Chapter 123: The Beast from the Sea

Many people compare the three-tiered framework of Hermetica—the Upper District, the Lower District, and the Mist District—to a series of expanding concentric circles. In truth, however, a concentric circle is not an accurate description. In the south, the jagged, uneven coastline carves straight into one side of these circles, as if someone had taken a bite out of a perfect pancake. On a map, the flawed beauty of this ancient city appears somewhat pathetic, if not altogether comical.

Yet, one must admit that South Bay played a pivotal role in the development of Hermetica. Setting aside the obscure history of the ancestors, back in the era of the Ancient Kings, fishing and maritime trade were the pillars that supported the city’s prosperity. Without this harbor, now long since fallen into decline, the economic, cultural, and living standards of Hermetica would have plummeted by at least one grade.

Of course, that was a thousand years ago.

For the fishermen living in Hermetica today, the glory of their ancestors is nothing more than post-meal chatter—not worth even a single copper coin in a tavern. After all, since the advent of the Dark Age, the regions beyond the protection of the Flame have long since become dead zones infested with monsters. Perhaps the high-and-mighty "Glorified" have their own ways, but ordinary people like them are destined to spend their entire lives trapped within this narrow world.

Old Love was one such man.

Unlike many younger fishermen, this forty-something man had long ago lost the romance of the sea. It was not that he had never steered a ship beyond the boundaries of order, nor that he had never lost his way on the mist-shrouded ocean. More than that, he and his Glorified friend had more than once encountered legendary sea behemoths, battling the bloodthirsty demons that lurked beneath the waves.

On this ocean, he was a legend in his own right.

Yet, no matter how magnificent a legend may be, it cannot defeat the passage of time. Having retreated from his former life, the hot-blooded passion of his youth had cooled, leaving only the responsibilities and timidities of a husband and father.

He was old.

He never denied it. Although his combat skills, honed through years of fighting demons, had not significantly dulled, the spirit that once dared to challenge storms had gradually faded as his son grew day by day.

He was old; his heart was old.

South Bay is located in the Lower District of Hermetica. Extending a few nautical miles outward is the relatively calm coastal zone; further out lies the High Seas, where the power of order is ambiguous and blurred. Sometimes it is tranquil, sometimes locked in dense mist, and at other times, it is churned by turbulent waves. While the sea remains as bountiful and generous as ever, it is also home to countless gargantuan beasts and bloodthirsty demons that harbor infinite malice toward humanity.

He once yearned for that vast, boundless world, but under the grinding of time, all his grand ambitions had become mere memories. The "Son of the Ocean," whose deeds were sung in taverns, had died during that eternal adventure. What remained was merely "Cowardly Love," a man scorned by the young fishermen who grew up listening to hero legends.

But that was not so bad. Relying on the gifts from his Glorified friend and his own refined skills, he had enough to eat and wear; he actually lived quite comfortably.

Sometimes, he would lie on the shore, gazing at the thick clouds in the sky while listening to the symphony played by the sea.

Happiness? Perhaps.

At the very least, he was content. What could be more satisfying than returning to a quiet life after experiencing the perils and wonders of the world? Probably nothing.

Old Love squinted and thought for a moment. Then, prompted by some unknown thought, a hearty smile appeared on his weathered, tanned face. He stopped pondering such profound questions, sat up from his bed, and looked up at the endless darkness before him.

Did he oversleep?

A bit surprised, Old Love pulled a box of matches from his coat pocket to strike a light. However, before he could ignite the oil lamp on the bedside table, the weak flame flickered in the air and extinguished.

There was no wind.

His brows knit together. As a hero of the sea who had ventured far into the High Seas and witnessed a world of unprecedented scale, a faint sense of unease stirred within him.

But, it was merely unease.

Under the radiation of the Flame of Order, even high-level demons—monsters that killed without blinking—would only be reduced to prey for humanity. Even if a major crisis occurred in the Lower District, so long as he wasn't caught in the infighting between the Three Pillars, his combat prowess was enough to handle it.

Still... one could not simply rule out the worst-case scenario.

Love thought, then struck another match.

