Chapter 1 The Silence of the Cemetery

The continuous roar had completely shattered the tranquility of Cemetery No. 3. Flames burst from the muzzles of guns, illuminating the dim mist again and again. Shaky, distorted figures emerged from the fog, only to fall one by one under the sacred fire and metallic barrage. Where they fell, a dark and ominous substance spread across the paths.

These were clearly no longer just "restless corpses"—they were something more blasphemous, more ominous, and they had to be completely annihilated here.

The old man was an excellent shot. To him, the misshapen creatures emerging from the mist were like slow-moving insects. Even through the thick fog, he could take them down with a single shot each.

In truth, he was more skilled and experienced with short swords and staves—but the old man knew he had to avoid close combat with those monsters for as long as possible.

He was old, and an old soldier's experience couldn't negate the frailty of his body. The enemies seemed endless, and once he was locked in close combat, he would have no chance of holding them back from crossing the paths.

He needed to calculate precisely, to eliminate as many monsters as possible with as little exertion as possible, to stall for time. The Cathedral and the city-state authorities were surely taking action. Reinforcements would come, one side or the other—this city would not fall in such a bizarre fog.

Faintly, the sounds of other gunshots could be heard in the distance.

"Grandpa Watchman!" Annie called out, handing the reloaded rifle back to the old man. She looked nervously in the direction of the gunshots. "There's gunfire elsewhere too... Is someone coming to help us?"

"Those are the watchmen from Cemetery No. 4 and Cemetery No. 2," the old man said, raising his gun and shattering an ugly head that had appeared in the mist with a deafening blast. Without turning around, he continued, "Someone will come to help us. Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Annie said, trying to sound loud, though her voice trembled. The old watchman didn't call out the little girl's forced courage.

Because she was already brave enough.

"You are very brave," the old watchman said, trying to sound as relaxed as possible, even though his arm had begun to shake. "Where did you learn all this? How do you know how to load rifles and shotguns?"

"My mother has several guns. She hung them in the bedroom and the living room," Annie said, rapidly loading shells into the tubular magazine of a double-barreled shotgun. "The year Dad didn't come back, Mom bought a lot of guns. She said she needed to protect the house... Ouch!"

The magazine latch suddenly sprang open, and the sharp metal edge cut a long gash in the little girl's finger. She cried out in alarm.

But the next moment, she used another finger to force the latch back into place, and handed the loaded shotgun to the old man: "Here you go."

The old watchman noticed the blood on the gun and heard Annie's cry, but he remained silent for a moment before tossing another gun behind him: "……Reload."

The gunfire roared again.

The hunched, black-clad old man was like a gnarled but resilient tree, firmly rooted in the thick fog. He and Annie gradually stopped talking, and only the silent shooting remained, along with increasingly solemn expressions. He was calculating, calculating how many monsters he had taken down, calculating how many times Annie had handed him a loaded shotgun or rifle.

"Last box of ammo," he murmured softly.

"Grandpa Watchman, last box of ammo!" Annie exclaimed almost at the same time.

"I know," the old man said without turning his head. He silently dealt with a misshapen monster that had nearly reached the cabin, then waved behind him. "Load the shotgun, then put the gun and the remaining bullets next to my feet. Go under my bed. There's a dark brown box there with spare ammo."

"Okay! Dark brown box, spare ammo!" Annie said quickly, then pushed the gun and bullets out the door and turned to run inside.

The old watchman glanced silently at the shotgun and bullets at his feet, then turned slightly to the side, casually closed the door, and pulled out his short sword, jamming it forcefully into the outside door hook.

Almost the next second, he heard hurried footsteps inside the cabin, followed by the sound of the girl pounding on the door and crying out.

"...Last time I lied to you."

The old watchman said softly, then fired repeatedly at the misshapen monsters closest to him with one hand. He then turned quickly, using the doorframe to jump, and his free left hand swept across a corner above the doorframe, producing a black staff. Before landing, he slammed the black staff down hard on another monster emerging from the fog. As the corpse with the shattered skull fell, he landed steadily on the ground.

