The chains, like long-awaiting venomous snakes, reached out to bind him, dragging him into the ship’s cabin, and faint sounds could be heard, only to be abruptly cut off in the next second.
After dealing with these pirates, Lance finally shifted his focus to the ship.
He gently shook a bell, and at its urging, several ghostly sailors appeared.
Indeed, the ancestor’s evil curse remained; anyone killed by this ship would have their souls imprisoned within.
These ghostly crew mbers were immortal; as long as the ship wasn’t destroyed, they could be summoned endlessly.
To Lance, these ghostly crew mbers were re decorations, but to ordinary people or typical Transcendents, they were a nightmare.
In essence, one ship was a fleet!
Of course, these ghostly crew mbers couldn’t leave the ship, making this limitation rather negligible.
More intriguing was that the ship automatically restored itself, much like when Lance witnessed a damaged scene on the deck being restored.
By killing more, it could quickly recover, even grow stronger.
Coupled with the power that vanished into the mist, it made this the most terrifying sea killer of the sailing era.
"Right, right, right!"
Lance suddenly realized sothing; this ship called The Endless Dark was the friggin’ vessel of Pirate King Black Jack!
Lance finally understood the source of the Nether Subrsion ability—it was the ship’s inherent ritual.
The "No Light" term ca about because fog concealed everything when the ability was activated.
Perhaps the ancestor arranged it to hide their tracks, or maybe the ship was extraordinary to begin with, which attracted the ancestor.
Rumor had it Pirate King Black Jack suddenly disappeared, likely due to the ancestor.
Regardless, it was back where it belonged, in Lance’s hands now.
No need to na it anymore; No Light was a fitting na.
Soul Binding, Undying Ship, Mist Subrsion—nothing is more eerie than this.
A perfect ghost ship...
The Bay’s treasures were temporarily shelved out of necessity, but now he found a solution—two ships. The pirate ship could store collected scraps.
As for the Deep Diver treasury’s wealth, it was naturally stored on the No Light.
One must know Lance was like a hoarder; if things weren’t hidden, he felt insecure.
Nothing was safer than sailing through the Void, guarded by unyielding ghosts.
Though summoning them consud quite a bit of Spiritual Essence, the rich brother wasn’t lacking, just kill a few more enemies.
Thinking here, Lance steered the No Light to tow the pirate ship back to the small dock under the sea cliff.
Fortunately, the Exhibition Room was there, a re wave of his hand like a gold-devouring beast swallowing the mountain of treasures.
A few trips and he nearly emptied it, watching the rising waterline gave the feeling of weightiness, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the bounty from the Bay.
Yet at this mont, Lance’s smile froze, his gaze involuntarily turning to the distant sea.
A familiar presence, Deep Divers!
This ti Lance wasn’t shocked but delighted, a smile broke across his face.
Finally, I’ve waited for you, luckily I didn’t give up.
Instantly took out the horn and blew it forcefully, luring over the distant Deep Divers.
Those returning Deep Divers wouldn’t allow him more ti, rushing in the water at terrifying speeds, as if born for this.
Lance stepped on the prow, a sinister smile on his face.
"Get up, lazy bones!" Lance, like a true captain, rang the bell, summoning those ghostly crew mbers.
Ergency assembly!
Though they couldn’t leave the No Light too far, those drifting ghosts could appear anywhere on the ship, including the hull.
So when the invincible Deep Divers attempted to bore into the ship, they were caught by ghosts appearing onboard.
Join us...
The anchor stirred ferociously underwater, dragging and slaying Deep Sea Warriors, or throwing them onto the deck.
Suddenly, their gazes turned to Lance, unaware of countless hands reaching out from the deck, dragging them into the cabin.
Deep Sea Shamans hidden there naturally mobilized the Deep Sea Force, trying to stir waves to tear apart this worn ship.
But had they forgotten one thing?
A profound voice began to spread, the sea acted as the dium, a wondrous force disrupting tides and cutting off the Shamans’ Casting Spells.
More terrifying was a notion drilling into their minds.
Being Spellcasters, Shamans might resist, but Deep Sea Warriors and Guards went berserk, slaughtering everything they saw, even comrades.
Lance seized the chance to ring the bell, letting the anchor grab those Shamans.
In the raid on Hamlet, they suffered heavy losses; now, the remaining probably totaled less than a hundred.
Even fewer Shamans, less than ten.
This setup was far inferior to the hair of the slaughter in the Bay, quickly wiped out.
However, Lance gathered little Spiritual Essence as it was mostly consud by the No Light; post-replenishnt, though still battered, the gaps in the prow had healed, seemingly eliminating the risk of rupture.
The chains dragged the last Shaman up, at this point the deck bound several Deep Divers, covering basic models.
Lance grinned at their constant struggles; these could not be killed—they were his research materials.
A living specin valued far more than a corpse.
Turning to the now tranquil sea, Lance suddenly burst into wild laughter, almost maniacal.
"Hahaha!"
This journey in the water ca with so many losses; otherwise, he couldn’t have feigned ignorance garnering Sirens to draw Deep Divers ashore.
But he never dared dive to confront them.
Yet now, finally, he slaughtered them within the waters; this ant Deep Divers no longer threatened Hamlet—more rely served as fuel for the No Light.
How could Lance not feel exhilarated?
Until Lance raised his head to look at the sea cliff’s peak; yet he didn’t continue laughing, instead regained composure.
Not the ti for laughter, the ancestor was watching him.
Gathering his bearings, after being out so long fulfilling tasks, the strategic goal was reached, no reason to linger further.
"Ti to go ho!" Lance waved grandly, the bell followed suit with sound, "No Light set sail, destination Hamlet!"
......
St. Heliel, another grand city; if Totnes was the Empire’s economic core, here was the political core—being the Empire’s capital.
The towering walls dwarfed people into ants entering and leaving, its splendor evidencing the city’s status.
The war hadn’t spread here, the front lines’ stalemate stabilized this precarious Empire.
Yet, realistically, the war had long affected their lives, regardless of denial, the refugees like revolting insects, impossible to cleanse.
Price hikes felt like ropes choking their throats, a slight tightening invoked a death-like suffocation.
In a street corner stood a person in full Clown attire, yet his face did not carry a comical paint, instead, it bore a peculiar mask, seemingly skeletal with faint skeleton lines.
His Clown garb was patched, conveying a road-weary feel, apt for these harsh tis.
He played his instrunt, producing lodious and cheerful music, pleasing, exuding relaxation and joy—if in a ballroom perhaps already dancing to the rhythm.
Sadly, most couldn’t even sustain themselves, let alone enjoy music.
As the tune ended, people swiftly dispersed; the Clown made no move to stop them, focusing on the empty cloth bag before him, devoid of even a copper coin...
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