Round Fourteen: The Ocean Floor

The majestic dragon tore through the mist and plunged downward.
The shark-men attacking the humans first heard the unique storm-like sound produced by Forty-Seven’s wings as they flapped—like a moving storm of thunder. Confused, they looked up, perhaps thinking it was going to rain—only to be met with the dragon’s destructive breath as a massive shadow descended from the sky.
Forty-Seven turned its neck and poured searing flames and lightning onto the swarm of shark-men. They didn’t even have time to defend themselves before being instantly scorched into blackened debris. The waters struck by the dragon’s breath immediately boiled, with massive amounts of steam mixed with the evaporated flesh of the fish-men rising into the air, forming strangely colored smoke columns. The air was also filled with a nauseating stench of burnt flesh, as if the entire ocean had turned into a giant frying pan—seemingly, nothing in the world could be more disgusting than a pile of burnt, smelly fish.
Seymon watched the horrific scene with a pale face—probably thinking he’d never again have an appetite for grilled fish for the rest of his life.
Forty-Seven landed among the wreckage it had created. In just a short time, it transformed into a monstrous steel giant that crashed into the mud, its residual electric energy sparking and causing the surrounding seawater to sizzle.
The shark-men turned to attack Forty-Seven, with even those who had rushed toward the sailors and Hyrick’s followers retreating.
“Though it’s not my taste… I have to admit, he’s quite handsome now,” Chloe said, feeling the vibrations beneath her feet. “Where on earth did you get him?”
“About as dirty as this place,” Morriel replied, stepping back. The ground where he had stood before was bubbling with murky water—a large gap had been torn open by Forty-Seven’s landing.
The shark-men now focused all their efforts on Forty-Seven, trying to stop it from wreaking havoc among the fish-men. The steel giant was half-submerged in the sea, its arms quickly covered in fragments of the fish-men. Its jagged armor and knife-like fingers crushed their bodies like battering rams, turning the waves red as well.
Yet the fish-men continued to attack relentlessly, like wild dogs gnawing at a tank—seemingly unaware of fear without the power of magic.
Forty-Seven rose from the sea, breaking through the shark-men’s encirclement to appear before Morriel and the others. It casually knocked aside a nearby Hyrick priest, unconcerned that they were now on the same side.
“Annoying guys,” it said, straightening up and turning to face the swarm of shark-men charging at it again. With a metallic screech, its wrist parts disassembled, its armors opened, and its internal components reorganized, revealing the weapon hidden inside—a strangely shaped metal spear. At its tip was a prismatic blade with four scythe-like stabilizing wings. As Forty-Seven swung it forcefully, flames accompanied by a shriek erupted as the spear shot forward, trailing a blue-white tail flame. It split the leading fish-man in two and plunged deep into the sea.

The violent explosion sent towering waves of seawater soaring into the air. A rapidly expanding fireball, carrying massive amounts of metal debris, acted like a storm of flying flames and blades, scorching and tearing apart everything in its path—whether it was the bodies of shark-men or the rocks jutting out from the beach.

In the brief moments after the explosion, the flying spears created a clearly defined zone of death among the fish-people, only to be blurred by the incoming seawater, forming swirling eddies that dragged in muddy water and the remains of the fish-people into the void left by the explosion.

The mechanisms on Forty-Seven’s arms moved slightly as the second spear-shaped missile was prepared.

“Wait!” Moriel felt unsteady, as if the ground was about to slip, and hurriedly spoke to stop him, but it was too late—or perhaps Forty-Seven simply didn’t hear her.

The second explosion eliminated as many shark-men as the first, but it also had more severe consequences. The island collapsed, and Moriel and the others fell along with the crumbling earth and rocks. Behind them was Forty-Seven, the culprit behind it all, his massive body causing even greater collapses.

Chloe pulled Moriel’s hand and they landed on the cold, damp ground. It was pitch black around them, with only the sound of mud splashing and the groans and curses of the sailors who had fallen could be heard.

A series of noises from rotating axles and metal collisions came from above, but the sound of something descending was very light. Soon, the cave became as bright as day—dragon breath rose up along the passage they had descended through, filling every crack and spilling outwards, as if a small volcano had suddenly erupted.

Moriel raised her staff, and the gem at its tip flashed, emitting a soft white light that made the flames flowing from the steel dragon’s jaws less terrifying in the cave.

“Ow…” Simon complained nearby, rubbing his back. “I’m dead…”

“Why do I feel like you’ve led us into even greater danger?” Moriel pointed her staff at Forty-Seven; the magical flame on the staff paled in comparison to his blood-red glowing eyes. “Are you sure you’re not here to kill me?”

Forty-Seven tilted his head slightly. In this form, he appeared arrogant and confident, too lazy even to speak.

