An Understated Dominance (Dustin Rhys) Chapter 2631 TO 2640 ENGLISH VERSION

English version 

 

Chapter 2631

No one had expected that, under the Fish King’s command, the deep-sea piranhas could unleash such overwhelming destruction.

A ten-meter-long escort ship had been torn in half with a single strike—it was almost unimaginable.

This was no ordinary school of fish. It was a swarm of monsters from the abyss.

Even ordinary deep-sea piranhas were a deadly threat. But these were fully matured predators—larger, faster, more vicious, and almost impossible to kill.

The fleet’s cannons and guns thundered, yet even with heavy firepower, the sailors wavered before tens of thousands of these elite beasts.

Tristan’s black robe, patterned with python scales, whipped in the sea wind, revealing the jeweled sword at his hip. He watched the escort ship break apart, flames on its deck flickering against the waves until they were swallowed by the inky sea.

“Pass my order!” Tristan drew his sword, the blade catching the glow of the copper lamps. “Port-side cannons—fire into the densest cluster! Starboard martial unit—shield wall formation! Seal every crack in the deck!”

The cannons roared. Iron shot ripped white scars across the water, tearing through fish and scattering their carcasses like hail.

But the pomfrets were cunning. They surged through the gaps between gun barrels. At the stern, a crack widened to several feet. Dozens of silver-gray shadows clambered onto the tilted deck, their teeth screeching against the wood—a sound that made the crew’s skin crawl.

“Your Highness! The southeast shield line is about to collapse!” a captain shouted. His left arm was chewed to a bloody ruin, but he still braced his shield.

Tristan vaulted over a shattered mast. His sword lashed out like a silver serpent, cleaving three lunging piranhas clean in half.

Dark-green blood splattered across his face, stinging with its fishy stench.

“Kerosene!” he barked, kicking aside a writhing corpse. “Pour it over the sides—now!”

Clay pots were rushed forward. Amber oil streamed down the hull, catching a faint blue shimmer in the wind. Tristan flicked a spark with his fingers—fire raced along the oil, forming a half-meter-high wall of flame around the ship.

The fish screamed, thrashing in the inferno. Blackened bodies rolled in the water, yet some managed to push through, slamming onto the deck while still burning.

Then the sea split. The Fish King erupted from the waves, its three-meter body crashing toward the bow in a surge of water.

The dragon-head carving shattered, wood splinters and bone fragments raining down. Three sailors were swept away by its massive tail, flung screaming into the ravenous swarm.

“It fears fire!” Tristan’s eyes narrowed. As the Fish King cleared the wall of flames, its dark-blue pupils shrank.

“Bring every lantern and torch to the bow!”

Copper lanterns arced through the air, spinning like golden wheels in the wind. The light exposed the Fish King’s underside—its belly, pale and unarmored, was the vulnerable spot.

Tristan snatched an explosive pack, the fuse spitting in his palm. “Captain! Ten assassins with me—now!”

Ten figures surged forward along the rocking planks, energy shields forming above their heads to ward off falling fish.

Tristan leapt from the rail, using a vaulting piranha as a stepping stone, skimming across the wave crests in a blur.

The Fish King sensed danger. Its massive jaws yawned open, rows of fangs glistening with blue-tinged venom, breath reeking with suffocating stench.

“Now!” Tristan hurled the explosive under its belly, slashing away the fish coiled around his ankles.

The blast went off—he used the shockwave to hurl himself back to the ship. The Fish King writhed in the flames, dark-green blood raining down.

But it wasn’t dead. Its tail lashed the sea into towering waves that nearly capsized the Zhenhai Longxiang.

Clinging to the rail, Tristan’s stomach tightened as he watched the wound knitting closed before his eyes. Regeneration.

“Shoot its eyes!”

Artillery and musket fire raked its face. One eye burst in a spray of green ichor. The beast roared, thrashing so hard the deck split wider.

“Chains—now! Around the dorsal fin!”

Five soldiers, chains as thick as bowls in hand, hurled themselves onto the monster’s back. The instant the iron bit into its fin, Tristan drove his sword deep into the wound, channeling his inner force to shred its organs.

The Fish King stiffened. Its jaws opened and closed once, then its massive body rolled belly-up.

Leaderless, the swarm broke. Some rammed the hull in panic; others scattered into the deep.

Tristan remembered an old text: Piranhas fear the blood of their own king.

“Pour its blood into the sea!”

Dark-green ichor streamed overboard. The surviving fish fled in terror, even those trapped in the deck’s cracks forcing themselves back into the waves.

When the smoke cleared, dawn was breaking.

Tristan leaned against the shattered rail, chest heaving. His robe’s python patterns were soaked in blood, but he stood tall.

The survivors slumped to the deck. Some bound their wounds with rags; others simply stared at the horizon. In the pale light, the Zhenhai Longxiang’s torn sails flapped like a blood-stained banner.

“Casualties?” Tristan asked, voice rough.

“Forty-six dead, twenty badly injured,” the guard reported, hands shaking. “Three escort ships lost. The main ship is heavily damaged—repairs will take at least three days.”

Tristan gazed at the distant waves. The sea was once again a deep, tranquil blue, as if the night’s carnage had never happened.

“Start repairs immediately. No delays. We’ll be the first to land on Fairyharbor Island!”

No matter the cost—be it more ships, more men, even the entire fleet—he would find the elixir.

 

 

Chapter 2631 – Giant Claws- 

At this moment, Li Guanglong’s fleet was sailing deep into the fog belt of the East Sea.

The leaden-gray clouds pressed low overhead, and even the salty sea breeze carried a strange metallic tang, like rust.

Standing on the main deck of the Stormbreaker, Li Guanglong idly rolled a white jade game piece between his fingers, staring ahead at the sea horizon swallowed by mist—three escort ships that had gone ahead to scout had already been out of contact for half an hour. The safe route marked on the nautical charts now lay as silent as a bottomless well.

