Round 37: Ambush

Forty-seven had seen many wonders of nature—from planet worlds covered in boiling lava to gas giant planets hiding another small galaxy within them—but the “Sea of Seas” before him still seemed quite extraordinary to him.
The canoe moved slowly through the darkness. With the faint light from the glowing moss on the cave walls, they could occasionally see waterfalls of rushing water pouring down from the cave ceiling, creating thunderous sounds and large waves of fine spray. Strangely, despite the daily flow of seawater—and forty-seven was sure they were now below sea level, possibly even beneath the ocean floor—some unknown reason prevented the water from filling the underground caves of Deepstream City. The water below only covered the lower half of the caves, creating a dark expanse that existed in a strange dynamic balance between a lake and a harbor.
On the boat, aside from the guide Fangtooth and the two oarsmen, there were only Moriel and forty-seven.
The female mage stroked the obsidian ring on her ring finger, eyes half-closed as the canoe swayed gently in the turbulent currents. She gradually shaped the surroundings in her mind, from blurry to clear…
The next fork should be reached after turning left. A premonition appeared in Moriel’s mind like a lightning bolt splitting the night sky.
This innate sixth sense had become increasingly sharp as her magic level rose. Aside from Kayro still being nowhere to be found, Moriel even sensed that O’Sullivan must be somewhere in the dungeon ahead… Although she still didn’t understand why O’Sullivan, who seemed to care only about his family and hair wax, would serve Hryek, eliminating the interference from the Dark Days could at least help Lady Mist rise to the surface—hopefully.
“We’re almost there, Miss Moriel.”
The female mage opened her eyes and gave Fangtooth a slight nod.
“Thank you, Mr. Fangtooth. Once we enter Skull Harbor, you can inform your people to go get Kani’s goods.”
The canoe turned around a row of stalactites that resembled interlocking fangs in the darkness and entered a narrow, straight waterway. It must have been artificially carved, as the cave walls, so low that one had to crouch, were covered in axe and hammer marks.
As they approached the cave entrance, the boat stopped. Fangtooth took out a dull stone from his pocket and swung it in the air a few times. In such an environment, it was hard to even see the movement of his arm, but forty-seven could see extremely bright trails formed by the stone—probably because his vision covered a much larger range than human eyes.
Only when similar lights appeared in the darkness across from them did the oarsmen quietly resume rowing.
“Red-Eyed boy, what the hell are you staring at?” A old dwarf greeted them as they stepped ashore—but not an ordinary old dwarf. He was taller and thinner than typical dwarfs, with only one leg. His grayish beard had traces of blood, as did his dirty nails and gray bald head. A uniquely designed iron crutch supported his missing leg and could also serve as a deadly weapon, given its weight and design.

“Be careful, or I’ll pull out those red eyes of yours and sell them at the market!” The old dwarf exhaled breath with a sulfuric stench, his cloudy yellow eyes blazing with fury. “Are you mocking me for having only one leg? Someone like you, I can knock down without even a cane—quick and brutal!”
“Calm down, Old Ink. Your skill at disemboweling is unmatched…” Poison Fang seemed to respect this old dwarf greatly. He said nervously, “But you need to realize—he’s just an automaton. How could an automaton mock you?”
Hearing this, Ink examined Forty-Seven more carefully.
“An automaton? Hmph, indeed.” He glanced at the pitch-black water surface. “This damned weather. The water temperature’s dropping, so much so that the fish no longer glow. Once the underground sea freezes over, things will get really interesting…”
The old dwarf turned and led the way. “Hurry up! I don’t want to stay in this dark place for another minute!”
Morriel smiled slightly. A dwarf with infernal bloodline actually saying he didn’t want to stay in a dark place… Forty-Seven didn’t react, either because he remembered the Blood Axe or because he was “considering the bigger picture.”
The shapeshifter—no, Viscount Ferdinand—had been avoiding possible surveillance by switching vehicles from the start, changing clothes three times in three secret houses before putting on the mask necessary to attend the Shrike Church assembly. Ferdinand cursed the complicated itinerary of his predecessor while rushing around, finally arriving at a secret meeting place somewhere in Skull Port without even having time to leave a mark for his master.
“Hard work, Sir. Hehe… You must have been tortured by those red-robed women these days.”
Ferdinand recalled that the owner of this cloyingly sweet voice was Black Horn, the highest-ranking Shrike priest in Deepstream City. “Hey, be careful, Lord Black Horn. Do you want everyone to know my identity?”
Although there wasn’t a single soul around them, this was the standard response according to his memory. The real Viscount Ferdinand always went to great lengths to conceal his identity—almost to the point of neurosis.
“Apologies, Mr. Cliff.” Black Horn used Ferdinand’s fake name known within the church. “Please, our young host has been waiting for a long time.”
Ferdinand nodded calmly. He wasn’t worried about being exposed. In fact, the complicated magic checks had already been done before coming here. Unless one truly feared the red-robed mages who could decide one’s life and death in an instant, or Ferdinand’s charming wife, she wouldn’t notice anything until after giving birth to a little shapeshifter…
Too bad. For a moment, Ferdinand felt immense anger and pain—but he suppressed it before showing it. After all, wherever they were, shapeshifters were destined to be spies and scouts.
Ferdinand’s confidence wavered slightly after entering the venue.

