Chapter 312: An Invitation from the Old Father

No one understood the boundary between life and death better than Tyrian and his undead sailors.

The god of death, Bartok, had a door that anchored the boundary between life and death. In short, once the soul of the living passed through that door, it would enter the world of the dead, and the door was one-way. In other words, as long as one did not pass through that door, neither a temporary corpse reanimation nor a persistent undead curse could be considered a true “resurrection.”

“Many people in the world confuse ‘undead’ with ‘dead,’ even thinking that the former have exploited a loophole in the god of death’s door.” Tyrian turned his head, looking at the noisy sailors on the square, and spoke calmly, “But in fact, they are just souls polluted and rejected by that door, stuck at the boundary between life and death. According to the strict concept of the Church of Death, ‘undead’ actually belong to the world of the living.”

Duncan didn’t speak for a moment but recalled his own experience in the cemetery.

Waking up in the coffin, being called a “restless one” by the cemetery caretaker, a group of Annihilators came to steal the corpse, seeming to have anticipated that the body would stir; the sudden self-collapse of the body, as if “reaching some kind of limit”...

“Frost may not have experienced a real resurrection of the dead, but there may indeed be witnesses to the dead appearing in the city, and behind these incidents, it is very likely related to a group of Annihilators,” Duncan said slowly after pondering. “But it’s hard to say how much they have infiltrated and what they want to do.”

“Annihilators?” Tyrian was surprised, not expecting the matter to suddenly involve cultists. “How can you be sure it’s related to them?”

“They tried to take a corpse from the city-state cemetery, appeared well-prepared, and even anticipated in advance that the body would stir. Although the actual situation was a little different from what they expected.”

Tyrian listened, his gaze shifting between doubt and surprise, looking at his father: “How...do you know this information? And in such detail...”

“That corpse was me.”

Tyrian: “...What?”

“Just an evening stroll when I happened upon the grave robbers,” Duncan didn’t elaborate further. “That’s not important. What’s important is whether the ‘return of the dead’ incidents are related to the ‘deep sea’ beneath Frost.”

“Return of the dead and the ‘deep sea’?” Tyrian frowned, having never associated the two things before. Hearing his father suddenly mention it, he couldn’t help but be puzzled. “Why do you say that? What’s the connection between these two things...”

“It’s simple. The body I ‘borrowed’ experienced a bizarre collapse in the end, and the state it presented during the collapse was very similar to the ‘clones’ that appeared in the Abyss Plan you described.”

“The state during the collapse?” Tyrian’s tone was surprised, followed by confusion. “But...the clones of the Abyss Plan come from a depth of a thousand meters below the sea. How could the dead in the city be related to that place...”

He stopped, his face becoming complex and solemn. After a moment, he raised his head, “Could it be that this ‘replication’ power has already spread within the city, and the cultists you mentioned are the promoters? But there shouldn’t be any connection between the cultists and the deep sea...”

Listening to Tyrian’s muttering, Duncan suddenly thought of another matter.

In the depths of the Obsidian, in the mouth of “Captain Cristo”, that small piece of flesh containing the aura of the Nether Lord!

If the ghost ship truly came from the deep sea beneath Frost, if Captain Cristo (regardless of whether he was a copy or the original) had truly come into contact with the Nether Lord... then the cultists in the city would be connected to the deep sea!

Tyrian curiously looked at the reflection in the ice, “Father, what are you thinking about?”

“What do you know about the Nether Lord? And the cultists?” Duncan suddenly asked, “How much have you dealt with them?”

“I haven’t dealt with them much. Although the Annihilators aren’t as elusive as the Enders, they’re still a low-profile and mysterious group. They’re obsessed with researching demonic knowledge and ‘purifying’ themselves through it, generally not involving outsiders.”

Both options seemed challenging.

But after a brief weighing of options, he made a rational decision.

“Send the messenger. It’ll be more convenient for me to go there.”

Tyrian looked openly at his father in the ice.

Reason told him that if his father had truly regained his humanity, then even the Vanished returning from subspace... theoretically shouldn’t be a dangerous forbidden place.

What was there not to go to?

He only needed to prepare himself mentally, but if he let the Vanished enter the port directly, then more than just him would need to be prepared.

He just needed to confront a little bit of nervous instinct.

“That’s good,” Duncan nodded, seemingly satisfied with Tyrian’s answer. He then took a slight step back, and his figure quickly faded and blurred in the ice, “I’ll leave first, there’s still some business to attend to. Before the messenger departs, I’ll notify you.”

Tyrian slightly bowed in front of the ice that was gradually returning to normal. When the last trace of green flame disappeared, he stood up straight.

He then collected himself, turned around, and walked towards the square.

On the square, the late-night hustle and bustle had not yet subsided. The undead sailors were either feasting or talking merrily, and some rude people near the stage were trying to whistle at the dancers – but because of leaks in their mouths or throats, they could only make funny sounds.

On the stage, the dancers had finished their performance. Under the direction of their leader, they stood in a row, seemingly waiting for the next dismissal order. The cold wind blew through the gaps between the bonfire and the windbreak, and several of the girls seemed to be shivering. In their numb and dull eyes, lively expressions gradually began to emerge.

The effects of the alchemical potion were about to end, and normal emotions would return to their minds.

Two of the girls gradually showed a bit of curiosity on their faces, but fear was what emerged in the eyes of many more.

The undead in various strange shapes and forms across the square – even with mental preparation, this was not a scene that ordinary people could bear.

First Mate Aiden ran out. He had been keeping an eye on the activity on the stage and now came directly to the highest point of the square. With a hoarse voice, he shouted at the sailors who were still making a commotion, “Disperse, disperse! No more dancing! Those with the scariest faces, cover them up! Those with missing arms and legs, crawl under the tables! The girls are leaving – clear the path beside the stage... Wilen! You get under the table! Your face scares me just looking at it!”

The sailors on the square responded loudly, covering their faces and hiding where they could. Amidst the noise and laughter, the dance troupe leader on the stage first looked at the scene, somewhat bewildered. Then, realizing what was happening, she hastily and awkwardly bowed to Aiden and quickly led the girls off the stage.

The girls, with tense and fearful expressions, tried to hide behind others as they hurried towards their temporary accommodations.

However, two exceptionally brave girls deliberately stopped, blinking curiously at the undead on the square.

One girl even looked up as she passed Aiden, saying something with a smile that made the first mate feel incredibly awkward, almost falling off the platform.

Once the dancers from Cold Harbor had left the scene, Aiden finally noticed Tyrian who had come to the square.