“Your Highness, the water’s moving wrong,” the old helmsman beside him suddenly said, pressing a hand on the compass. The copper pointer was trembling wildly, and a thin layer of frost formed at its edges. “This fog… it’s alive.”

Before his words had even faded, a sharp cracking sound came from the west.

From the dense fog, a column of water shot upward, and the shadow of half a shattered ship could be seen tumbling in the waves. The lanterns on its deck flickered twice like dying fireflies before being swallowed by the dark green seawater.

“It’s the Sea Patrol No. 3!” the lookout’s terrified shout rang out. “It’s sunk!”

Li Guanglong’s grip on the jade piece tightened, the hard edge digging painfully into his palm. He was just about to order the fleet to close in and investigate when the fog curtain to the east suddenly split open, revealing the keel of an escort ship tipping sideways—its hull had a hole more than three meters wide, the edges of the wooden planks twisted into spirals as if crushed by tremendous force. Seawater was pouring in with a gurgling roar.

“There’s something in the fog!” a deckhand cried out.

Through the mist, a blue-gray shadow flickered past at lightning speed.

Almost instantly, the second and third escort ships screamed in unison. The brittle sound of splintering wood mixed with the soldiers’ dying wails, echoing through the foggy sea.

Li Guanglong’s eyes narrowed—he noticed that around the vanished wreckage, the sea’s surface was slowly bulging upward, as if a black mountain were rising from the depths.

“Fire the flares!” He drew his sword and pointed toward the mist, his dark battle robe lifting in the wind to reveal silver-threaded dragon embroidery.

Three sulfur flares streaked into the sky trailing sparks, exploding into a blinding glare that pierced the fog.

In that instant of light, everyone gasped sharply—dozens of shattered ship planks floated on the surface, each with edges as clean as if sliced by a massive blade. Even more horrifying were the bodies drifting among them—soldiers cut cleanly in half, armor and flesh sheared so smoothly it was like looking at a mirror-polished edge.

“What… what is that?” someone stammered, pointing at the bulging sea.

In the glare, the blue-gray “mountain” finally revealed its outline.

Its surface was covered in dense knobby protrusions, each the size of a fist, glinting with a metallic sheen. Eight massive jointed limbs extended from beneath the “mountain” into the water, each stroke sending up waves over three meters high. At the ends of the limbs, backward-curving barbs gleamed with an eerie blue light.

Suddenly, the “mountain” moved.

A black shadow lashed out of the fog, slicing through the air with a sharp whistle before smashing into the Stormbreaker’s side.

With a deafening crash, the three-inch-thick planks caved inward, splinters flying. In the chaos, the crew saw it clearly—an enormous pincer covered in a hard shell, its span a full six meters wide. The serrated inner edges were sharper than swords, opening and closing with slow, deliberate menace, fragments of shattered armor still caught between its teeth.

“It’s… it’s a crab!” the old helmsman gasped, collapsing before the wheel, pupils dilated in terror. “A crab bigger than the ship!”

The fog quietly dispersed then, revealing the monstrous creature in full. It was half the size of the Stormbreaker, its bluish-black carapace encrusted with thick layers of barnacles like a suit of natural armor. Two bulging compound eyes rotated on stalks, glimmering a sinister crimson.

Most terrifying of all were its giant pincers—the right claw’s edge glowed with a dark golden luster, the polish of years spent crushing hard objects; the left claw was lined with rows of backward spikes, dripping viscous dark-green fluid.

It slowly turned its massive body, beads of water rolling off its shell and splashing into the sea. When its crimson eyes fixed on the Stormbreaker, it felt as though an invisible giant hand had gripped the ship, and even the wind seemed to stop.

Li Guanglong’s knuckles whitened around his sword hilt. He finally understood how those ships had sunk—the crab demon hadn’t smashed them apart with brute force, it had simply snipped them clean in half with those scissor-like claws, as if cutting through tin.

The monster seemed to sense his gaze. With a sudden motion, it raised its massive right pincer and brought it crashing down toward the Stormbreaker’s mainmast.

As the air screamed under the strike, Li Guanglong’s pupils shrank to pinpoints.

Chapter end

 

 

 

English version 

2632-2634

Matthias’s fleet sailed into the fog-choked depths of the East Dragonmarsh Sea.

Lead-gray clouds hung low over the horizon. Even the salty breeze carried a faint, metallic tang, like rust left too long in the rain.

On the main deck of the Jingtao, Matthias twirled a white jade chess piece between his fingers, eyes fixed on the mist ahead. A vanguard escort ship had been out of contact for thirty minutes, and the waterway marked “safe” on the charts was now as silent as a sealed tomb.

“Your Highness, the water’s wrong,” the old helmsman muttered, pressing a palm to the trembling compass. A frost rimmed the edge of the disk, and the copper needle quivered as if under strain. “This fog… it’s alive.”

Before Matthias could respond, a sharp whhhsssh split the air.

From the west, a column of water surged upward, flinging the half-shattered wreck of a ship into view before the waves swallowed it. Deck lanterns flickered like dying fireflies, then vanished into the dark green deep.

“It’s the Sea Patrol!” the lookout’s voice broke into panic. “It’s gone under!”

Matthias’s grip on the chess piece tightened until the jade edges bit into his palm. He opened his mouth to order an investigation—then the fog to the east tore open. A guard ship listed at a steep angle, its hull punched through by a ten-foot-wide hole. The wooden planks at the breach were twisted and knotted, as though crushed in an iron grip. Seawater poured in with a low, gurgling hiss.

“There’s something in the fog!” someone shouted.

A blue-gray shadow streaked past the Jingtao—fast, deliberate, lethal.

Screams tore across the water as the first and second escort ships were struck. The air filled with the splintering crack of timber and the dying cries of soldiers, echoing like mournful bells in the fog.

Then Matthias noticed the sea itself was rising. Around the vanishing wrecks, the surface bulged as though a mountain were pushing up from the depths.

“Flares—now!” His sword flashed free, the wind snapping his black battle robe wide to reveal the silver-threaded dragon embroidered across his chest.