Naturally, the dim light in the darkness was engulfed by an endless void, as if struggling and twisting in the grasp of a flame.

"The Deepest Night."

He spoke, his somber expression perfectly blending into the deep darkness.

He was no ignorant man. Although the boundaries of order were always ambiguous on the vast ocean, as a brave soul who had accompanied a Glorified into the deep High Seas and entered that bizarre and surreal eternal darkness, he knew of the existence of the Deepest Night, unlike his peers.

At the very least, he knew this was a massive crisis far beyond his capabilities.

So... he must escape.

His gaze remained unwavering, analyzing the situation with cold clarity. First, he needed to regain his vision.

In the Lower District, few people truly understood the Deepest Night. Many simply viewed it as an eternal dark place that devoured light and hope. In reality, while the Deepest Night was terrifying, it was not a dead zone devoid of all light and hope. While ordinary flames might be extinguished by its influence, fire-crystals processed by alchemists could still provide light. Fortunately, he happened to have a high-grade finished product.

The Fire-Pattern Amulet.

This was the talisman that had accompanied him on his adventures in the High Seas twenty years ago, and a witness to a friendship that transcended their respective stations.

Even in his most destitute times, Love had never imagined he would need it again.

Yet, today, it was useful once more!

The aging hero relied on his memory to fumble for the brocade box hidden under the mattress, then gently wiped the dust from it.

A warm, orange hue emerged, and the gentle light dispelled the darkness around him.

"Four-thirty in the afternoon."

By looking at the wall clock, Love confirmed the time. At this hour, Catherine should be taking Joe to collect the dried fish at the fishery—which meant they were at the beach.

A shadow passed through the man's brown pupils.

Though he didn't know the current state of the Flame of Order, the arrival of the Deepest Night was undeniable. The coastline of South Bay was undeniably a frontier far removed from the center of order. If the sea beasts and demons were to riot, Catherine and Joe would undoubtedly be the first victims.

So...

His fist tightened. The "Cowardly Love" had died in this moment; the legendary hero who had once challenged the Seven Seas was reborn. Without hesitation, guided by the soft glow of the Fire-Pattern Amulet, he grabbed a refined steel harpoon from his fishing gear, weighed it, and set off.

He was not a hero; he never was.

Love had always scoffed at the heroism sung in taverns. He knew perfectly well that "Hero Love" was merely a spiritual crutch for those young people, a false image piled up by bards. In reality, he had never challenged the masters of the Seven Seas, nor had he outwitted terrifying monsters of the abyss. He was simply a sailor who had accompanied a Glorified friend to explore the depths of the ocean.

His experience was broad, and his combat skills were outstanding for the Lower District, but he could only handle a few ordinary demons. To run into something truly tricky and be killed in ignorance was not hard to believe. Yet, even so, he did not intend to retreat—because he was a hero. Not the hero who conquered the Seven Seas as sung in taverns, but a great hero capable of protecting Catherine and Joe in the midst of chaos.

So—

"Hero Love, charging forward!"

He adjusted his collar, speaking his son's favorite catchphrase in a resonant voice, and plunged into the darkness.

Such nostalgia...

The dense darkness did not crush the man's will; instead, it made his fighting spirit soar. Twenty years ago, the legendary journey he undertook with his Glorified friend had begun in that very same darkness!

Love’s brown eyes grew brighter. Memories of fighting various demons surfaced like a series of paintings. By the time he reached the beach, the instincts that had been dormant in his aging body were fully awakened.

Next, find Catherine and Joe and take them away.

With a firm resolve, the man searched for his wife and son in the dim light.

Something was wrong.

The battle-hardened hero sensed the trouble.

It was... too quiet here.

He narrowed his eyes. Logically, in this absolute darkness, the surroundings should be noisy. Even if they couldn't make sound for some reason, the instinct to seek light should have drawn them toward him, or they should have called out for his attention once they saw the light.

Yet, until now, his ears heard only the rustling of the waves.

There were no sounds of humans, birds, beasts, or insects. The world seemed shrouded in a terrifying silence, unable to emit even the slightest noise.

In contrast, a massive, unprovoked sense of dread gripped his heart.

Something...

Something was here.