His gaze swept across the fog. The old man waved his black staff hard, and dirty black fluid, like mutated blood, splashed from the staff. He then slammed the staff down on the ground, and a metallic mechanism clicked. The black staff immediately shortened by half an inch, and countless sharp blades popped out from both sides.

The moment the blades sprung out, they seemed to carry countless overlapping cries and roars from times past.

The fog-shrouded cemetery fell into a moment of silence.

The old watchman turned back and looked at the door of the cabin, at the corner above the doorframe where the hidden compartment was located. Like most veteran guardians, he had chosen to place the weapon that had accompanied him for half his life above the last door he guarded when he retired. He never expected that he and his old partner would fight side by side again in front of this door.

"We guard a door... We are the watchmen of Bartok..." The old man was still hunched over. In the cold, dim fog, he slowly turned his body, his eyes falling on the swaying figures, and recited the oath passed down through generations of guardians. "We swear to guard the border between life and death, so that the dead may rest and the living may be at peace..."

The misshapen monsters in the fog stirred. Countless swaying figures began to cross the path, rushing towards the small, still-standing cabin.

The response was the old watchman's gunshots and the whistling of the staff-sword cutting through the air.

"You don't want to rest? I'll send you to your rest!"

The sounds of slashing, roaring, and the booming of rifles and shotguns echoed. The guardian's last battle made the cemetery tremble.

Inside the watchman's cabin, Annie's small body was curled up by the door, listening to the sounds outside.

She sobbed softly, eventually turning into a wail amidst the roaring gunfire.

The twelve-year-old girl had been tricked by Grandpa Watchman one last time.

At the same time, the Frost Outer Seas.

The pervasive fog was not limited to the city-state's skies. By noon, the fog had crossed the near-sea boundary line and covered the patrol area of the Sea Fog Fleet.

In such thick and eerie fog, even the Curse Fleet, with its supernatural attributes, had to tense its nerves.

On the bridge of the *Sea Fog*, Tirian stood with a frown at the wide舷 window, gazing at the wall-like fog on the sea. First Mate Aiden came up behind him and reported seriously: "...So far, our contact with Cold Harbor, Ice Bay, and Pirate Island has been severely disrupted. There is no response on any frequency. Communication with the Frost Navy and the port area of Frost Island is also disrupted, but we can still barely connect. The fog has spread at least a hundred nautical miles beyond Frost Island..."

"Also, according to reports from our small boats sent to the edge of the fog, the fog has stopped spreading and the density is no longer increasing, but all efforts to sail outward have failed—all small boats attempting to leave the fog are spinning in place and unknowingly turning back into the depths of the fog."

"What's the situation in the Observatory?"

"We still can't observe the correct stellar phenomena," First Mate Aiden said with a heavy expression. "It's as if a blurry lens has suddenly appeared between the spirit world and the abyssal deep sea. The observed stellar phenomena have double images, and the mental stress caused by observing the stars has also increased sharply, making long-term observation impossible."

"...Looks like the blockade is complete. The city-state of Frost and the surrounding sea area have been isolated from the 'normal world' outside," Tirian said expressionlessly, only calmness in his single eye. "Don't waste your energy trying to run out."

"Blockade... Who created the blockade?"

"Use your brain for once—do I need to ask?" Tirian looked back at Aiden. "Cultists, those lunatics who worship the Abyssal Lord. Who else has been causing trouble lately?"

"I know," Aiden said, his eyes wide, with a "isn't this a bit of an exaggeration" expression. "But can a bunch of cultists really cause such a big stir?"

"A rabble of lunatics might not have this ability, but the 'Lord' they worship is another matter," Tirian said, placing his hand on the railing in front of him, his voice low. "Abyssal Lord... Blocking time and space, interfering with the stars... Is this the power of the Ancient Gods..."

Aiden swallowed involuntarily.

"So... are we really going to directly confront the power of an Ancient God this time?"

"Afraid?"

"A little," Aiden nodded, but forced an ugly smile on his face. "But there's no way around it. That's just the way things are—actually, when you think about it, it's not that big a deal. Didn't everyone grit their teeth and face off against the old captain back then? At least the old captain is on our side now."

"That's good. Get everyone ready," Tirian said, sighing softly and waving to the first mate. "It's been so many years since we left Frost. We might have to make a big scene in these seas again."