A sulfur flare shot skyward, its burning arc carving through the mist. The explosion lit the waters in stark, merciless light.

What they saw drew a collective gasp. The sea was littered with planks, their edges sliced clean as though by a giant blade. Bodies floated among them—men in half-severed armor, their wounds smooth enough to reflect light.

“What is that?” a trembling voice asked, pointing toward the swelling in the water.

The flare’s glow caught the outline of something massive.

Its shell was studded with countless fist-sized nodules, each glinting with a cold, metallic sheen. Eight thick limbs churned the sea, their strokes sending up waves ten feet high. At each limb’s end, barbs gleamed faintly blue.

Then the thing moved.

A dark shape burst from the fog and slammed into the Jingtao’s hull with a resounding clang. The impact crushed a dent into the inch-thick planking. Wood splinters sprayed through the air, and amid them all, Matthias saw it clearly—a claw sheathed in a hard, ridged shell. When spread wide, it spanned nearly two feet, its inner edges lined with jagged teeth sharp as forged steel. Bits of torn armor still clung between them.

“It’s… it’s a crab!” The helmsman slumped against the wheel, eyes wide, voice breaking. “A crab bigger than the ship!”

The fog peeled away, revealing the creature in full.

It was half the size of the Jingtao, its blue-black carapace mottled with barnacles like a layer of living armor. Twin stalked eyes swiveled toward the ship, each glowing faintly scarlet.

The claws were its deadliest feature. The right claw’s edge gleamed dark gold, polished smooth by years of crushing. The left claw was bristled with barbs, dripping a viscous, dark green fluid into the sea.

Water rolled down its armored shell in rivulets as it slowly turned. When its eyes fixed on the Jingtao, the air itself seemed to tighten, the breeze stilled, and even the waves hesitated.

Matthias’s knuckles whitened around his sword hilt. Now he understood—this monster didn’t batter ships apart. It carved them open, precise as a master cutting steel.

As if mocking the realization, the beast raised its right claw. With a sound like air ripping in two, it swung straight for the Jingtao’s main mast.

Matthias’s pupils narrowed to pinpricks.

Chapter 2633

The instant the giant claw came crashing down, Kyle’s remaining hand shot out and seized the winch chain.

His empty left sleeve whipped in the wind, veins bulging along his right arm as he wrapped the iron links—thick as a man’s wrist—around his waist and wrenched the listing ship back half an inch.

“Form the iron chain formation!” His roar rattled the deck.

Ten hardened soldiers sprinted over, driving the chain’s hook deep into the ship’s side pillar.

The claw slammed into the chain with the force of a collapsing cliff. Kyle’s knees buckled, his boots carving two deep trenches into the deck. The coppery taste of blood surged into his mouth—he swallowed it down.

“This thing can split metal and stone…” His one-eyed focus locked on the chain’s spreading cracks. In a surge of raw strength, he yanked it sideways.

The claw missed the mast by inches and tore a ten-foot hole through the deck. Wood splinters and seawater exploded upward. Three men, too slow to escape, were swept screaming into the depths.

The beast’s fury flared. Its other claw swept across the deck in a blur of barbed death.

Kyle’s pupils contracted. His fingers tore open the gunpowder pouch at his waist. “Ignite!”

The fuse hissed. He hurled the pouch at the claw with all the strength left in his arm.

A blast ripped through the air. Dark green ichor sprayed out, leaving scorched pits along the carapace.

The monster’s strike raked the ship’s flank, carrying a reeking wind laced with a corrosive white mist. Wherever it touched, the deck wood rotted in seconds.

“Its weak point’s the plastron!” Kyle bellowed, pointing to the pale underbelly rising above the waves. “Ten men—hook its legs!”

Hooks on long spears shot from the rail, biting into the joints of the crab-like legs. Sparks flew where steel met shell. The barbs snagged, locking around the shafts.

The beast thrashed. The soldiers were yanked from the deck, screaming, their cries cut off as they hit the sea.

“Rockets! Burn its eyes!” Kyle slung the heavy bow from his back, nocking three flaming bolts.

The string sang. Fire streaked toward the bulbous eyes—only to be swept into ash by a single claw. Sparks rained back, igniting the deck canvas. Thick smoke blinded the crew.

Then, without warning, the monster sank low, its barnacled back rolling with the waves.

“Hold fast! It’s going to capsize us!” Kyle’s warning came a heartbeat before the sea erupted.

The creature churned the water with its eight legs, hurling the Jingtao like a toy. The hull groaned under the strain, timbers cracking like bones.

Its claws climbed the tilted deck, snapping shut on a bronze cannon and crushing it into twisted scrap.

A soldier with a shattered leg flung himself forward, clutching explosives. “For the crew!” he roared, lighting the fuse just before the claw came down. The blast tore several barbs away, but the armored shell held.

Kyle’s ears rang. Amid the chaos, his gaze locked on a thin crack at the plastron’s edge—a glimpse of soft pink flesh, rising and falling with breath.

“Armor-piercing spike—now!”

A guard hurled him a foot-long spike of blue-tempered iron. Kyle clamped it between his teeth, seized the broken mast, and vaulted upward.

He twisted in midair, slipping past the sweeping claw, and landed hard on the barnacled carapace. The spikes tore through his boot soles, blood soaking the shell beneath his feet.

“Beast—this ends now.”

He tied his ring-handled knife to the spike, the steel flashing with cold light.

The creature bucked violently. Kyle’s grip tore his palms raw, but he clung to the gap in the armor.

As the plastron parted again, he drove the knife in, burying it half an inch. Dark green blood sprayed his face.

“Now!” He rammed the spike deep into the exposed flesh.

The monster’s scream split the air. Its bulk rolled across the waves, flinging Kyle into the ship’s rail. Blood burst from his mouth, painting the scar on his chest.

But the spike stayed lodged, sinking deeper as the beast writhed. The pale flesh turned inside out, the blood now bright red—the color of its heart.

The claws slowed. The deck’s shaking eased.

