Chapter 34: Analysis

Chapter 34: Analysis

"What did you say?" Winter couldn't believe his ears.

They were older and more experienced in combat, yet none of them could figure out the "Black-Cloaked Man's" methods. What made this young punk think he knew?

Thalassa, however, had a "just as I expected" look on his face. Winter had no clue what he was so smug about.

The transport station members exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether the youth was boasting or had truly discovered something they didn't know.

Mare shot to her feet, both hands on the table, leaning toward Sylen urgently: "Quit being so cryptic—just tell us!"

Sylen replied, "It's the wind. The 'Black-Cloaked Man' can manipulate the wind."

"Wind?" Winter thought Sylen was out of his mind. "Fire, explosions, moving people—what does any of that have to do with wind?"

"More precisely, he's manipulating the air," Sylen said. "Fire burns because there's a gas in the air called oxygen. The 'Black-Cloaked Man' can alter the air's composition, suddenly increasing the oxygen levels. If there's an open flame nearby, boom—explosion. That's why you got hurt.

"As for your buddy who flew backward—that was because the air pressure behind him suddenly dropped. Tell me, when he flew back, didn't a crazy gust of wind suddenly kick up around you?"

Winter stumbled over his words. He did remember a weird gust of wind at that moment, but he'd figured it was just the weather acting up and hadn't thought twice about it.

"As for those who suffocated to death—that's even simpler. The 'Black-Cloaked Man' took away their air. He could even create a vacuum around someone. Not only would they stop breathing, but their body would swell from the pressure inside, and their fluids might boil and evaporate instantly."

Sylen smiled as he spoke: "Once you figure out how the Black-Cloaked Man's ability works, there's nothing to be afraid of."

Everyone was dumbfounded. More than half of what he said went over their heads—Sister Pauline's long-winded theological debates were easier to follow than that. But seeing how sure of himself Sylen was, they couldn't help but half-believe him.

Thalassa put his hands on his hips: "See? What'd I tell you? Sylen's got a plan!"

Winter snapped at him: "You don't even understand what he's saying, you idiot! What are you so happy about?!"

He then pointed at Sylen: "Even if the Black-Cloaked Man's ability really is controlling that—whatever—wind, then tell me, how the hell do you plan to deal with him?"

Sylen went quiet, again looking like he was listening to something. After a pause, he nodded and said, "The Black-Cloaked Man can probably only use one trick at a time—either changing pressure or changing concentration. And his ability has a limited range—otherwise, he could've just suffocated all of you at once instead of picking you off one by one.

"So when you're fighting him, the second you feel like you can't breathe, just run out of his range and you're safe. Or get in close—he can't exactly trap himself in his own ability, can he?"

Winter's mouth twitched. He couldn't believe the Black-Cloaked Man who'd haunted his nightmares could be beaten so easily.

"But can you guarantee you'd win up close? The Black-Cloaked Man's no slouch with a sword either. Can you take him?"

Sylen's eyes flicked to the empty wall, then he nodded, like he'd gotten some kind of approval.

He drew the sword from his waist, grabbed the blade with his left hand, and sliced across it hard.

"Ah!" Everyone cried out in shock.

Blood gushed from the kid's palm. Thalassa, ignoring his own injuries, jumped up to grab the first-aid kit. But Sylen just opened his hand to show everyone—the wound that had been gushing blood a second ago was gone.

Winter's eyes nearly bugged out: "What kind of trick is that?!"

Thalassa, totally stunned, grabbed Sylen's hand and flipped it over and over, checking it out. Mare stared in stunned silence for a long moment, then it clicked: "Is this your power too?"

Sylen nodded and sheathed his sword.

The way everyone looked at Sylen now wasn't admiration—it was awe. He had three different powers all by himself. Assuming one was his innate Supernatural Ability, that meant he had two more relics!

In all the transport station's history, they'd never fought with this much firepower! Who the hell was he? Could he really have been sent by some unknown god to save them?

"Speaking of which—" a woman who hadn't spoken until now cut in, "I got some intel. Four days from now, Fergus is going to see Lady Pearl. Maybe this is our chance."