The sailors who had fallen gathered around them, all stunned by the elegantly poised Forty-Seven—from his crown-like spiral horns at the head to his sharp, flexible tail, his entire body was covered in long steel spikes, even on his shoulders and claws. Blue-white electric flames flickered among them, making his geometric scales shine, shifting in rhythm with the dragon’s movements and casting alternating light and shadow across the entire huge cave.

Only Rol glared sharply at Simon, who was hiding behind him, while Simon laughed sheepishly, wisely accepting the fact that his authority had been challenged.

Strangely, not a single follower of Xeric was in sight—they hadn’t landed with Moriel and the others at all, which couldn’t be attributed to coincidence.

The dragon folded its wings, leaped forward like a cat, and transformed into a human-like steel warrior. He spotted a door, though it was still a bit too small for his dragon-sized body.

Moriel stood beside Forty-Seven, pointing her staff toward the stone door. The white light could only illuminate a short distance; droplets of water trickled down the damp stone walls, seeping from the ceiling into the ground, giving the impression that collapse might occur at any moment.
“It seems like the bottom of the sea…” Chloe also looked at the deep passage. “Should we go in?”
“Of course.” Moriel tapped Forty-Seven’s shoulder with her staff. “You go first.”
Then she stopped the female swordsman who was about to step forward. “You go behind.”
Inside the door was a long corridor. The soil on the walls showed signs of peeling, but it was still clear they had been carved by humans, as there were torch holders scattered along the passage for lighting, along with a few extinguished torches.
Those things sealed beneath Forty-Seven’s dragon flame probably didn’t possess such capabilities. Just the patience and effort required to make torches was already a significant challenge for the shark merfolk—what use was fire to them, who lived in the sea?
The noise and stench of the merfolk above had faded significantly, and there were no signs of them invading, otherwise the corridor would have been filled with the smell of rotten fish in less than a minute—compared to above, this place was like a completely different world.
“Who on earth would carve such a passage beneath those disgusting creatures?” Rol asked anxiously, urging the sailors, who were struggling through the uneven waters, to keep up.
“I don’t know. Who cares?” Forty-Seven strode at the forefront. His logic was that they would find the answer once they reached the end, and he had most of the conditions needed to get there.
Moriel’s hand gently slid along the damp walls; she could even feel the turbulent seawater not far away. The walls were very rough, with clear traces left by chisels. It seemed that such a long tunnel had been carved bit by bit. Though the methods were primitive, the perseverance was admirable.
But the more important question now was where this path led.
Relying solely on the white glow from Moriel’s staff, the group wandered blindly through the dark corridor. They were exhausted, wounded, and terrified. The excitement of escaping the Great Vortex had vanished completely. Having fled one danger, they now found themselves in another—forced to head toward an unknown future to escape deadly threats.
Fortunately, they hadn’t planned to stop.
No one wanted to stop, nor did anyone dare to. They instinctively followed the faint light, feeling the warmth emitted by those ahead, which gave them a sense of comfort—proof that they weren’t alone. Of course, Simon, who was at the end of the group, kept looking back, though he couldn’t see anything.
But that made it even scarier, didn’t it?
It was unclear how long they had walked. Although Forty-Seven insisted it had taken half a day, almost no one believed him, as his claim was based on those seemingly random torch holders on the walls, which held no credibility at all.

But in any case, they had already passed through the suffocating spiral passages—whose ability to maintain such an astonishing length and integrity underwater was nothing short of a miracle. The final stretch required most of them to crawl half and walk half their way through; only the forty-seven who led the way never bent down. He swung his fists carelessly, shattering the rocks in their path like a fully powered excavator. But those behind him lacked his skill, and the rocks, now broken into pieces, still filled the passage, leaving it no wider than before—only harder to navigate and with many previously usable support points no longer available.

Morrill inside the magic shield looked displeased. Unlike the others, she wasn’t worried that the forty-seven would collapse the passage completely, as he had with the island, but simply disapproved of his approach. He might be immortal—both physically and mentally—but imposing that sense of immortality on others was extremely annoying. Damn, this guy is utterly immature!… was Morrill’s conclusion.

Yet she abandoned the idea of hitting the forty-seven with her wand. With so many things hitting him already, one more strike likely wouldn’t even register, and it might even damage the magic effects of her wand. Would they have to rely on his red eyes for light from now on?

Chloe followed behind them lightly, without any complaints. Though the situation wasn’t much better than a rickety deck filled with sharp blades everywhere, it wasn’t particularly difficult either. If there was any slight dissatisfaction, it was the boredom of playing hide-and-seek with stiff rocks.