Kyle staggered upright, leaning on the shattered blade. The crab—larger than the Jingtao itself—twitched once, its eyes glazing over, legs slapping the water weakly before it rolled onto its side. The plastron was smeared crimson.

Silence fell, broken only by the sea against the hull.

Kyle’s one arm trembled. The wound wasn’t fatal, but the beast had lost half its strength.

“General! You’re bleeding!” Guards rushed to him, staring in horror at the deep, bone-revealing gashes across his back. Blood dripped steadily from his empty sleeve onto the deck.

2634

“Don’t just stand there—attack! All forces—finish this monster!”

Kyle leaned against the splintered railing, the gashes on his back still bleeding freely.

He didn’t care. His eyes were fixed on the enemy, voice sharp with command. The men surged forward, hammering the crippled crab with relentless strikes until, finally, the creature’s massive frame went still.

Its legs stopped thrashing. Its claws sagged. Life left its eyes.

Kyle exhaled deeply and slumped to the deck, every breath ragged. The beast had been a nightmare to bring down. If not for the number of martial masters traveling with His Highness, they might never have managed it.

“Kyle! I heard you were hurt—how bad is it?”

The sea was calming when Matthias arrived, flanked by his personal guard.

“Nothing to worry about, Your Highness,” Kyle replied with a bloodied grin. “I’ve taken worse on the battlefield and lived to tell it.”

He tried to roll his shoulders, but pain lanced through his back, forcing a sharp gasp from his throat.

Matthias’ eyes narrowed. He knew Kyle’s stubborn nature too well to argue now.

“You’re one of my fiercest generals. I can’t afford to lose you. Get that wound treated immediately—we’ll have need of you soon.”

Kyle gave a curt nod.

Matthias turned to the great carcass floating beside the ship, a glint in his gaze.

“Men! This beast fought hard, but we’ve brought it down. Let this be proof—when we stand together, nothing can stop us!”

Cheers erupted across the deck. The exhaustion and fear from moments ago seemed to melt away.

“Secure the carcass!” Matthias continued. “Its meat will serve as tonight’s reward. Let every soldier taste the flesh of this monster—they’ll eat well, recover their strength, and remember this victory.”

Ropes were thrown, winches groaned, and slowly—agonizingly slowly—the enormous crab was hauled aboard. Its size dwarfed even the ship itself, drawing wide-eyed awe from the men.

Before long, the smell of roasting crab drifted over the deck, and laughter replaced the sound of battle.

Meanwhile…

Far across the East Dragonmarsh Sea, Nathaniel’s fleet cut through calm waters. The ships were large and well-armed, their crews alert and ready. The weather was so still it was almost unnatural—no storms, no swells, just the occasional leap of dolphins tracing silver arcs in the blue.

At the bow, Nathaniel scanned the horizon through his telescope, a faint frown on his face. The East Dragonmarsh was supposed to be treacherous. Yet this voyage had been… suspiciously easy.

“Your Highness! Look!” The lookout’s voice cracked with excitement.

Nathaniel followed the man’s pointing hand—and froze.

Far ahead, floating among the clouds, stood breathtaking structures wreathed in mist. A carved stone bore the words Fairyharbor. Sunlight bathed the place in a golden glow, making it seem like something torn from legend.

“It’s Fairyharbor Island!” someone cried. The deck erupted into shouts of joy.

Nathaniel’s grip tightened on the telescope. His eyes burned with excitement—after all this time, he had finally found it.

“Full speed! Bring us in!” he ordered.

The fleet surged forward, slicing white trails through the sea. But as they closed in, the water beneath them shifted.

The once-glass surface began to churn. Whirlpools formed—massive, hungry spirals that could swallow ships whole.

The sky darkened in an instant. Winds screamed. Waves rose like charging beasts, smashing into the hulls.

“We’ve sailed into the Death Zone!” an old sailor shouted, terror blanching his face.

Nathaniel’s stomach dropped. The island was no island at all—only a mirage, a lure to drag them to destruction.

Chaos tore through the fleet. Ships rose high on towering waves before crashing down with splintering groans. Others were caught in spinning maelstroms, helpless as ragdolls. Masts cracked like bones, sails ripped to shreds, and men’s screams were drowned by the roar of the sea.

 

 

 

English version 8/18/25

2635-2636

Nathaniel’s fleet was tossed like scattered leaves in the raging heart of the death zone.

Waves rose like moving mountains, smashing into the decks with bone-rattling force. Each impact sent a deafening boom through the hull, the sound of timber groaning under the strain a grim reminder of how close the ships were to tearing apart.

A soldier was hurled into the air by a wall of water, his desperate scream vanishing into the wind before his body hit the sea. The whirlpool swallowed him without a trace—no splash, no sign he had ever been there.

Nathaniel clung to the railing, his knuckles white, nails biting deep into wet wood. Seawater and sweat streamed down his jawline as his bloodshot eyes scanned the chaos.

“Hurry! Tie the rope tight!” he roared, voice hoarse and raw.

Beside him, a young soldier fumbled with the line, hands shaking uncontrollably. “My Lord, I… I can’t—”

A violent gust ripped through, snapping the rope with a sharp crack. The boy’s scream lasted only a heartbeat before the sea claimed him.

Nathaniel’s chest tightened, but there was no time to grieve.

“Hold on! Just survive the whirlpool, and we’ll make it through!” shouted the general on the nearest escort ship.

A towering wave answered instead, slamming into that vessel and rolling it over like a toy. Within seconds, the sea dragged the wreck into the depths, leaving nothing but churning foam.

Another escort ship was next—its crew reaching toward the main vessel with silent, pleading eyes before it too disappeared beneath the spinning abyss.

Each passing second felt like an eternity.

When the storm finally eased, Nathaniel scanned the horizon. His gut twisted.

The once-proud fleet was reduced to a handful of battered ships, each one barely afloat. The decks were slick with blood and scattered debris. Survivors sat in stunned silence—some sobbing, others staring blankly at nothing.