"Who is Lady Pearl?" Sylen asked.

"Fergus's mistress," Mare replied. "He's got several, and he keeps them in different villas. The villas are less guarded than his main place."

Sylen asked, "But why Lady Pearl specifically? Why not one of the other mistresses' homes?"

The transport station members exchanged glances, each with a different kind of bitter smile.

Mare said, "Lady Pearl is one of our people. Maybe... we can convince her to help us."

Rage surged in Sylen's chest. Fergus had actually forced one of their own to be his mistress—a thousand cuts wouldn't be enough to satisfy his fury.

"Why don't we ambush Fergus on the road instead of waiting till he gets to the villa?" Sylen asked. "The villa's got guards—wouldn't that make it harder to hit?"

"You think you can just kill a guy in broad daylight on the street and the Silvermist Fortress guards won't notice?" Winter said sarcastically.

Thalassa chuckled: "A nighttime raid—the guards come even slower. Sometimes they don't come at all, because they're afraid of getting hurt. They wait until enough people are dead, then stroll over at a leisurely pace to 'maintain order.'"

Winter continued: "Besides, we at the transport station have to consider our public image! Launching an attack in broad daylight—the common folk would think we're a bunch of violent thugs! How would we win their support in the future? But a nighttime raid on a residence just looks like a personal grudge against Fergus. They might even relish it."

Mare nodded: "People all have this mentality—when misfortune befalls others, they think, 'That person must have brought it on themselves. As long as I'm different from them, I'll be safe.' In reality, that kind of thinking is completely baseless. When disaster strikes, it doesn't care whether you're good or bad. But we might as well exploit that mentality."

Sylen was lost in thought. He'd only ever thought about rescuing his sister, never considered so many factors. Hearing their discussion today gave him some new perspectives.

"I was already planning to shapeshift into one of Fergus's servants to infiltrate the residence. But I can't transform into someone I've never seen before," he said.

"That slave hunter you killed earlier gave me an idea," Mare said. "Fergus also has escaped slaves, and he's put out a bounty. If we pretend to be slave hunters bringing back a captured slave to claim the reward, we can get into the villa."

Sylen ran through the plan in his head: "That method could work, but where do we find one of Fergus's escaped slaves?"

Mare nodded: "I am one."

Sylen was dumbfounded. No wonder Mare wanted Fergus dead with every fiber of her being. Escaping from that demon's clutches must have taken everything she had...

"Just one 'slave hunter' and one 'escaped slave' isn't enough," Winter said gravely. "Fergus has quite a few household guards. If they all come at once, even supernatural abilities would be stretched thin. I suggest a coordinated attack from within and without—young Sylen infiltrates the residence first, while we launch a feint from outside. Fergus definitely won't let the 'Black-Cloaked Man' leave his side; he'll only send his household guards to respond. Once he's alone with just the 'Black-Cloaked Man,' you can make your move."

Mare mused: "Then the timing of the feint has to be arranged very precisely. The problem is, how do the people inside the villa communicate with the reinforcements outside?"

"Fire arrows?" Winter suggested.

Sylen once again tilted his head, adopting that listening posture. After a moment, he said, "I can acquire a relic that allows long-distance voice transmission."

The cellar fell silent. Winter was completely at a loss for words. What the hell—did this guy get his relics wholesale?!

"Wh-where exactly do you keep getting all these relics from..." the blunt-spoken Thalassa voiced the question on everyone's mind.

Sylen looked a bit embarrassed: "This one isn't mine. I have to borrow it from someone, and I'll need to return it after we're done."

Winter's vision went dark. What the hell—relics that should be priceless and rare beyond measure, yet he made them sound like cheap trinkets everyone had lying around?

Now even the communication problem was solved. It seemed nothing could stop them from taking down Fergus. The group's morale soared as they enthusiastically discussed the details of the plan—which direction to attack from, how to retreat after killing Fergus, and what channels to use for secretly smuggling out the rescued slaves.

These were matters the transport station members were better at, so Sylen simply listened on the sidelines, occasionally offering his opinion.

They discussed until evening, when Sister Pauline came to announce that dinner was ready.

