Deep Sea Embers

The damned fleet of the undead had gathered, silently stationed at the fringe of the coastal waters, their specter hanging over the city. Their intentions were unclear; their next moves unknown, inciting a palpable dread among the residents of Frost.

The city-state’s port defense commander, Lister, had barely managed to steal an hour of rest at midnight before he was called back to his duty station. On arrival, he found himself in the company of other commanders with grave expressions and a confidential secretary recently dispatched from City Hall.

The secretary, a man seemingly in his early thirties, dressed in a fitting blue coat and sporting gold-rimmed glasses, immediately rose upon Lister’s entrance, visibly anxious. “Colonel, the Governor demands the latest and most precise intelligence – is there a chance that the Mist Fleet is preparing an attack?”

“If the Governor is only seeking that answer, then yes, every single day for the past five decades,” Lister replied, pulling out a vial of revitalizing essential oil. The potent aroma provided a necessary uplift to his spirits. He glanced at the secretary, “The Mist Fleet is not a new menace – they’ve always been a threat. There hasn’t been any form of ceasefire between us.”

The grim mood of the commander was evident, and the secretary, realizing the redundancy of his question, quickly shifted gears, “What is our preparedness status?”

“All our coastal defense artillery are battle-ready, and General Gailton’s fleet is setting up defensive formations on the northern and northwestern flanks of the Mist Fleet. They are well-stocked with fuel and munitions. Despite the recent loss of a valiant and skilled naval lieutenant general in the Seagull incident, the Frost Navy stands ready to defend the city-state,” Lister declared with an air of solemnity. “For more specific intelligence, higher-ups should have already provided an update to City Hall.”

His eyes briefly surveyed the secretary before settling on his subordinate officers in the vicinity, “What’s the status of the Mist Fleet? Any unusual activity?”

One of the commanders quickly stood up, “Yes, sir, something isn’t quite right. I believe you should see this.”

On hearing this, Lister’s expression tightened, and he strode swiftly to the long table situated at the center of the room. On the table lay a piece of intelligence, just freshly delivered, and potentially critical to their cause.

“What is this?” The port commander, Lister, struggled to make sense of the document in his hands, cluttered with an array of symbols and scribbles.

“It’s a light signal,” the subordinate commander who had stood up earlier clarified. “A light signal from the Mist Fleet.”

Lister’s face fell into an expression of stunned disbelief, almost as if the revitalizing effect of his essential oil had suddenly worn off. He squinted at the frenzied series of pause markings and chaotic annotations lining the margins, feeling a wave of instability wash over him. After a drawn-out moment, he finally managed to stammer, “What on earth… is the Mist Fleet employing a novel light signal? Or could they be using some antiquated code to relay information?”

Without missing a beat, he lifted his gaze towards his subordinates, “Where’s our military advisor?”

“They are in the adjacent room, poring over this data, along with a team of signal specialists and cryptographers who have just been summoned. Moreover, several experts in naval history and undead studies are en route,” they informed him.

Lister pressed his lips together, his eyes locked onto the inscrutable symbols for a few more seconds before flicking his gaze upwards to the worried-looking confidential secretary.

“Nobody’s going to be getting any sleep tonight.”

“I concur, Colonel.”

…

On the other hand, Duncan had enjoyed a peaceful sleep the night before.

Even though his primary form didn’t necessitate much rest, taking the time to recuperate still aided in sustaining his energy levels and reducing the strain of managing multiple bodies simultaneously. Yet, for him, this burden was not significant.

Regardless, he appreciated maintaining a routine similar to that of an ordinary human.

The snow outside had temporarily ceased, and a clear sky was starting to embrace the city. Vision 001 was slowly ascending from the city’s edge towards the sky’s zenith. Besides the radiant sun, the subtle golden gleam of the double runes appeared striking. Nonetheless, the absent portion of the rune circle remained perceptible to the unaided eye.

Duncan positioned himself by the window, focusing on the sun for a few seconds before he withdrew his gaze and shrugged his shoulders, turning to descend the stairs.

Alice had prepared breakfast; the straightforward fare of toast, fried eggs, and vegetable rolls may not have been an elaborate spread, but it certainly was a testament to the doll lady’s evolving culinary prowess. Vanna and Morris were seated at the table, and on noticing Duncan’s arrival, they rose to their feet.