“Listen to me!” Nathaniel’s voice cut through the heavy air. “We are still alive. And as long as we live, there is hope!”

The words had barely left his mouth when the ship lurched violently. Something massive churned beneath them.

Nathaniel peered over the side—and froze.

A black vortex was forming under the hull, its pull so strong the ship was already sinking lower.

No…

He braced himself, but the whirlpool seized them with crushing force. The world blurred into darkness, the roar of water all around. His vision swam, his body straining as though it were being torn apart.

Then—suddenly—the pressure vanished.

The ship jolted, settling on calm water. Nathaniel blinked, unsteady, then staggered to the railing. What he saw rooted him to the spot.

Before him stretched an endless island.

Lush forests crowned with colossal trees—some so wide it would take ten men to encircle them—spread like a living fortress. Slender trunks bloomed with red, purple, and gold flowers that filled the air with intoxicating fragrance. Moss blanketed the ground like green velvet, glittering with beads of dew that caught the sunlight.

A soldier knelt, pressing his hands into the grass. “It’s… soft. Like cotton.”

A sapphire-blue lake shimmered nearby, its surface broken only by the leap of jewel-colored fish. By its edge, water birds with emerald feathers rested lazily, their trills like crystal bells.

Farther inland, mountains shrouded in silver mist rose toward the sky. Waterfalls cascaded down their slopes, scattering rainbows into the air.

In the trees, snow-white creatures with ruby-bright eyes darted between branches, while flocks of metallic-feathered birds wheeled overhead, filling the air with music.

The soldiers stood transfixed, fear and exhaustion melting away.

Nathaniel’s hands trembled. His voice cracked with awe and long-buried joy.

“It’s… Fairyharbor Island,” he whispered, then shouted with conviction. “We’ve found it! We’ve finally found Fairyharbor Island!”

2636

Nathaniel stood at the side of the ship, staring at the dreamlike island ahead, his breathing shallow and restrained.

Sunlight filtered through the branches of towering ancient trees, scattering mottled light across the moss-covered ground. The air was thick with the fragrance of strange blossoms—sweet like honey, yet carrying a crisp coolness that made every breath feel unreal.

Behind him, the soldiers were no longer able to restrain themselves. Weapons clattered to the ground as hands reached out to touch dangling vines, each one strung with crystal-clear fruits that glimmered like amethysts in the sun.

“Your Highness, look at that tree!” a soldier cried, pointing.

The distant trunk was etched with spiral patterns, winding upward like a natural staircase. Pale fungi glowed faintly within its hollow knots, spreading a soft radiance that washed the ground in daylight.

Above, several winged squirrels leapt from branch to branch. As their wings beat, tiny sparks of light scattered in the air, landing on soldiers’ armor and sticking like faint stars.

Nathaniel descended the springboard, his boots brushing over moss that rustled underfoot. He bent, plucked up a wide leaf—edges traced in gold, veins fine as embroidery—and turned to hand it to the general.

But a sharp scream cut the moment apart.

Nathaniel spun around.

A young soldier crouched before a clump of enormous pink flowers, each blossom as wide as a bowl, layered with petals and crowned with golden stamens. They were dazzling, impossible to ignore.

The boy stretched out a hand. His fingers hovered inches from the petals—when the flower shuddered.

Its layers tore open. Inside was not softness but row after row of white serrated teeth, glistening like honed blades.

The bloom snapped forward. With one bite, it closed over the soldier’s head. His body convulsed once. Blood sprayed, only to be instantly absorbed into the petals. Their pink hue deepened, their golden cores pulsing with a sickly red glow.

“It’s a Piranha Plant!” someone screamed.

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed to pinpoints. His sword was in his hand before the cry finished. The blade flashed once, cleaving the cluster in two.

Dark green fluid erupted, splattering across the moss. The earth hissed, smoldering, until the bright green turned black and brittle.

The ground trembled. White tendrils shot from the severed roots, writhing like snakes and snapping toward the nearest men.

The surrounding forest awakened. Vines that had dangled harmlessly now hardened like steel whips, thorns erupting along their lengths. They lashed out with brutal force.

One soldier ducked—too slow. A vine looped around his neck and pulled tight. His eyes bulged, his tongue forced out, his body dragged screaming into the trees. His voice cut off as the forest swallowed him whole.

“On guard! Be on guard!” Nathaniel’s voice cut sharp through the chaos.

He slashed again and again, severing vines, only to watch new shoots grow instantly from each cut, writhing back to life as if mocking death itself.

To their left, the grass lifted. Ferns taller than men unfurled themselves and stood upright. Their roots shifted into gnarled legs. Edged leaves gleamed, jagged like saw blades, as they advanced step by step.

A general lunged forward, striking a fern. The moment his fist connected, serrations sliced through flesh to bone. Dark sap dripped into the wound. He screamed—his arm swelled black, rotted, and crumbled into purple ash within breaths.

“Burn it!” Nathaniel shouted.

Men scrambled for tinderboxes. Sparks flared—

But the trees exhaled. Countless tiny pores opened in their trunks, releasing a pale green mist. The moment it touched fire, it ignited. A soldier lit his spark—and blue flame erupted across his body, consuming him in a heartbeat. His screams merged into the chorus of horror.

The island had become a nightmare.

Nathaniel’s blade blurred, weaving light into a wall before his men, but even his steel couldn’t stop the forest pressing in on all sides.

A root speared upward, skewering a guard clean through the chest. Its fibrous strands quivered as it sucked the blood from him, the bark flushing red as if feeding on his life.

“Fall back! Retreat to the lake!” Nathaniel roared, forcing a path with every stroke.

The survivors stumbled after him, stepping over broken bodies as they fled.

But even the ground betrayed them. The moss shifted beneath their boots—no longer plants, but countless writhing insects. They surged into boots and armor, biting deep.

One man shrieked, collapsing. He clawed at his legs, tearing at himself as the swarm devoured him alive. His screams dwindled into dry, rasping gasps until only a husk remained where he’d stood

 

 

 

English version 8/22/25

2637-2639

Nathaniel’s face was grim. He dared not linger and quickly led his men away until they reached a safer clearing. Only then did the survivors dare to exhale, the tension leaving them in heavy sighs.