Some members who lived outside the city needed to return before the gates closed. The meeting was thus adjourned. Mare decided to take Sylen to scout the location tomorrow. Only then did everyone disperse, still buzzing with excitement.

Sylen needed to head back to the inn too. They split up into small groups and left the church at staggered times so as not to draw attention. Sylen ended up in the same group as Winter.

The two pretended to be worshippers who'd come to pray and walked out through the front entrance. Winter slung an arm around Sylen's neck, playing the part of a close buddy.

"So, little bro, what's your deal, really?" Winter asked with a smile, but his tone was pretty nasty. "Just when we were pulling our hair out over Fergus, you show up like a godsend. I can't help but think this ain't no coincidence. You've got an agenda."

"My goal is to rescue my sister," Sylen said, sounding annoyed. "If I wanted to hurt the transport station, I could've wiped you all out in that cellar. Would any of you have stood a chance against me?"

Winter looked awkward. "Don't get so cocky. If we all jumped you, we might not necessarily lose." He didn't even sound like he believed his own words.

"Then let me ask you the same, Mr. Winter. You're human—why would you help us merfolk? What's your agenda?"

Winter let out a sly chuckle and said flat-out, "My family and the Fergus family were business rivals—don't get me wrong, my family wasn't in the slave trade. Fergus ruined my family with dirty tricks. So when Fergus gets what's coming to him, I'm happy. Whoever goes after Fergus, I'm on their side."

They came to a fork in the road. Winter let go of Sylen, pulled up his hood, and hid his ugly mug.

"See you tomorrow, little bro." His busted lips twisted into a pale smile. "Hope we really do kill Fergus this time, to honor my fallen brothers."

Sylen watched his silhouette vanish into the mist before heading down the other path.

Xiaoqi popped up beside him. "There's a saying: 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' Pretty solid logic." It said thoughtfully.

"Xiaoqi, I really owe you one." Sylen turned a little red. "If it weren't for you, we'd never have figured out the 'Black-Cloaked Man's' powers."

In the cellar, Xiaoqi was the one who first saw through the "Black-Cloaked Man's" ability, explaining the whole mechanism to Sylen, who then passed it on to the transport station crew.

Sylen couldn't make heads or tails of more than half of what Xiaoqi said. Man, as a servant of the gods, that thing really knew its stuff.

After that, Xiaoqi offered to lend Sylen a relic for long-distance communication.

"This ain't a gift from the gods—I borrowed it from another Apostle," Xiaoqi said. "The one locked up in jail. Don't break it—you gotta give it back."

A wave of gratitude Sylen couldn't put into words surged in his chest. The Apostles of the Lord of the Abyss really looked out for each other! Once he got strong enough, he'd definitely repay that brother!

"Speaking of which, Sylen, have you ever thought," Xiaoqi said hesitantly, "Fergus's mistress..."

"What about her?"

"Do you think it's possible she's your sister?"

Sylen felt like he'd been struck by lightning, frozen on the spot. He'd never even considered it, always figuring his sister would rather die than give in. But... but...

He clenched his fists and snapped, "So what if she is! My sister must've been forced! Fergus has power and influence—what choice does anyone have but to do what he says once they're in his clutches? My sister was just trying to stay alive! Once I kill him, she'll be free!"

"That's good. I was just worried that if your sister begs for his life, you might let Fergus off the hook."

"My sister must hate his guts—how could she ever beg for him! And besides, that mistress might not even be my sister!"

The young man hung his head, hurrying through the misty evening streets, his mind a mess.

***

The next day, Sylen went back to the church to hash out the plan with the transport station crew. Lyman, transformed into Xiaoqi, attended the meeting with him. After all, with nothing to do in the confinement cell, why not hang out with Sylen? Wasn't that more exciting than watching a movie?

The three-day confinement passed in leisurely eating and drinking. When the guard came to release Lyman, he even felt reluctant to leave, experiencing the agonizing pain of "the last day of a long vacation before having to go back to work."

Of course, the guard misinterpreted this pain. "Heh heh, three days locked up, and you've learned your lesson, huh! Let's see if you dare cause trouble again!"