“Eat your food, don’t mind me,” Duncan motioned them to continue.

The breakfast spread was appetizing, but his current form couldn’t appreciate it.

Although they were all “temporary bodies”, the one he utilized in Frost was markedly different from the one in the Pland antique store. The body in Pland had been claimed after its death, but as the damage was minimal and the takeover prompt, its state was nearly akin to a living person’s. However, the form he assumed in Frost had already lost the majority of its intrinsic functionalities.

The form he used in Frost was more akin to a corpse, animated by some arcane force, arguably closer to being a “corpse” than even the undead under Tyrian’s command.

Even Duncan himself couldn’t elucidate the mechanics behind this phenomenon, but in a world teeming with peculiarities, he had long since come to terms with such oddities.

Being strange was a trivial matter; after all, he himself was arguably the most perplexing anomaly in this world.

“There’s a copy of the morning newspaper beside the sofa,” Morris mentioned, his voice echoing from the dining table. “You might want to have a look; it contains news that could pique your interest.”

“Really?” Duncan made his way to the sofa and noticed the freshly delivered morning paper. The faint scent of fresh ink emanated from it, and the neatly arranged pages drew his attention. He picked up the newspaper on the sofa and casually flipped it open, quickly spotting the news item Morris had alluded to.

Simultaneously, Alice trotted over and leaned over the sofa’s backrest with an air of curiosity as she glanced at the newspaper in Duncan’s grip. “The headline reads—”

“Click.” All of a sudden, a detached round head fell onto Duncan’s newspaper, only to roll down onto his arm.

As the head rolled, Alice found herself facing Duncan with her face upwards, her eyes blinking innocently, “Help… help… help…”

“Can’t you be a little more careful?” Duncan sighed, almost resignedly picking up Alice’s head. He fixed her golden wig, secured with a ribbon, and her silver locks underneath before reattaching the lovely head back onto the gothic doll’s neck. “Also, even Dog can read the newspaper. Can’t you decipher a simple headline?”

Flustered, Alice clumsily stabilized her head, “Actually, I couldn’t understand more than four or five words…”

Duncan immediately shot her a stern look, “The headline only has eight words!”

Caught in the open, the illiterate doll stammered, “…Hehe.”

“It’s a warning from the City Hall,” Duncan sighed, finding the task of dealing with the naïve doll somewhat tiresome. He pointed at the words on the paper and read them aloud for Alice, “Attention citizens, limit outdoor activities. The following content advises residents of Frost to refrain from venturing near the coastal areas, minimize social gatherings on public roads, be prepared to cooperate with security personnel or guardians during inspections, and be aware of increased curfew levels. Currently, except for church staff and those with specialized nighttime industry permits, no one is allowed to leave their homes after dark.”

Alice shuffled from the side of the sofa to sit beside Duncan, her gaze fixed on the text on the newspaper as she followed Duncan’s finger with her eyes. After finishing reading, she tilted her head curiously, “What does all this mean?”

“It implies that Tyrian’s efforts have yielded results,” Duncan explained in a composed manner, “Unless unforeseen circumstances arise, Frost’s external transport routes will be put on hold. We won’t have to concern ourselves with the contamination from this city-state leaking out, and the Annihilators lurking within the city will find themselves cut off from the world outside. Moreover, the ‘report letter’ I sent seems to have stirred up the Death Church, leading to heightened curfew levels and more stringent movement restrictions. This in turn means more intensive heresy investigations—resulting in more cultists being unmasked.”

“So… does that mean our issue is resolved?” Alice inquired, visibly taken aback, “Will all the villains be apprehended?”

“It’s not as straightforward as that,” Duncan shrugged, “Apprehending a handful of Annihilators is just the tip of the iceberg, but as the number of detained cultists grows, their means of communication with the abyss may come to light. That’s when the true issue will begin to surface.”

As he concluded his explanation, he folded the newspaper and placed it aside.

He had briefly scanned through the remaining content, and nothing else seemed noteworthy.

“So… what are our next steps?” Alice inquired from the side.

“Given that the Frost authorities have their hands full, it’s time we made our move,” Duncan rose from his seat and glanced towards the dining area, “Finish your meals and prepare to leave—we’re off to meet one of Tyrian’s ‘informants.’”