He had never seen such a scene in the memories of the true viscount. An ordinary large house, not even equipped with a water basin burning with the symbols of the Eternal Dark Day. The senior worshippers who had arrived earlier stood in a circle, hands clasped together—leaving only two gaps for Black Horn and Ferdinand.

“Oh, Mr. Cliff,” O’Sullivan, still dressed in black with eyes as dark as bottomless pits, said, “You’ve worked hard.”

“This is…” Ferdinand showed appropriate hesitation. He was sure even the real Ferdinand wouldn’t know what was going on. Under the guise of trade disputes, the Shapeshifter, guided by Morriel, had already almost erased the viscount’s memories. “What are we supposed to do?”

“We will undertake an unprecedented act—uniting our minds to call upon my Lord and hear the oracle of the Eternal Dark Day!” Black Horn explained on O’Sullivan’s behalf, his expression and tone somewhat mad. “Those bugs in the sunlight above are trying to crush our Church of the Eternal Dark Day like mad, especially those capricious red-robed mages. To survive this crisis, we must swiftly fulfill my Lord’s will. As long as we earn the praise of the Eternal Dark Day, those red-robed fools and the Morning Light are nothing but clowns!”

“That’s right,” O’Sullivan added.

Although he should have already explained it to the earlier worshippers, perhaps to emphasize or to inspire them, O’Sullivan—already showing signs of being the actual leader of the Shirek Church in Deepstream—impatiently explained, “Those who try to stop the Eternal Dark Day are only wasting their time… Mr. Cliff, I have good news for you. I’ve already got a rough idea of where that girl my Lord is searching for is.”

“Really?!” Whether out of pretense or genuine emotion, the Shapeshifter couldn’t hide his joy.

If he could report this news to his cold beauty of a master, she would surely reward him—she seemed far more decisive in rewards and punishments than the female dwarf. “Praise my Lord!”

“Praise my Lord,” O’Sullivan nodded in satisfaction. “That’s why I took the initiative today to hold a ritual like no other in our church. It’s not to report our insignificant achievements to my Lord, but to seek clear guidance from the Eternal Dark Day. After all, under the enemy’s fierce attacks, we can’t take the initiative on our own.”

He was going to participate in this ritual to ask for an oracle? The Shapeshifter shuddered deep in his soul.

“What are you waiting for, Mr. Cliff?” Black Horn stepped into the circle. “Are you questioning such a glorious moment?”

Looking out from Old Dwarf Ink’s house, Skullport appeared deserted. Black seawater wound its way through the gaps between the rock walls, coming from nowhere and going nowhere.

The entire Skull Harbor is a labyrinthine cavern submerged in water—its inhabitants live either in hidden caves or in crude shelters built in slightly flatter areas. Faint lights shine from holes that could barely be called windows, while most remain in darkness. No one knows how many secret passages exist beneath this surface, similar to the waterways they entered.

“Hmph, woman, get away from the window! Do you want the whole world to know there’s a silly red-dressed girl in my house?” Ink sat on the hard stone bed, placing his cane in front of him so he could grab it instantly if attacked: “What on earth is the matter? How could a fool like you become the head of the Red Robe Mage Council in Deepstream City?”

Siqi laughed, only to be mercilessly rebuked by Ink: “Stop laughing! Do you iron-brained fool even know what happiness is? Turn around quickly! Look, you’ve even burned the guinea pig!”

If anyone who knew the truth saw this scene, they might think the one-legged dwarf was the king of the gods descending to earth—otherwise, how would he dare scold these two in front of him so harshly?

Moreover, neither Moriel nor Siqi got angry.

“I’ve dealt with a dwarf before… as irritable as a nuclear bomb at critical mass. Are all dwarfs like that?”

Although Ink didn’t know what a nuclear bomb was and couldn’t even understand the pronunciation of the word used by Siqi, to prove the description of “irritable,” he indeed flew into a rage: “Nonsense! What dwarf? Look carefully—I’m a gray dwarf! Did your mistress forget to give you eyes? Other than gray dwarfs, inferior dwarfs don’t deserve to be called dwarfs at all! They’re just a bunch of bearded pygmies!”