The forty-seven’s heavy footsteps stopped when he entered a wider area. He moved his arms, causing a series of metallic clinks from his joints. His infrared-like gaze, as sharp as a pinhole, scanned the surroundings. There were only rocks—rocks covered in strange patterns, but still rocks.

Chloe let out a soft “oh” and lazily stretched herself out. To be honest, the final stretch of the passage was too low for her as well.

One after another, they entered. Morrill stayed at the entrance until she was sure all members had left the passage.

The sailors began counting each other. Aside from the forty-seven, Morrill, and Chloe, about a dozen more sailors had escaped successfully, including Rol, the second officer, and of course, Simon, who was forced to stay behind.

“What on earth is this place…” Simon looked around, perhaps trying to change the subject.

It clearly worked. Everyone raised their heads to look around. The brief respite allowed their rational minds, suppressed by survival instincts, to restart, and they truly began to wonder what kind of environment they were in.

Another temple? It seemed they kept traveling to these inexplicable places lately—truly causing aesthetic fatigue.

The sailors huddled tightly around the white light centered on Moriel, refusing to move an inch. Their faces were starkly pale from the magical glow, with clots of blood frozen on their skin untouched, resembling a group of wandering spirits. The perilous journey they had undertaken to demand repayment from their fleeing captain was utterly thrilling—so much so that even facing Simon right before them, they couldn’t immediately recall the ultimate purpose of their trip.

Moriel focused the ever-burning, torch-like flame into a beam and shone it into the distance. The blurred light swept across the walls, revealing fragments of mysterious, eroded patterns that had been obscured by time, piecing together their form from the darkness.

A dripping sound came from somewhere, echoing like thunder in the sailors’ ears, who dared not breathe.

“Merman Island…” Rol suddenly murmured. His naturally dim vision clearly allowed him to see things that the other sailors couldn’t—things that Yonai saw but ignored: “This is Merman Island!”

“Merman Island?” Yonai turned to look at the sea elf. “This is just a cave. Use some common sense, will you?”

Simon also noticed something following Rol’s gaze. “That’s right, it’s here… Look!”

The symbols and stone patterns on the cave wall weren’t chaotic. It was just that the lines were too abstract, the magical light only illuminated a small portion of the wall, and constant erosion by seawater made them fragmented and misaligned, preventing immediate recognition.

As Moriel moved the beam purposefully, a mural covering the entire ceiling gradually came into view—bold in style.

Three-headed, six-armed mermen rode giant sea beasts through the waves, each wielding different weapons. Though damaged, their once-magnificent presence could still be discerned. Especially when the light illuminated the mermen’s lifelike, spiny giant heads, an inexplicable sense of pressure washed over them, as if a deity truly carved into the wall was overlooking all who entered the cave.

“The God of Shark-Mermen?” Chloé looked up at the mural with interest. “Does such a deity really exist? I’ve never heard of him.”

“I’ve seen references to him in some ancient texts,” Moriel said, pausing his staff and turning the magical beam back into a torch, hiding the mural once again in darkness. “The Goddess of Lies doesn’t mind her followers believing in her as a deity that doesn’t actually exist. In fact, she enjoys it quite a bit, often disguising herself as others to deceive ignorant mortals… Spreading lies and illusions is the Lady of Mist’s nature. It seems we’ve found the right place.”

“This guy looks familiar… He might not be imaginary after all,” Yonai concluded with certainty. “Hmm, if he wore a red underdress, he’d look even more like him.”

Moriel ignored Yonai’s nonsense, thinking he should first determine exactly where they were, how deep below the surface, and if possible, get these sailors away from here…

A small figure flashed in the darkness, vanishing in an instant.

“Who?!” Moriel raised his magic wand, and a beam of white light shot out once again, but where the figure had disappeared was only a damp rock wall. Siqi turned his head at the same time she spoke; his vision wasn’t affected by the darkness, allowing him to see even the traces of flowing water clearly—but he also saw nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Chloé placed her hand on the hilt of the sword at her waist, the Xeric symbol on it already dim. “Did you see something?”
Moriel closed his eyes and opened them after a moment. An illusion?
“I thought I saw someone there just now, but they disappeared in the blink of an eye.” The direction illuminated by the wand was empty.
Siqi strode over, tapped on the rock wall, and from the sound, it didn’t seem like there was a hidden door. So he stepped back two steps and then delivered a fierce side kick.
With the flowing sewage and falling debris from the collapse, a hole of moderate size appeared in the wall after Siqi’s kick, but at the same time, the entire cave seemed to shake as more rocks fell from above. Fortunately, the ceiling was high enough to allow time to dodge, but the sound of the water became even clearer, as if the underground hall would soon be flooded by seawater. The sailors fell silent, desperately waiting for the disaster brought about by Siqi’s kick.
But thankfully, aside from those rocks that could be easily avoided, nothing else happened.