A single careless touch—a flower—and the entire jungle had erupted into chaos. The chain reaction was beyond belief. Now, at last, they understood.

This place, with its dazzling beauty, was a death trap at every turn.

“Rest here. Stay alert,” Nathaniel ordered, panting as he leaned against his sword. The wound on his back throbbed, sweat soaking through his tunic. His vision swam with the pain, but he forced himself steady.

Two personal guards took positions as sentries. Around them, the medical officer worked swiftly, binding torn flesh and dousing vine wounds with bitter-smelling powder. Smoke hissed up as the medicine touched corrupted skin, drawing pained cries from hardened soldiers.

Nathaniel closed his eyes briefly. In minutes, more than a dozen of his best men had fallen. The loss weighed heavily on him.

“Your Highness, look—over there!”

A soldier’s sharp cry cut through the silence.

Nathaniel raised his head. From beyond the misty valley rose a slender wisp of blue-gray smoke, curling steadily into the damp air. Unlike the fleeting sparks of wildfires, this smoke was calm, constant—like something that had endured for ages.

“Smoke from cooking?” Nathaniel straightened at once, pain forgotten. His eyes burned with sudden light.

If this truly was Fairyharbor Island, then perhaps immortals dwelled here. That smoke might be proof of it. All their losses, all their suffering—it might finally lead to something greater.

“Form ranks!” Nathaniel’s voice was sharp, almost exultant. He raised his sword and pointed toward the drifting smoke. “Stay vigilant and follow me. We will seek the immortal!”

Fatigue vanished from the soldiers’ faces. Weapons tightened in their hands, and the promise of immortality hardened their steps.

They followed a winding stream. Here, the forest seemed to bow back. The hostile ferns shrank to the roadside, and the vines hung limply, like harmless plants. It was as if even the jungle feared what lay ahead.

Through thickets heavy with purple fruit, a bamboo grove emerged. The towering stalks shimmered faintly, their joints glowing with threads of gold. When the wind stirred, the rustling leaves chimed like jade beads striking a dish.

Deep within, Nathaniel caught sight of a blue-gray roofline. The smoke rose from there.

“Slowly,” he ordered, adjusting his blood-stained robe to hide his wounds. He tried to compose himself, to look less like a weary commander and more like a supplicant worthy of audience.

They moved along the bamboo path until a courtyard appeared, ringed by a simple fence entwined with morning glories, their dew still clinging to pale blue petals.

Inside, a swing hung from two bamboo poles. A small child sat upon it, rocking gently.

The boy could not have been more than five. His hair was tied in two pigtails, his bare feet resting lightly on the swing’s boards. His skin was pale as jade, his eyes dark and bright, fixed on the clouds above while he hummed a wordless tune.

A basket of wild fruits lay piled in a corner. Several coarse shirts hung drying in the yard. Everything was ordinary—yet cloaked in an unnatural tranquility.

Nathaniel’s heart stirred. This child, in such a place, could only be the disciple of an immortal.

He stepped forward and bowed deeply, his voice measured and reverent.

“I am Nathaniel. By chance I have reached Fairyharbor Island. Little one, may I ask if this is the dwelling of an immortal?”

The boy did not look at him, did not pause his swinging, as though Nathaniel were no more than the wind.

Nathaniel tried again, softer, humbler:

“If you know where the immortal resides, we beg you to guide us. We ask with utmost sincerity.”

This time the boy gave only a short snort, still staring at the sky.

Behind him, Captain Gonzales’s face twisted in anger. His arm, burned by poisonous sap, still throbbed with pain. Seeing a child treat his prince so contemptuously snapped what restraint he had left.

“How dare you!” Gonzales bellowed, striding forward. “The prince asks, and you dare ignore him?”

Nathaniel raised a hand to stop him, but Gonzales was already seizing the boy by the collar, lifting him off the swing.

The child’s feet dangled above the ground. His face was unreadable, only his obsidian eyes turning, slowly, toward Gonzales.

“You insolent brat—” Gonzales spat, but his words ended in a strangled scream.

The boy’s tiny fist tapped his chest. It seemed almost gentle. Yet Gonzales’s massive body flew backward like a broken kite, crashing into the bamboo fence.

The snap of breaking ribs echoed in the courtyard.

He crumpled on the ground, black blood at his lips, chest caved in. Life drained from him in seconds.

Silence gripped the yard. The soldiers stood frozen, staring at the small figure still seated on the swing.

The child swayed once, dusted his hands against his legs, and finally spoke. His voice was clear, youthful—yet carried a weight that brooked no defiance:

“You intruders… are disturbing my rest.”

Chapter 2638

The moment Captain Gonzales was hurled across the yard, time itself seemed to freeze.

Weapons clattered to the ground, the metallic echo hanging in the still air. Soldiers stared with wide, unblinking eyes, their bodies trembling with fear. A few instinctively shuffled backward until their boots scraped the bamboo fence, yet none dared to look away.

Nathaniel’s sword gave a low hum, the vibration slipping into his bones. He tightened his grip until his knuckles burned red against the scabbard’s chill. His heart pounded, still echoing with the image of Gonzales’s chest collapsing like brittle paper under that tiny fist. He could still hear it—the sharp crack of breaking ribs, the sickening grind of bone.

“C-Captain Gonzales…” A guard tried to stagger forward, but his legs froze midway.

The captain lay crumpled at the fence, black blood bubbling at his lips. His chest writhed unnaturally, as though something were crawling beneath his skin. Most horrifying of all were his eyes—bulging, unblinking, fixed in terror at the child who sat so casually upon the swing.

The boy continued to swing higher, his coat fluttering with each arc. His pale arm flashed in the light, smooth and round like a lotus root. He turned his gaze briefly toward the fallen captain, then pointed lazily at a morning glory climbing the fence.

“That one will wither soon.”

