Deep Sea Embers

Sailors were boarding the ship, port officials were checking procedures, and robed clergy with incense burners in hand strolled near the ropes, gently swinging the incense as they prayed for the ship’s machinery.

The weather was clear, making it a perfect day for sailing.

Belazov stood on the dock, observing the sailors as they boarded the Seagull one by one. He then spoke to Professor Maelson, “Professor, I commend your research efforts, but I must remind you that the project’s progress on Dagger Island is slow, and some individuals in the city-state are growing impatient.”

The old professor calmly replied, “I have been instructed to investigate the various properties of the submarine while ensuring safety, attempt to decipher its material composition, and strive to understand its operating principle in the next stage. We are currently following the schedule. If the higher-ups in the government are truly concerned, they can try to locate the blueprints left by the Frost Queen and construct the fourth or even fifth submarine. It’s much more efficient for someone to descend directly than for us to collect samples in the lab daily.”

“They won’t appreciate your response, but I’d be happy to relay it on your behalf,” General Belazov chuckled. “They won’t dare to build a submarine, and their reactions will be even more amusing.”

Professor Maelson shrugged and fell silent for a moment before speaking with a complex tone, “Joking aside, I must admit that I am also concerned about the progress of this matter.”

Belazov remained silent, observing the experienced old professor who had lived through the “Queen’s era.”

“Collecting samples and analyzing their physical and chemical properties daily are indeed essential components of the standard research process. However, as you’ve witnessed, there is only so much we can deduce from those samples,” the old professor sighed. “Even if we manage to open that hatch someday, I fear we won’t uncover any more secrets from the submarine. The true secret isn’t here, General; you know what I’m implying.”

“…Below a kilometer, Professor, your thoughts are somewhat perilous.”

Maelson sighed, “I assumed you, as a soldier, would be more prone to such dangerous thoughts than me, a scholar.”

“My responsibility is to safeguard the city-state’s security, which makes me more inclined toward a cautious and conservative approach,” Belazov stated calmly. “So, do you actually intend to reactivate…those ‘submarine devices’?”

“You meant ‘resuming the Abyss Plan,’ didn’t you?” The old professor chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t worry; I haven’t been that reckless. Nevertheless, there’s an inescapable truth – the crux of the matter lies beneath the deep waters, and a laboratory replica of a submarine bell won’t solve any mysteries. We might genuinely need to consider a ‘backup plan’ – not necessarily diving proactively, but in the event a ninth or even tenth replica emerges, we should at least be prepared with countermeasures.”

“…I will relay your suggestion to the government office,” General Belazov hesitated for a moment and took a gentle breath. “Until a clear directive is given, the secret chamber project will continue as planned.”

The old professor nodded: “Thank you.”

The Seagull departed.

The steam-powered ship cut through the tranquil waves, leaving an elegant wake that extended across the vast ocean. Dagger Island’s steep and winding coastline gradually receded from sight and slowly vanished into the thin fog typical of northern waters.

On deck, Belazov shifted his attention from the island and made his way to the captain’s quarters.

Although Dagger Island was not far from Frost, traveling between them still took several hours. During this monotonous journey, he needed to organize his thoughts and consider how to report to the city-state’s leaders about the third submarine and how to present Professor Maelson’s suggestions.

The Abyss Plan… This half-century-old case had left a chilling legacy that had slowly become an unspoken taboo, but now that new replicas were emerging from the depths, perhaps it was time to adopt a more proactive strategy.

A sailor stood near the captain’s quarters and nodded to the general, “The steam core is functioning properly. We will arrive at Frost Harbor No. 1 in four hours.”

Belazov glanced at the somewhat unfamiliar sailor and nodded gently, “I need to rest for a bit. Do not disturb me unless it’s necessary.”

“Yes, General.”

Belazov entered the captain’s quarters, sat at the desk, and listened to the low hum of the machinery emanating from the floor below. Finally, he exhaled a sigh of relief, knowing he would be back on the main island soon.

