Chapter 363: Martha

The stack of papers in Lister’s grip crashed onto the table as he abruptly rose from his chair—it was more like he had sprung up. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the soldier before him, “Repeat what you just said?! What happened on Dagger Island?!”

“Dagger Island... it’s gone!” The soldier who had brought the message stuttered, attempting to maintain his composure. Even as a seasoned warrior, this was a challenging situation, “A short while ago, we witnessed a chain of explosions erupting on Dagger Island, presumably initiated by the remaining inhabitants who seemed to have set off a series of detonations across different facilities... What followed was the patrol fleet in the vicinity observing the rapid submersion of the island until it completely disappeared beneath the ocean’s surface...”

“Were the ships unharmed?” Lister inquired promptly, a frown creasing his forehead as he sensed an irregularity.

“No,” the soldier shook his head, “The sea surface hardly showed any significant change during Dagger Island’s sinking process. Frontline reports suggested... it was as if the island quietly dissolved into the water.”

The expression on Lister’s face darkened considerably. He lapsed into silence for a few moments, then shifted his gaze to Agatha who was standing nearby, “Miss Agatha, based on your knowledge, do any known divine arts, miracles or supernatural objects have the potential to trigger such a phenomenon?”

“No,” Agatha promptly shook her head in response, “This scale of abnormal event surpasses the boundaries of magic and could be categorized as a miracle—or some kind of anomaly.”

“In any case, this puts us in a serious predicament. We haven’t started an investigation yet, and the situation on Dagger Island is still shrouded in mystery. City Hall is not going to appreciate this news,” Lister’s forehead creased further as he drummed his fingers on the table. Suddenly remembering something, he turned his attention back to the soldier, “By the way, how did the Mist Fleet respond?”

“They’ve held their original position, not breaching the marine warning line,” the soldier reported promptly, “However, post the disappearance of Dagger Island, two of their speedboats made a brief detour towards the area—stayed for roughly ten minutes, then swiftly retreated.”

“That indicates they were observing the situation... Seems like this event was also beyond their anticipation,” Lister voiced his thoughts slowly, “Blast it, we may need to have a word with that sea pirate.”Discover new chapters at novelhall.com

“The cathedral is also preparing to take action,” Agatha chimed in, “Given the circumstances, the exploration plans for Dagger Island are now pointless, and we’ll be shifting our focus to an extensive investigation of the city. The guardians have managed to unearth some clues pointing towards the Annihilation cult members’ whereabouts and several potential rendezvous points. I will personally oversee a team to address this.”

“I trust you’ll make headway, Gatekeeper,” Lister said, his eyes rising to meet the black-robed priestess standing before him, “The situation is escalating rapidly, and we’re in dire need of assistance from the mystical realm more than ever before.”

“We shall do everything in our power.”

Agatha offered a faint nod, then lifted her staff and gently tapped it against the floor twice. As the echo of the staff connecting with the ground reverberated in the room, her form abruptly morphed into a gust of gray wind. This wind swirled directly into a faint rift that materialized seemingly out of nowhere on the floor.

Lister watched the spot where Agatha had disappeared. Only when the rift sealed shut did he exhale a deep sigh, sinking heavily back into his chair as he instructed the soldier, “You may close the door now.”

His immediate task was to draft an urgent letter to City Hall to shed light on the peculiar incident that transpired right on the outskirts of their city-state.

Lawrence paused and stopped, only uttering hesitantly upon recognizing the figure, “...Martha? What are you doing here?”

“If I were in your place, I wouldn’t waste time asking questions, and I’d get going immediately,” the female navigator retorted, her arms still crossed as she regarded the old captain with an air of resignation, “You’ve let your guard down, Lawrence.”

“Martha, I...” Lawrence instinctively stepped forward, sensing something amiss yet struggling to find the right words. He extended his hand slowly, “I’ve been missing you... How have you been holding up recently?”

Martha remained silent, not responding to his question. The female navigator merely watched him quietly, her gaze seemingly focused on some distant point. Amidst the gentle sea breeze and the soothing rhythm of the waves, she began to hum softly:

“Set sail, set sail, the wanderer at sea presses on...”

“Amidst the storm, amidst the cacophony, we’re but a single plank away from the grasp of death.”

“Stow away the jib, hoist the mainsail, release the ropes, grip the gunwale—we’ve arrived at the ocean’s heart...”

Martha’s voice gradually softened, eventually trailing off, her gaze locking onto Lawrence. She murmured, almost as if she were conversing with herself, “Lawrence, tread carefully, you’ve arrived at the ocean’s heart.”

Suddenly, Lawrence drew in a deep breath, the crisp, cold air sharpening his senses. A memory flashed through his mind, prompting him to hurriedly rummage through his pocket in a frenzied manner.

Martha advanced one step, slowly ambling towards him.

“Lawrence, how did you age so?” The female navigator extended her hand, her voice raspy yet tender. Her youthful visage remained, and although the harshness of a life spent at sea had etched lines onto her face, she was as stunning as Lawrence remembered, “It’s been a lifetime, hasn’t it? You’re not the sprightly lad you once were... Nor am I...”

“Martha...” Lawrence’s throat bobbed as he groped for the small bottle in his pocket, missing it several times.

He could almost detect the fragrance of Martha—that familiar, comforting scent with a hint of citrus, her chosen perfume.

“Martha...” He finally located the small bottle.

Clutching it in his hand, rooted to the spot on the deck, he observed the figure from his past extend her hand towards him, a scene he had replayed countless times in his dreams. As her hand, warm as he remembered, gently grazed the ends of his hair, he watched the woman from his past flash him a smile as if sharing a yearning that had remained unfulfilled for far too long...

“Martha, I’m sorry.” Lawrence tightly gripped the medicine bottle and poured the sharp-tasting liquid into his mouth, causing Martha’s image to become hazy and gradually vanish.