Though Blood Axe had never taken care of him… overall, he was actually quite alright.

Moriel thought this as she moved a little further into the shadows. It really didn’t make much difference. Whether anyone could evade Moriel’s mental perception to spy on her was another matter, but the “undetectable cloak” she wore today was Kani’s treasure. The location of the shapeshifter remained unclear; the Xeric believers must have used various methods to block detection magic, so she could only wait for the shapeshifter to contact her voluntarily… but given its usual nature, it was uncertain whether it would take such a risk.

After diverting her thoughts from the main task, Moriel realized Siqi was actually quite nostalgic. Even if this old dwarf with some infernal bloodline was missing a leg, or even if his father were the Fire Demon Barlo, he would never be Siqi’s match—yet Siqi didn’t kill him and rarely retorted—probably because the old dwarf’s voice was quite loud.

If it weren’t for that damned task with Blood Axe, Siqi would just be an ordinary construct… Moriel thought of the Stone of the Future. Was she, like this reclusive old dwarf, still living in Rain City?

Maybe, maybe not—who knows?

Suddenly, Moriel’s expression stiffened, as if waking from a dream.

“I’ve found them!”

Morriel interrupted the discussion between Forty-Seven and Ink about whether to become a cook on the Hermit Crab, and activated the portal. After a flash of light, only Old Ink was left in the room.
“A gray dwarf becoming a ship’s cook?” Ink snorted in disdain.
The shapeshifter playing Viscount Ferdinand released his grip. Like everyone else, he was drenched in sweat, but this time it wasn’t fake. The shapeshifter used his innate telepathic abilities to fully mimic the mindset of the Shrike cultists, so as not to reveal any flaws during their half-awake prayers. He did his best, after all, this was a mysterious ritual conducted by high-ranking Shrike cultists seeking guidance from the god of murder, Shrike!
Yet the shapeshifter thought he hadn’t revealed any weaknesses.
Throughout the ritual, there was no need to open his mind as much as he feared—otherwise, he would be completely exposed, just like when talking to the Red Robed Mage. The Shrike cultists merely tried to communicate with their mad god through their minds, and surprisingly, they received responses. In the process, the shapeshifter distorted his thoughts and managed to sense the storm-like, meaningless noise, a sensation that nearly drove him mad.
But the shapeshifter held on. He thought proudly that he had made further progress in mimicking thoughts, almost matching those of the oldest, most cunning shapeshifters—some even said they could hide in human society for a lifetime without being discovered.
But then the shapeshifter realized something was wrong.
Because aside from him, all the cultists were filled with an incredible ecstasy he couldn’t imitate. It wasn’t just a change in mood or expression; it was an unbelievable force that seemed to materialize and fill their bodies. O’Sullivan was the only one among them who showed no expression. He was staring at the shapeshifter, his eyes no longer human at all—mere bottomless pits that made one feel as if they were being sucked in, falling into another world.
“Ferdinand…” O’Sullivan didn’t use the fake name for the viscount, nor any title. “Under the light of the Eternal Dark Day… every soul loyal to my lord has received his blessing. And you… I can’t believe Ferdinand is someone who doesn’t believe in my lord. Who are you?”
At his question, everyone turned to the shapeshifter. Their eyes glowed with a dark light, like black lamps.
“I…”
“Who the hell are you?!”
Without allowing any defense, the priest Blackhorn beside the shapeshifter screamed and grabbed his arm. A destructive force rushed into the shapeshifter’s body, as if struck by thousands of hammers.
“Severe Injury” instantly overwhelmed the shapeshifter. He collapsed on the ground, twisted, bleeding from every part of his body, barely alive.
Originally, the shapeshifter hadn’t planned to contact the Red Robed Mage during his meeting with the Shrike cultists, as it was too risky. But now he couldn’t care less. Even if he did nothing, he was still doomed.

“No wonder! A shapeshifter?” Black Horn stared at the monster lying on the ground in its true form, filled with shock and anger.
“Leave this place immediately!” O’Sullivan ordered grimly. “Our master has granted us powers that far exceed the current limits of the Mist’s absorption capacity. Now, whoever finds that girl first and kills her will have this gift from Eternal Darkness remain with him forever!”
“Why leave?” shouted one of the Xeric cultists. “With such great power, what in Deepstream City can stop us? If enemies dare to come, they’ll be the first sacrifices we offer to Eternal Darkness after transforming!”
A wall in the gathering hall collapsed with a roar.
Si Qi didn’t feel any discomfort from space transfer. He kicked aside the obstructing rocks and stones and stepped in proudly. “Transform? You fools think you can imitate Sharu?”