Fear for an approaching crisis, or perhaps something else, surged within him. Love did not use his will to overcome this bone-chilling fear—not because he couldn't, but because he wanted to use the primal instinct of a living being facing death to hunt for the enemy hiding in the dark.

"Click," "Crack," "Crunch."

He stiffly turned his head. The soft light revealed a fleeting shadow and a corpse on the ground.

It was a middle-aged man similar in age to himself. He was half-kneeling on the ground, one hand reaching forward as if hope were right in front of him, and he only needed one more step to escape. However, his neck had been twisted at a shocking angle. His head, forced to rotate 180 degrees, clearly revealed the emotion he felt in his final moments—it was fear, and even more so, despair. It was as if he hadn't been killed in a struggle, but deliberately tortured and then tossed aside like garbage in front of him.

Was it meant to intimidate him? Or simply to savor his terror?

Love, unmoved, withdrew his gaze. He had experienced the cruelty of monsters twenty years ago; this only deepened his hatred.

He gripped his harpoon and scanned his surroundings.

Nothing. Nothing. Still nothing.

Cold sweat beaded on his palms. A cunning and dangerous enemy lurking in the shadows was unsettling. After a brief hesitation, Love decided to take a gamble.

He looked away from the surroundings and fixed his eyes on the wretched corpse. Carefully, he approached and used his harpoon to flip it over.

Now!

Though his vision hadn't caught the enemy's approach, his long-honed combat instinct prompted an immediate leaping strike. The steel harpoon sliced through the long night, landing a heavy blow on the enemy that had crept up behind him.

*Clang!*

The sudden sound of metal striking metal made Love’s heart sink, but the emotional fluctuation did not affect his next move. Before the humanoid enemy could recover from the dizziness of the blow, he ripped the Fire-Pattern Amulet from his neck and lunged forward, pressing the fire-crystal, which radiated the Flame of Order, directly against its chest.

And then... a burst of brilliant light!

The enemy's body spasmed as if it had gone mad. The man felt no mercy. Grabbing this precious opportunity, he aimed at the two scarlet, fish-like eyes of the humanoid monster and thrust his harpoon down with a low battle cry, piercing it through!

The tall body crashed to the ground. Only then did Love have a moment to breathe.

Truth be told, his victory was neither glorious, nor honorable, nor elegant. But combat was simply like that—it never cared for aesthetics; it was only the simplest, most fundamental violence of life and death.

He sighed softly, about to inspect the monster's carcass, when the abnormal sound of churning waves behind him sent a chill down his spine.

He turned abruptly, and the soft light illuminated the horizon, revealing the uninvited guests from the sea.

They were monsters—the same kind that had just died by his hand. Their bodies were a dull, grayish-green, with pale white bellies like fish and smooth, slippery skin. They had high, scaled ridges on their backs and were humanoid in shape, though larger and more ferocious. Their heads were more fish-like, with huge, bulging scarlet eyes; gills were visible on both sides of their necks, and webbed hands and feet could be seen. From time to time, they let out eerie, sharp, and hoarse sounds in the darkness.

"It seems there is no escaping today."

Watching them approach, the man couldn't help but laugh bitterly.

That's right, *them*.

It wasn't one or two monsters emerging from the sea, but hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands!

The entire tide, the entire surface of the sea, was submerged by their bodies. There was no need to doubt it—he was dead.

Love did not run, for it was meaningless.

In this moment, facing certain death, the conversation from his first meeting with his Glorified friend echoed in his mind:

"Tell me, Ulysses," he, barely twenty years old, had looked at the boy standing on the coastline, "We're heading out to sea soon, why don't you come in for a swim? Once we sail, there won't be any time for fun."

"I hate the sea." He still clearly remembered the cold expression on the black-haired, black-eyed boy’s face. "Because you never want to know what kind of monsters are lurking beneath the calm surface. Perhaps there is a civilization that worships chaos down there."

The middle-aged man, standing on the brink of death, laughed silently.

"You were quite right," the hero of the Seven Seas smiled with a sense of melancholy, "but as for the sea... I'm sorry, I still... can't bring myself to hate it."

And then, the hero faded into the night.