Chapter 777: Dissipation and Alliance

Chapter 777: Dissipation and Alliance

The confrontation on the open sea took a turn for the complex when a formidable fleet, shrouded in the chill of mist, made its unexpected appearance, bringing a new dynamic to what was initially a three-sided standoff. Yet, in an odd twist, this escalation seemed to simplify the predicament at hand.

The forces of Cold Port, alongside the Morpheus Navy, found themselves relieved from the immediate threats of crossfire and the daunting presence of the church’s fleet.

Sorenna, with a gaze fixed upon the metallic visage before him, displayed a remarkable calmness. His eyes betrayed neither fear nor uncertainty despite being fully aware of the prowess of the “Iron Admiral” commanding the emerging fleet. He understood that while these spectral adversaries could harness the element of surprise to overpower two of the flagships, they lacked the means to dominate the entire fleet. A chaotic battle, should it ensue, promised dire outcomes for all parties involved.

It became evident through Tyrian Abnomar’s actions, choosing this mode of encounter, that his intentions leaned towards negotiation.

After a prolonged silence, Sorenna finally spoke in a voice resonating with depth, “Cold Port requires sunlight.”

In response, the metallic figure, its speech accompanied by a metallic resonance, added, “Yes, Cold Port seeks sunlight. And now, Hob, your former ally and the commander of the Morpheus Navy, communicates the same need for Morpheus. But let me tell you, darkness is encroaching upon our world. Jotun City, Haper, Bandor Island, and even distant lands like Feyron and Mok are succumbing to shadows. Only a handful of city-states remain bathed in sunlight... Everyone is in desperate need of it.”

Despite the tension evident on Sorenna’s face, his reply was even more composed than before, “Captain Tyrian, is there merit in discussing this now? My immediate concern is Cold Port’s survival—unless you suggest you’ll reveal the ‘sun fragment’ that plummeted into Frost.”

Maintaining its composure, the steel face revealed, “...It’s already en route to Cold Port.”

This revelation took Sorenna aback, his prepared retorts dissipating into the air, leaving him momentarily speechless.

A hush fell over the entire bridge.

Tyrian’s voice then filled the silence, “If you head back now, you should be able to witness its arrival on the northern shores of Cold Port,” as the undead sailors, enveloped in the icy fog, subtly withdrew their hold over the crew, positioning themselves aside in a standby manner, “Allow the Morpheus Navy to escort the sun fragment here before this standoff spirals out of control.”

Sorenna paused briefly before inquiring, “And of Frost?”

“Frost is under more secure watch than any of you can imagine. We possess our own forms of ‘assurance.’ There’s no need for worry,” Tyrian assured calmly, “The paramount task for you and Hob now is to return to your respective city-states and, with the sunlight’s aid, swiftly reestablish order.”

Breaking the tense silence, Sorenna abruptly inquired, “...What do you want?” His tone carried a mix of suspicion and understanding, acknowledging the harsh reality that nothing comes without a cost. “There’s no free lunch, I grasp that concept well. Share your intentions, Governor Tyrian.”

The figure, with a face as impassive and cold as steel, locked eyes with Sorenna, revealing, “...I seek to forge an ‘alliance mechanism’ that thrives in the shadow of night,” he declared, his gaze piercing, “orchestrated by Frost, spanning the entirety of the Cold Sea. I demand unwavering support from both Cold Port and Morpheus Harbor.”

Sorenna took a moment to digest the request, quickly piecing together the “Iron Admiral’s” underlying strategy. A crease formed between his brows as he instinctively searched the horizon for the three warships of the Death Church, previously skirting the fringes of “sunlight.” To his surprise, they had already maneuvered closer to the fog-enshrouded fleet, aligning with the fog ship as though seamlessly integrated into their ranks.

“...I understand. Secure the sunlight and shoulder the responsibility. Those averse to bearing it... will fall to our jurisdiction,” Sorenna shifted his gaze from the window back to the metallic figure, giving a nod of acknowledgement, “Regarding Hob...”

Tyrian’s response was immediate, his head shaking in denial.

Facing Duncan squarely, he elaborated, “Holding the greatest share of sunlight prevents me from establishing a ‘Cold Sea Union’ that is perceived as equitable and trustworthy. My possession of the sun fragment in Frost undermines any claim to impartiality in its distribution,” he articulated calmly, his lips then curving into a smile, “Moreover... the true safeguard for Frost now lies within your flame, doesn’t it?”

Duncan’s response was a silent yet affirming nod.

Tyrian’s curiosity, however, got the better of him, prompting him to inquire further, “How fares it ‘over there’?”

“We navigate a fissure in time, its duration uncertain,” Duncan replied nonchalantly, his gaze lowering to his own form. To his astonishment, despite bracing for a severance from his “incarnations” upon crossing the boundaries of the six miles mark, it appeared... these avatars of his being remained intact and operational.

Duncan found himself in a unique position, simultaneously engaging in conversation with Tyrian and perceiving the events unfolding in Pland, all while his primary consciousness embarked on an otherworldly journey aboard the Vanished, voyaging to the world’s extremities. This dual experience was nothing short of supernatural.

Noticing Tyrian’s attention shift towards him, Duncan casually mentioned, “This journey, I chose not to bring you along but instead opted for your sister’s company,” his eyelids slightly lifting as he cast a brief glance towards Tyrian, “Do you harbor any resentment towards that decision?”

Tyrian was momentarily caught off guard by the question but quickly regained his composure, his gaze, marked by the presence of a singular eye, returning to its habitual state of calm and severity: “No, I understand my duties. Your decision was made with good reason.”

Duncan detected the slight strain in Tyrian’s tone but chose not to comment, merely allowing a subtle smile to flicker at the corners of his eyes, hidden beneath the bandages.

Together, they turned their gazes towards the horizon.

Time seemed to stand still until Tyrian was startled by Duncan’s voice breaking the silence, “Strive to ensure the survival of as many as possible, for as long as possible.”

Tyrian looked towards Duncan in astonishment.

Without facing his son, Duncan continued, his voice reflecting on a reflective quality, as though he was imparting a lesson or perhaps reminding himself, “You, Lucy, and everyone aboard the Vanished, every individual within the city-states, each has their own role to play. The overarching mission uniting these efforts is survival—to safeguard everything in this world to the utmost of our abilities: life, memories, and civilization. Strive to preserve, to endure.”

His gaze remained fixed on the distance, on what lay beyond the night, as he spoke further, “Even if the dawn ceases to break, even if the night engulfs all, even if the very fabric of reality starts to crumble, and hope seems a distant memory, remember this... persist, if only for one more moment. That is your task. Leave the rest to me. I’ll find a way,” Duncan concluded, his tone resolute yet tinged with a deep seated determination.

Tyrian, visibly moved and somewhat overwhelmed by his father’s words, found himself at a loss for words, sinking into a profound silence.

Duncan offered no more words, simply staring into the abyss of the night, contemplating the journey ahead.

In his alternate perception, the monotonous grey backdrop began subtly shifting, revealing faint light and shadow glimmers. It appeared their traversal through the temporal rift was nearing its conclusion.