Chapter 385: The End of the Battle

There navigated a formidable warship within a shroud of darkness; a strange vessel seemingly pieced together from a diverse mixture of smoke, fog, and miscellaneous remnants. Sailing alongside the White Oak, this mysterious craft boldly ventured towards the Seagull, their looming foe. The ship’s ambiguous silhouette, masked in a dense fog, suggested a shared lineage with the White Oak, yet it maintained its unique features.

The hazy sight was at odds with Lawrence’s mental image of the ship, yet in spite of its apparent state of ruin and alteration, it was unmistakably the same ship. The ship’s appearance was unusual and eccentric, but it nonetheless conjured a surge of familiarity and rekindled potent memories just as it invariably did in Lawrence’s dreams.

This ship was indeed the Black Oak. It had returned as if resurrected from the annals of the past, sailing alongside its twin, the White Oak, in a poignant reminder of their previous voyages together.

Suddenly, a piercing sound of the steam whistle cut through the old captain’s confusion and dreamlike trance. The noise emanated from the spectral ship, serving as a harsh wake-up call to Lawrence that this was not a time for idle reminiscing amidst such critical circumstances.

The daunting sound of shells raining from the heavens echoed again as the ruthless attack from the Seagull carried on mercilessly. Lawrence’s focus was quickly redirected as he watched a flaming orb strike the bow of the White Oak.

In a flash, flames soared skyward. The fiery projectile was engulfed and absorbed by the vibrant green flames already ravaging the ship. The impact brutally ripped apart a section of the ship’s bow, sending fiery chunks of molten metal scattering in all directions. Yet, in the next moment, the devastated structure began to mend as if time was reversing, restoring the ship to its pristine state amidst the swirling green inferno.

Lawrence felt a sensation of being drained like his vitality and life force were being leeched away from his body. However, the lost energy was rapidly replaced by the otherworldly flames enveloping him. Subsequently, the defensive artillery stationed on the bow and flanks of the White Oak sprang into life, releasing a barrage of shells that shrieked through the air like vengeful spirits, leaving trails of glowing streaks behind.

Almost simultaneously, the adjacent Black Oak launched its attack. The deafening roar of cannons reverberated, and within the swelling black fog, a series of bright flashes appeared. Ghostly shells were catapulted from the mist, ruthlessly descending upon the enemy vessel in the distance.

Holding the wheel with an unyielding grip, Lawrence could sense the potent vibrations from each cannon blast that radiated through the ship’s body. His perception seemed to magnify, extending not only along the trajectory of the soaring shells but also the rhythmic pulsations of the seawater until it felt like his senses encompassed the entirety of the vast ocean. At the far reach of his amplified senses, the enemy vessel ‘Seagull’ emerged like a luminescent beacon within the encompassing darkness, emanating a formidable, almost blinding, aura.

Not so long ago, the Seagull was regarded as a fearsome rival for the White Oak. However, in this charged atmosphere, Lawrence found himself viewing the adversary not as a threatening opponent but as an enticing prey, ripe and ready to be consumed.

Within moments, the White Oak’s retaliatory fire connected with the Seagull with unwavering precision. A monstrous explosion ensued, the raging flames reaching high towards the sky. The unique warship looked as though it had been viciously torn apart by an invisible beast, with a significant portion of it brutally ripped away. The gaping wound unveiled the strangely contorted internal framework of the enemy ship in harsh detail.

Despite the inflicted damage being substantial, it was far from being a fatal blow.

“Full speed,” Lawrence commanded, his hands firmly anchored on the wheel, his eyes intently focused on the steadily advancing enemy vessel. He was acutely aware of the subsequent actions needed to ensure the White Oak survives, “We need to replenish.”Fôll0w current novÊls on n/o/(v)/3l/b((in).(co/m)

His First Mate Gus echoed the command across the ship’s bridge: “Yes, full speed!”

A crease appeared on Lawrence’s forehead as he studied the young man standing before him. He paused for a moment, then hesitantly voiced, “Priest... Jansen?”

“It’s me, thank God, you can finally see me,” came the breathless reply from the young ship’s priest. He seemed to be gasping for air as if he had just emerged from the sea’s depths. His robe was soaking, with water trickling down from his hair and neck as he spoke, “Thanks to the protection of the Storm Goddess – I’ve been shouting at your side for days.”

A residue of confusion still lingered within Lawrence. It took him a few moments to gradually recall another peculiar circumstance from the past few days.

A ship’s priest should always be onboard, just like the sun should always be in the sky. However, throughout this time, he hadn’t laid eyes on this young priest once.

Priest Jansen had not only vanished from everyone’s sight but also from their memories – to such an extent that the crew had forgotten the basic tenet that “there should be a priest onboard.”

Lawrence had noticed the strange absence of the sun, yet it was only now that he realized Priest Jansen had been missing too.

“...What happened?” Like a man slowly emerging from a dream, the captain turned his head and asked in a gentle tone.

“I’m not entirely sure. Over the past few days, it felt like I was cut off from all of you, confined within a different dimension,” the drenched young priest shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips, “I could see everyone, but nobody could see me, as if I had become an ‘outsider’ on this ship. It was only just now... when the ship underwent a ‘transformation’ amidst the flames that I felt the barrier starting to fade. At the same time, I noticed something was wrong with your mental state, so I tried to stabilize your mind with the holy emblem. Luckily, I managed to do it in time...”

As Lawrence listened to the priest’s explanation, a maelstrom of disorganized thoughts and speculations swirled through his mind. Upon hearing the term “improper mental state”, a delayed sensation of fear finally seized his heart.

Lawrence vividly remembered the uncanny state he and his crew found themselves in during the final stretch of their skirmish with the Seagull. The memory sent a shiver down his spine, making him feel as though he was on the brink of breaking out into a cold sweat.

However, no sweat materialized – he was still veiled in spectral flames, and his phantom-like form showed no signs of returning to normal.

Lawrence shifted his gaze down to his arm, its appearance still ghostly and translucent, his mind teeming with a myriad of conjectures.

“Is this the ‘blessing’ from the Vanished?” the seasoned captain shook his head, a mirthless laugh slipped past his lips. He was uncertain whether to regard their current state as a stroke of luck or a cruel twist of fate. “Surviving the relentless scrutiny of Duncan Abnomar appears to be no simple feat, but at least we’ve made it... if indeed, we can consider this to be alive...”

With these words, he slowly lifted his eyes, peering through a nearby porthole, taking in the expansive sea that flowed alongside the ship and the mysterious dark ship mirroring the White Oak’s path.