Lyman pretended to nod submissively, repeatedly claiming he had completely reformed, while thinking to himself, if causing trouble gets you treatment this good, why would anyone not want to do it?

The guard led him to the cafeteria, where prisoners were gathered early in the morning choking down the barely edible breakfast. As Lyman walked past them, the prisoners inexplicably cleared a path, making Lyman feel like Moses parting the Red Sea.

The prisoner serving food wore a look of respect on his face, giving him not only a large ladle of soup but also an extra piece of black bread. The other prisoners didn't protest but instead watched Lyman leave with genuine admiration.

Lyman turned around, utterly confused, and was about to find a quiet spot to eat when he saw Nikola and Carlos striding toward him.

The scholar's face was covered in bruises, and his glasses had even more cracks. Lyman felt a twinge of guilt, remembering he had punched him too.

He quickly rehearsed an explanation for why he had hit him, but instead heard the scholar say joyfully, "Lyman! Good brother, you're out! We missed you so much!"

"Huh?" Lyman was stunned. "I thought you'd come to get revenge."

The scholar looked around, pulled Lyman into a secluded corner, and whispered, "Carlos told me everything. You caused that commotion to cover for them. It's fine, I don't blame you. For the greater cause, a few minor injuries mean nothing!"

He puffed out his chest, looking like a martyr ready to sacrifice himself.

Lyman looked helplessly at Carlos. The big man laughed heartily and slapped Lyman on the shoulder, nearly knocking him apart.

"You're quite clever! You didn't tell Nikola because you were afraid he wouldn't be able to act convincingly if he knew the truth, right?"

Lyman didn't know how to respond. He felt there was a serious misunderstanding, but his instincts told him it was better not to explain.

"Uh, yeah, exactly what you said." Lyman went along with it. "By the way, why were those prisoners acting so strangely toward me today? Carlos, did you do that?"

The big man spread his hands. "That wasn't me. Once you've been in the confinement cell, you're basically a 'big brother' figure in Cape Prison. Everyone respects you from the bottom of their hearts."

Lyman thought about it and began to understand. In society, people who had served time were like gilded figures in the eyes of small-time thugs—untouchable sages. And the confinement cell was the prison within the prison, so those who had been there held even more prestige than regular prisoners.

Not to mention Lyman had spent three days in the cell and came out looking perfectly fine. In the prisoners' eyes, he possessed an iron will. The fact that they didn't immediately kneel and call him "big brother" was already remarkable restraint.

Nikola grabbed Lyman's hand firmly. "Good brother, you still support my theory, right?"

Lyman shook him off and said seriously, "Sorry, Nikola, but after careful consideration, I've concluded that the geocentric theory is wrong."

The scholar was horrified. "You've been brainwashed by the church too? What did they do to you in that cell?"

Lyman decided to defend the truth. "The earth obviously revolves around the sun! How could you think it's the other way around? You don't actually believe the earth is flat rather than a sphere, do you?"

Nikola's face turned pale, sweat pouring down, his expression one of utter despair, as if he had just witnessed the apocalypse.

"Good heavens, you've been completely corrupted by the church." He muttered. "The earth is obviously flat. If it were a sphere, wouldn't the people on the other side fall off?"

Lyman looked at Carlos, waiting for him to answer. Carlos burst out laughing. "The earth is obviously spherical. Anyone who's sailed knows the horizon is a curve. When a distant ship appears, you see the mast first, then the hull. If the earth were flat, that couldn't be explained."

The scholar retorted, "Then why don't the people on the other side of the sphere fall off?"

"Because the earth has gravity." Carlos said casually. "This is a theory the elves came up with long ago. They noticed that ripe fruit falls to the ground rather than floating up into the sky, which proves the earth has attraction. At the earth's core, there's a massive vortex that pulls everything toward itself."

...What a strange theory. Although it was full of mystical nonsense, it did successfully explain why gravity exists. For this era, that was probably quite an advanced concept. Lyman thought.

The scholar fumed, "What do elves know? A bunch of forest savages! How can you take their nonsense seriously?"

