptiness, forcing him to continue forward according to instinct.

Listening to the captain's solemn words, Aiden slowly nodded.

The meaning of the *Ghost Ship* and "Captain Duncan" were different in the eyes of the two groups of sailors. The same news presented to them would elicit unpredictable reactions.

He recalled more things.

Darkness, solitude, silence.

It was the gatekeeper here.

Had he tripped over something? Or had he bumped into something invisible?

An empty black shadow trudged through the wilderness.

Therefore, before things were clear and the situation was under control, the news of the captain's trip to the *Ghost Ship* could not be released—otherwise, the island would definitely be in chaos.

Only a strong impulse surged from the depths of this soul—to pass through this gate, to rest on the other side of this gate.

He didn't know how long he had been trudging, nor did he remember his name when he set out. He only remembered that he seemed to have set out a long, long time ago, and the remaining superficial impressions told him that he should have reached the end long ago, that he should have rested in a peaceful place long ago.

"Send them back tomorrow?" Aiden didn't know why the captain suddenly mentioned this. "Are you not satisfied with them?"

The door was open, but the interior was always hazy, and no details could be seen on the other side.

His steps slowly became steady and heavy, and the jagged rocks under his feet had unknowingly become much rougher.

And now, even Captain Tyrian himself wasn't sure about the true state of the *Ghost Ship* and the "Old Captain," nor was he sure if that state was truly stable for the long term.

However, just as he was about to touch the door, Christo stopped.

First, it was his name, then the moment of his death, then the dark years of his youth, the tender and blurry memories of his childhood, and the fragmented glimpses of his infancy.

"Well," Tyrian nodded, then seemed to remember something else. "By the way, when I came over just now, I saw a dancer stop and say something to you. Looking at her helpless expression…"

…

"…What did she say to you?"

He trudged towards the end of the wilderness, and in the darkness, shadows of all sizes appeared from time to time, silently merging with him.

The endless, desolate wilderness stretched out in the darkness. There were no plants or animals in the wilderness, only jagged strange rocks and bizarre ruins that had weathered and decayed for countless years, collapsed and dilapidated, eternally silent in a desolate atmosphere. From time to time, strange, ancient lights flashed across the sky, drifting in the darkness, often illuminating the wilderness, often casting mottled and twisted shadows on the ground.

Visibly, he saw Aiden's muscles tighten little by little.

Aiden himself, as well as the half-baked old pastor "Will," whose head was dented, were considered members of the "First Generation."

Aiden was a little embarrassed. "She said my hairstyle was very sexy…"

This was a gatekeeper wrapped in bandages, wearing bright and complex robes, hooded, and carrying a long staff in his hand.

The middle-aged man in the captain's uniform walked forward subconsciously. There was no one around him, but he seemed to feel that countless souls were also walking on this road at the same time, also heading towards this gate—every minute and every second, there were dead people setting off in the mortal world, but in front of this lonely gate of life and death, the souls did not seem to be able to see each other. But suddenly, he stumbled.