The words were spoken lightly, almost carelessly, yet they struck Nathaniel’s chest like a hammer.

A chill ran down his spine. Cold sweat drenched his robe, clinging to the wound across his back. Pain sharpened his awareness. This was no ordinary child—he was something beyond comprehension. That casual punch held more destructive force than the monstrous creatures of the valley.

Nathaniel dropped to one knee. His voice shook despite his effort to steady it.

“We have disturbed the fairy child. Please forgive us. We are but mortals who strayed into this land by mistake. I beg you to show mercy.”

The soldiers followed suit, armor clanging as they knelt in unison. None dared to raise their heads. If Captain Gonzales—renowned for his strength—was slain so easily, what chance did they have?

The boy did not respond. He simply swung higher, the bamboo branches groaning under the strain. His gaze drifted skyward as he hummed the same tuneless rhyme, its strange melody wrapping around them, drowsy and disquieting all at once.

Just as Nathaniel gathered his courage to speak again, the boy flicked his little finger toward the courtyard gate.

Without warning, a gale erupted from the bamboo forest. Leaves lashed across faces like knives. Nathaniel felt his chest crushed by invisible force and was flung backward, crashing into his own men.

Screams echoed as soldiers tumbled in every direction. Some were hurled into the golden bamboo, splitting their heads against the hard joints; others rolled helplessly down the slope, ensnared by vines.

Nathaniel landed hard against a slab of bluestone. Darkness clouded his vision, blood spilling down his temple. Through the haze, he glimpsed the bamboo fence door swing shut with a creak. Inside, the swing still swayed gently, though the boy had vanished like mist into shadow.

The storm ceased as suddenly as it began, leaving only chaos in its wake.

Men staggered upright, battered and bloodied. Some clutched broken ribs; others glared at the closed gate, but none dared take a single step toward it. The fear from that one gust of wind was heavier than the weight of an entire army.

“Your Highness, this—” A guard began, only to be silenced by Nathaniel’s glare.

He rose slowly, leaning on his sword for support, blood streaking the corner of his mouth. His gaze lingered on the tranquil bamboo forest beyond the fence—so serene, so deceptive.

This child was no opponent they could resist. His very existence confirmed the presence of a true master hidden on the island. The smoke, the swing, the child—they were not mere coincidences. They were trials.

“From this moment,” Nathaniel said quietly, his tone edged with steel, “we camp outside this courtyard. No one will step beyond the fence. Not a single step.”

He lifted his eyes toward the wisp of smoke rising steadily above the bamboo. His voice hardened, carrying both weariness and resolve.

“We wait.”

2639

Three days and three nights passed in silence.

The alternation of day and night on this island was unnervingly fast. Daylight blazed like midsummer, yet when midnight came, snowflakes whirled through the air as if winter had taken the land.

The soldiers kept their posts outside the yard, taking turns on watch. They saw the morning glories on the bamboo fence bloom and wither, and the wild fruit baskets in the yard empty and refill, yet the child never appeared again. No sign of the so-called immortal.

Whispers began to spread. Some said the bamboo forest hid an empty island, and that child was nothing more than a wandering spirit. A few threw stones into the forest in secret, but the invisible barrier repelled them violently. The stones rebounded, striking their own foreheads until blood trickled down.

Nathaniel spoke no word. Each morning, he tidied his battle robe, bowed deeply to the closed bamboo gate, and then sat cross-legged on a stone, eyes shut, as if steadfastly waiting for someone to emerge.

On the evening of the third day, the last sliver of sunlight broke through the bamboo canopy, scattering mottled light across the ground—when the sound of soft footsteps echoed from the depths of the forest.

Every soldier tensed, hands gripping their weapons tight.

An old man emerged from the shadows.

He wore a simple gray Taoist robe, and in his hand, he carried a bamboo staff carved with swirling cloud patterns. His hair and beard were snow-white, yet his face glowed with a childlike rosiness. His eyes were nearly closed to slits, and a faint smile tugged at his lips as he walked slowly along the leaf-strewn path, leaving no sound behind.

What stood out most was his presence. Though he stood before them, he felt as insubstantial as smoke, like a wisp of fog that could dissolve into the air at any moment.

“Oh? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen new faces on this island,” the old man said lightly, his voice calm and flowing like a clear mountain spring—warm, yet carrying a force that seeped into their bones. “I wonder what brings you here?”

Nathaniel’s eyes lit up. He leapt to his feet, straightened his robe, and strode forward. He bowed deeply, his manner even more reverent than when he had faced the child. “I, Nathaniel, have led my men to Fairyharbor Island to beg the Immortal for an elixir to save my elder’s life.”

He pressed on the word elixir deliberately, watching the old man’s expression as though every breath depended on it.

The old man chuckled softly. The wrinkles at his eyes deepened like carved ravines. “Elixir?” he repeated.

He lifted his bamboo staff and gently tapped his own cheek. A few withered bamboo leaves at his feet turned verdant in an instant. “Everyone says Fairyharbor holds immortals, that immortals keep elixirs,” he said, his tone almost playful, “but few understand—the so-called fairyland is nothing but the endless cycle of life and death.”

Nathaniel’s stomach sank. “Immortal Master, what do you mean? I’ve read in ancient texts—Fairyharbor truly holds an elixir of eternal life!”

“Even ancient books speak lies.” The old man raised his hand, cutting Nathaniel off. His half-closed eyes gleamed faintly. “There have never been immortals here. No elixir. If that’s what you came for… I’m afraid you’ll leave empty-handed.”

“Impossible!” The word tore out before Nathaniel could stop it. Realizing his outburst, he quickly dropped to his knees, head bowed low. “I… misspoke. Forgive me, Master. But someone dear to me is gravely ill, and only such a medicine can save them. I beg for your guidance.”

His voice trembled with sincerity as he pressed his forehead to the earth. “If there’s even the slightest chance, I’ll take it—even if it costs my life!”

Behind him, the soldiers knelt in unison, their voices rising together in desperate plea.

