Ashes Of Deep Sea Chapter 606

Chapter 606: Chapter 605: The Gathering Chapter 606: Chapter 605: The Gathering To reach the assembly hall from the ship's cabin required traversing a long corridor and a stairway slanting downward–this was a very large ship, capable of housing numerous disciples as well as providing space for various ceremonies and festivals. For those who followed The Saint of the Mysterious Deep Sea and belonged to the annihilation sect, the mere honor of boarding this ship was significant.

Most disciples were not privileged with such a right–they had neither the qualification to board the ship nor even to know of its existence. They could only catch elusive whispers in secret gatherings with fellow brethren about this mysterious ship that was spoken of at other meeting points:
There was a ship that carried The Saint's will, letting The Saint's glory patrol the seas. It was the symbol of the sect's sublime endeavor and also the key to unlocking the next glorious era…

Cloaked in black robes, Richard slowly walked down the seemingly endless corridor. Occasionally, he encountered other black-robed brothers of the church, and while some greeted him, he only offered the barest of acknowledgments. Then there were sailors in coarse tunics who appeared in the corridor, respectful chains of office draped around their necks, bowing courteously to each black-robed person they passed–these sailors were also Believers of The Saint, but their modest abilities did not yet allow them to bear the power of the Profound Demons, so they were relegated to mundane work on the ship, serving those who truly had acquired power, the “Priests.”

The lighting in the corridor was not dim, but the dark colors and oppressive decorative style still gave an overall gloomy visual effect. On the grey-white walls on both sides were mounted intricate iron-black candle holders. Between these ornamental candle holders hung classical style oil paintings, which outlined unworldly landscapes and portraits of grotesquely distorted figures with swathes of dark color, and dark red drapes that fell from both sides of the ceiling, obscuring the even darker and more ominous corners.

The Followers of the Mysterious Deep Sea believed that chaotic darkness was The Saint's “hue,” the “base color” when the world was born. They decorated their gathering places in this style to seek closeness to the Mysterious Deep Sea within the real world–believing that this would please The Saint.

The dreary and oppressive style of decoration could not disguise the inherent opulence and sophistication of the furnishings themselves. Richard knew that the construction of this ship had consumed an astonishing amount of wealth, but there were always those willing to pay the price–officials who wished to extend their lives, merchants tortured by illness, nobles enticed by power, who crafted their tributes to The Saint in hopes of receiving mercy, contributing to all that adorned the ship.

The Four Gods Church and the authorities of the City-States had constructed a set of solid rules for what was called the “civilized world,” providing excellent protection for the dullest and most foolish of commoners like a wall of iron. Yet, no matter how secure, there was always a loophole in the walls, one that had existed for thousands of years, existed now, and would continue to do so in the future.

The assembly hall had been reached.

At the end of the corridor, a heavy door stood open. Behind it was an especially spacious and bright hall, supported by thick pillars with a high dome above, from which ornate triple-tiered chandeliers hung down, illuminating the entire space–
For practical purposes, of course, this hall could not maintain an overly dim environment like the other areas. Therefore, the hall's builders had to manifest the worship of The Saint of the Mysterious Deep Sea through various decorations and furnishings. Whether it be the tentacle-like reliefs on the surfaces of the massive pillars, the dark branching paintings symbolic of The Saint on the walls at the end of the hall, or the odd-shaped sculptures arrayed along the walls, all contributed to sketching this mysterious, oppressive, and majestic “worship” atmosphere.

Richard walked into the hall, approaching his brethren, and once again pulled down the rim of his hood. Then, his gaze rose, settling on the high platform in the center of the hall.

That was The Saint's place.

The Saint was already there.

That awe-inspiring devotee, the purest one closest to the “Lord” in this suffocating earthly existence, the fellow traveler who had trodden furthest along the Mysterious Path, was now lifting his eyestalks from the edge of the platform, sweeping over the gathered disciples in the room.

He occupied nearly half the platform's area, his massive form resembling a “Thorn Coronet” woven with intertwining thorns–intricate black skeletons crisscrossed and stacked like a bird's nest on the platform, and among the skeletons, there rested a slowly writhing brain about two meters in diameter. The skeletons outside the brain formed a cage-like structure, with nerve fibers extending from the gaps in the cage, ending in stalked eyes that moved slowly across the “Thorn Coronet” of bones, scanning the surroundings. Above this “coronet” hung a pitch-black chain.