Gathering his thoughts, he casually opened the desk drawer and retrieved the notebook he had concealed in the hidden compartment.

There had been no irregularities during his visit to Dagger Island, and the return trip had proceeded smoothly. Nonetheless, certain procedural matters could not be overlooked. These were both orders and responsibilities.

Upon opening the notebook, the first sentence that stood out to him was:

“Even if everything appears normal, confirm your sanity and judgment. Even if nothing seems suspicious, verify the following content.”

Belazov flipped through the pages, skillfully performing a series of actions.

The sound of pages turning filled the room—

“You are left-handed. Confirm this now…”

“Recall a color, then turn to the next page… It should be blue or black.”

“Keyword, dagger, visualize, and confirm that the image in your mind matches the picture on the next page.”

“Your name, Belazov, try spelling it in the blank space on the next page.”

“On this trip, the accompanying personnel have been reduced. There are only thirty-two people on the boat, including yourself. If there is a significant discrepancy in personnel, conduct a roll call immediately.”

“Your deputy on this trip is Benjamin Yorton. He has a burn scar near his right eye.”

As Belazov flipped through the pages, performing simple recollections, confirmations, or subconscious repetitions, his movements suddenly stopped.

His gaze landed on the final sentence of the page in the notebook.

“‘A burn scar near the right eye…’” Belazov quietly repeated the sentence, a sense of inexplicable uncertainty stirring in his mind. “The right eye?”

He slowly closed the notebook, returned it to the hidden compartment, and calmly stood up to open the door of the captain’s cabin.

“Benjamin!” he called out to his adjutant.

A middle-aged officer quickly emerged from a nearby room and approached Belazov.

“General?” Belazov examined Benjamin’s face, only to find one eye in the center…

A faint sense of discord throbbed in his heart, and Belazov’s rationale told him that what he saw seemed incorrect. However, a hazy veil appeared to envelop his thoughts, and he couldn’t pinpoint the issue, feeling that everything was logical.

This subtle inconsistency in his consciousness gradually made the general more alert. He stared at Benjamin for an extended period, attempting to locate the source of the discord in his heart until the adjutant’s voice reached his ears again: “General? Is something wrong?”

“… Benjamin, how many eyes should a person have?” Belazov suddenly asked.

The adjutant momentarily froze, seemingly bewildered by the question. Observing this, Belazov quickly spoke: “Never mind the question, it was just a passing thought – go back to your room and rest. I’ll go downstairs and take a look.”

Though puzzled, the adjutant nodded, “Yes, General.”

The one-eyed man named Benjamin returned to his room, appearing entirely normal. Belazov watched his retreating figure, sighed with relief, then turned around and swiftly walked to the end of the corridor.

He knew he had been slightly reckless just now. He shouldn’t have posed such an odd question to someone who seemed a bit off, even if it was one of his most trusted adjutants.

But without that inquiry, he couldn’t verify the existence of the strangeness he had faintly sensed.

Now, he was certain.

Something was amiss on the ship, and something… concealed and dangerous had come aboard.

He quickly walked through the corridor and arrived at the sailors’ mess hall, where he was met with surprise and unease at the man’s sudden appearance.

Belazov’s gaze swept over everyone present, then waved his hand and quickly headed to the bridge.

People were there too.

And many more people were on deck.

Yet, the Seagull had only thirty-two people on this streamlined journey.

The number of people was incorrect, very, very incorrect.

However, the thought that “everything is normal” persisted in his mind as though it were battling against the discordant facts that had already surfaced.

Belazov stood on the stairs leading to the engine room, calmly observing the descending slope.

The conflicting thoughts were battling, but he no longer needed to fret over the minute differences between the two.

There were still over two hours left until they reached Frost, meaning he still had some time.

He took a gentle breath and proceeded to the engine room in the deepest part of the ship.