The old man studied them for a long while. At last, he sighed. “Though there is no such elixir on this island, there is… a valley of herbs. Some of its plants can prolong life, perhaps even cure disease.”

Nathaniel’s eyes blazed. “Where is this Medicine Valley you speak of, Master? Please—show us the way!”

The old man turned and pointed toward the misty mountains beyond the forest. “Medicine Valley lies at the island’s heart,” he said. “But heed my warning—its depths are guarded by man-eating vines and beasts unlike any you’ve ever seen. From ancient times until now, none who entered have returned alive. Think carefully.”

“Thank you, Master. No matter the danger, we will not turn back,” Nathaniel declared. After all the hardship of reaching Fairyharbor, giving up now was unthinkable.

The old man shook his head and raised his bamboo staff once more, pointing toward a silver stream that wound into the distance. “Follow that river. But remember this—greed kills. Survive, and it is blessing enough.”

With that, he turned and walked back into the bamboo shadows. His figure faded behind the pale blue eaves, vanishing as though he had never existed.

Nathaniel wasted no time. With a clear path ahead, he rallied his men, and together they marched toward the island’s center.

 

2640

The dark clouds still loomed over the Jingtao’s sails when shards of ice, carried by the waves, began striking the hull with a sharp, crunching sound.

Matthias leaned against the cold railing, the sea wind cutting like a blade against his skin. His eyes locked on the silhouette of an island emerging from the mist. A flicker of relief crossed his face.

After surviving the attacks of giant crabs and wandering endlessly through the fog belt, they had finally found Fairyharbor Island.

But as the ship drew closer, shock rippled through the crew.

The island bore no resemblance to the legends of “eternal spring, flowers blooming all year round.” Instead, an endless sheet of ice stretched across the land. The ground was buried in white frost, the air so bitterly cold it stabbed at the skin like knives.

Jagged black-blue ice ridges rose along the shoreline. Waves crashed against them and instantly froze into intricate ice blossoms, layer upon layer, forming an endless frozen plain.

“Your Highness… is this truly Fairyharbor Island?”

The old scholar at Matthias’s side shivered violently in his thin cotton coat, his teeth clattering. “This cold… it’s harsher than the dead of winter in the north!”

Matthias frowned. Frost was already forming on his dark battle robe. He pulled his cloak higher, covering half his face. “The chart is correct. This is the place. I just don’t know why it has become like this.”

His gaze swept over the soldiers behind him. Their armor was dusted with ice. Each exhale condensed into a cloud of white mist. Many rubbed their frozen hands together, desperate for warmth.

“Pass the order—find shelter, set up camp, and light fires!” Matthias’s voice cut through the icy wind, calm but commanding.

The soldiers obeyed at once, leaping from the boat into the knee-deep snow. Every step crunched sharply beneath their boots. The slick ice threatened to throw them off balance at any moment.

They carried tent frames and bundles of firewood to a depression near a towering ice cliff. At least there, the wind bit less fiercely.

Setting up camp was a battle of its own. The frozen ropes refused to knot. The men breathed on them to thaw the frost, only for the fibers to freeze again, leaving red welts on their hands.

Kyle stood apart, wrapped in a thick cloak, one hand resting on his sword as he directed the work. His back wound still hadn’t healed. Sweat dampened his forehead despite the cold, but he gritted his teeth and endured.

“Fire starter! Hurry!” a soldier shouted, clutching an armful of firewood.

But every spark the fire stick struck was snuffed out by the relentless wind.

Without a word, Matthias drew a fire crystal from his pocket. A flick of his fingers sent a thread of true energy into it. The crystal burst into orange-red flame, glowing like a shard of molten sun against the frozen wasteland.

He touched it to the firewood. Flames leapt and crackled, their warmth spreading slowly through the bitter cold. The soldiers crowded close, extending trembling hands toward the fire, their faces softening as life crept back into their limbs.

Then a startled cry shattered the quiet.

“Your Highness! Look—over there!”

Every head turned.

Across the frozen plain moved a figure as white as the snow itself.

It was a deer—a spirit deer—its fur like fresh-fallen snow, its antlers clear as sculpted ice. Each delicate hoofprint bloomed into a snowflake that vanished the instant it touched the ground.

Its eyes glowed like pale blue gems, shimmering softly in the frozen light. The creature moved with a grace so pure it seemed unearthly—an illusion born of frost and silence.

“Auspicious sign,” Matthias breathed, awe flaring into hunger in his eyes. He rose sharply, drawing the blade at his waist. “Catch it! If I present this spirit deer to my father, it will prove our triumph in finding the island!”

Excitement swept through the men. Weapons flashed as they closed in.

The deer paused, turning its crystalline gaze on them—calm, unafraid.

“Don’t harm it! Alive!” Matthias barked, surging forward.

Ice cracked beneath his boots as he drove his true energy outward, weaving a barrier meant to trap the deer.

But the spirit moved first. It lifted its head, and a breath of white mist poured from its mouth.

The mist surged like a living tide, sweeping toward them in an instant. The front ranks froze before they could scream—literally. Their bodies crystallized, faces locked in mid-motion, armor encased in frost so clear every strand of hair was visible beneath.

Matthias recoiled, but the edge of the mist brushed his arm.

Pain like a thousand needles sank into his flesh. The chill invaded his blood, numbing his limb to dead weight.

He stared, horror dawning as he looked at the soldiers—men who moments ago had charged boldly—now reduced to flawless ice sculptures.

“What… what kind of beast is this?” someone stammered, their sword slipping from numb fingers to clang against the frozen ground.

Panic rippled through the ranks. Men stumbled back, tripping over each other in their haste to escape.

Matthias stood rigid, his back slick with cold sweat. The triumph he’d imagined was gone—shattered by fear.

The spirit deer gave him one last look, a ghost of light glimmering in its eyes. Then it turned, stepping soundlessly into the endless white.

Snowflakes bloomed in its wake, marking its passing—until even those vanished, swallowed by the ice field’s desolate silence.