That pitch-black chain extended from the brain within the skeletal cage, floating in the dust before returning amidst the tangled thorns, forming a closed loop system. This structure was the symbol of The Saint–he had already transcended the lower phase of “mortal and demon symbiotic pact.” His human nature was almost completely stripped away, and within that awe-inspiring posture, the purity of the Profound Demons surged.

Richard glanced up at The Saint, then, filled with reverence, quickly lowered his head again.

The Saint was a mere trifling distance away from taking that final step, from having his chains vanish, from achieving the Annihilation Sect disciples' ultimate pursuit–attaining perfect purity, entering the Mysterious Deep Sea, and accompanying The Saint.

Yet, that great and venerated Peer still remained here, in the stifling reality of this dimension, because he still remembered his responsibility to lead countless dim-witted fellows like himself toward that eternal endeavor–a truly admirable commitment, without doubt.

“The assembly is now complete,”
A deep, aged voice suddenly entered everyone's mind, and the assembly hall, which had previously hummed with low conversations, instantly became silent. A solemn atmosphere enveloped the room.

The Saint atop the platform raised an eyestalk, looking towards the entrance of the hall. The heavy doors creaked and groaned as they closed and locked, while his voice continued to fill every mind:
“`
“The sun was about to set, and in three hours, the Dream of the Nameless would open once again. Before this Dreamscape opens, we must confirm the information we already have…”

“`
Richard instinctively tensed up, listening earnestly and solemnly to the voice of the Saint.

He felt that feverish, itchy sensation again–it originated from his chest, as though there was something wriggling under the skin, with a delicate fibrous structure taking root and growing between flesh and bone, spreading slowly.

He even felt those fine fibers had crept onto his lungs, his heart, and continued to burrow deep into his body.

Perhaps it wouldn't be long before he had enough cotton?

The pressure on his shoulders had somehow lightened, and in a daze, Richard heard a little girl's laughter near his ear, but soon enough, the voice of the Saint rose in his mind once more, refocusing his spirits–
“…We have already conducted several explorations into the Dream of the Nameless, including sporadic infiltrations by our brethren scattered across the City-State, as well as exploration missions organized by the senior clerics. Brethren, you should have received the news, in some of these missions… we have faced setbacks.”

The “Saint” atop the platform spoke, and the “Thorn Coronet” woven from bones emitted a slight crackling sound. A part of his black skeleton moved, a soft light gathered at the edges of the bone spurs, and gradually flowed into the air, forming an increasingly vivid apparition.

These apparitions, formed by the gathered light, eventually condensed into clarity, outlining the image of a girl in a black dress, with short black hair, a decorative bell hung around her neck, looking somewhat frail and delicate.

The girl appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years old, possibly younger due to her frail build, and her arm, along with much of her shoulder and some of her torso, showed an obvious non-human state. At the jagged end of that grotesque bony structure extended a pitch-black chain, the other end tied to a being all too familiar to the congregation present–an Abyssal Hound.

The Believers in the hall stirred slightly; some whispered to each other, while those privy to the information beforehand turned their gaze in the same direction.

Richard felt those eyes upon him.

He tugged awkwardly at his hood, entangled by the conflicting emotions of pride for bringing back crucial information and the embarrassment that followed.

Fortunately, the voice of the Saint alleviated his discomfort–
“…After some personnel losses, one of our brethren finally brought back valuable information. What you see is one of our enemies.

“Do not be deceived by her appearance, Believers; she is not one of us, but something even more depraved and forbidden than heretics. She controls a powerful Abyssal Hound through unknown means, but what is more dangerous is that her strength seems even greater than that of the Abyssal Hound–cruel in method, unpredictable in action.”

“The brethren who brought back this information is one of our distinguished members, with a wealth of combat experience and solid strength, yet he was seriously injured in a cowardly ambush by the enemy, and he nearly got devoured by her sinister Abyssal Hound… You must be vigilant, for in subsequent missions to enter the Dream of the Nameless, our brethren may once again encounter this dangerous Profaner.

“What you must be most cautious of is this heretic's devious and hazardous attack strategy; her method of attack is…”

The Saint suddenly stopped.

It seemed that even such a powerful and wise pure being struggled for words when describing the powers of that female heretic.

Richard tugged at his hood again–after returning, he would have to reinforce it.

And in his mind, he heard the voice of the Saint once again:
“…Her method of attack is to throw dogs at you.”

Chapter end

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