"I've sailed the seas! Seeing is believing!"

"Then if you keep sailing in one direction, do you ever come back to where you started?"

"Who has enough water and food to sustain an ocean voyage that long?!"

"So you have no proof!"

Seeing the two about to start arguing, Lyman quickly intervened. "Alright, alright, can't we just agree to disagree?"

"You're the one who started this!"

Just as a mini war to defend the truth was about to erupt in the prison, a long, resonant bell tolled from the secondary tower.

Everyone in the square looked up at the sky at once. The deep, penetrating chime echoed across Cape Prison, sending a huge flock of seagulls scattering. The white birds squawked and circled the tower, like an ominous white cloud.

"What's happening?" Lyman asked.

Carlos looked serious: "Usually, the bell only rings at dawn and dusk, signaling the start and end of labor. I've never heard it ring at this hour before. Something urgent must be going on."

"What kind of emergency?" the scholar asked, fidgeting with the hem of his clothes.

"For instance," Carlos mused, "someone attacking the prison?"

***

"Warden! Something's wrong! Please come take a look!"

Early in the morning, the Warden was having breakfast with two Inquisitors in the dining hall. Aether, as usual, ate in silence, while Nashel, as usual, told vulgar political jokes about the Holy City. Suddenly, Deputy Captain Edton burst through the door, drenched in sweat.

After everything he'd been through lately, the Warden was jumpy as a cat; any sudden noise could freeze him solid.

Seeing him pale and speechless, Aether set down his silver fork and shot Edton a sharp look: "What's wrong?"

"A ship's heading for the island, ignoring our warnings!"

The two Inquisitors traded looks and got up without a second's hesitation, following Deputy Captain Edton up to the prison's highest watchtower.

The sky was clear, sunlight spilling white across the sea. Far off, they could see a small sailboat making straight for the island.

"Could it be a fishing boat?" Nashel asked.

Edton replied, "The fishermen across the way know better than to come near the island. We do swap fish with them now and then, but only on set days. Today isn't one of them. Sometimes, in rough weather, we let fishing boats ride out the storm here, but look at today's weather."

Nashel looked up—clear skies, not a hint of a storm coming.

Aether said coldly, "Fire a warning shot."

The guards at Cape Prison had special arrows that whistled shrilly in flight and spat out thick smoke from their tails, used for signals or alarms. Usually, if a fishing boat strayed into the prison's waters, a warning arrow was enough to send them packing.

An archer climbed up, drew, and let fly. The arrow shot into the sky with a trail of smoke, its piercing shriek like a sea siren's scream, drilling into everyone's ears.

Aether waited, but the boat showed no sign of turning around.

Nashel said in amazement, "They're not gonna attack Cape Prison with one lousy fishing boat, are they?"

"Hand me the spyglass," Aether said.

Edton hurried over with a brass spyglass. It had been collecting dust in the Warden's drawer for years.

Aether raised the spyglass and squinted through the dusty, cracked lens at the boat.

It was a plain fishing boat, dragging a long wake across the glittering water. A guy in fisherman's clothes sat at the stern, working the rudder. The boat was empty—no fish anywhere.

At the bow stood a girl in black. Her hands clasped at her chest, like she was praying, the wind lifting her silver hair, whipping it around like a white flag.

"What do you see?" Nashel asked, antsy.

Aether passed the spyglass over. Nashel shoved it to his eye.

"Oh, hell," he muttered. "I think I know who she's come for."

***

Prison square.

The bell rang about a dozen times before falling silent. The prisoners watched for a moment, and seeing no further developments, shrugged in bewilderment and went about their business as if nothing had happened.

Lyman went to the stables as usual to work. The horses gave him a warm welcome, which mainly consisted of urging him to hurry up and add feed to their troughs.

He was in the thick of it when a guard approached with a strange expression.

"Prisoner 1154! Follow me!" he called.

Lyman paused his work: "What's the matter, sir?"

"Visitor!"

"Visitor? Me?" Lyman pointed at himself. "Who wants to see me?"

Did Cape Prison even have visitors? Wasn't this an isolated island?

"Who else? Your sister's here to see you!"