Ashes Of Deep Sea Chapter 670

Chapter 670: Chapter 667 Reflection in the Eyes Chapter 670: Chapter 667 Reflection in the Eyes In the boundless chaos of darkness, at the shattered ends of the continent, the Cyclops bearing the entire landmass was watching the Ghost Ship as it passed by at close range–this “ancient god” that had died countless centuries ago silently turned its murky singular eye, as if that eye had momentarily awakened from the long river of time, in pursuit of the intrusive guest.

Duncan was fixated on that eye, his entire body gradually tensing up, and although he was not affected by the so-called “mental contamination,” the sight of this impactful scene still made him feel a suffocating pressure–but he did not act rashly, he did not try to respond to that eye, instead allowing the Homeloss to gradually move past the giant, watching as the eye turned to its limit and then slowly receded from the stern.

The pale Cyclops showed no further anomaly, still carrying the land, floating in the endless chaotic darkness.

And from behind Duncan, the goat-headed skull suspected to be the Skull of Dreams suddenly spoke out, “The giant was the first to die.”

Duncan abruptly turned his head, looking at the “Skull of Dreams” that was properly placed on the table.

“What did you say?” He couldn't help but ask again.

“The giant was the first to die,” repeated the Skull of Dreams once more, with the same tone and unchanged content–and after that no matter how Duncan inquired, it only gave that one response.

Realizing this was the only response that this “fragment of an ancient god” could give at that moment, Duncan did not continue to press further, only turning his head thoughtfully to look back at the Cyclops as it gradually drifted away, murmuring to himself after a long while, “Due to the shattering of the stars, the King of the Pale Giants, Salmier, died on the first long night…”

In the boundless darkness outside the porthole, it seemed as if a slight noise emerged softly when he uttered the name “Salmier,” then faded away like the wind.

Duncan glanced in the direction of the Cyclops and suddenly furrowed his brows, hesitating briefly before striding toward the door of the captain's quarters.

Before leaving, he turned to look back at the “Skull of Dreams” on the navigation table.

It still stared at him quietly, its obsidian-carved eyes hollow and deathly still.

Duncan paid no further attention to this disquieting gaze, turning away to leave the captain's quarters.

He traversed the inclined staircase at the stern deck, arriving at the steering platform located above the captain's quarters, walked past the decks that were silent and weathered, and the heavy ship's wheel awaited him at the end of the platform, swaying slightly left and right against the gloomy background of subspace.

As if it were a silent invitation.

Duncan approached the darkly colored wheel, taking a deep breath in front of it.

He was about to do something bold–taking the helm of the decrepit Homeloss in subspace was just the first step.

After calming himself, he reached out to grasp the wheel and released the power of fire.

In an instant, the fire spread out, the insubstantial and phantom-like fire of the Spiritual Body swept across the entire vessel in the blink of an eye, then gradually faded to transparency and vanished in the void, Duncan felt his senses suddenly spread out, and then that familiar sense of “emptiness” followed as the fire spread.

He once again felt the Homeloss's nothingness, sensed its phantasmal nature, as if the fire spread directly in subspace, touching only the cold and empty.

But this time Duncan was prepared; he didn't let the shock from the feeling of “nothingness” interrupt his connection with the flames. He ignored the unease of being defenseless and floating in subspace, and instead focused more attention on the wheel in front of him–he tried to imbue the wheel with corporeality and through it steer the ghostly ship.

Squeaking and grinding noises came from beneath the wheel, the entire Phantom Ship began to tremble slightly–the sails of the Spiritual Body billowed out, as if cheers were coming from a distant place, rising from all directions.

The captain had returned.

Duncan slowly turned the wheel, feeling the Ghost Ship floating in the dark beginning to tilt slightly and change its course under his control.

An indescribable feeling welled up from deep within– he had truly succeeded in controlling this Ghost Ship navigating through subspace, and… he even felt that sailing in subspace was easier and smoother than in the real world.

The Homeloss thus described an arc in the darkness, its prow turning one hundred and eighty degrees, reorienting towards the celestial fragment that seemed ripped from a planet–the pale Cyclops once again came into Duncan's view, slowly moving closer.

Duncan steered the ship back to the vicinity of this ancient god.

As the Homeloss neared a certain distance, the murky eye on the giant's face indeed began to move again, silently staring at Duncan in the dark.

But Duncan seemed to completely disregard this gaze–in the previous close encounter, he had noticed that the eye's attention had no effect on him at all, and rather than the tension brought about by being watched, he now was more interested in gathering more information.

The Homeloss slowly approached the Cyclops's face, the murky eye growing larger and larger in Duncan's field of view, eventually almost occupying the entire size of the side of the hull.

Duncan brought the ship to a halt at this position, then released the wheel and stepped over to the side of the ship, observing the eye closely.

The giant's eyeball minutely adjusted its angle, and the hollow pupil turned towards him. The rotten eye was already turbid, as if covered with a pale mist inside. Duncan saw his own shadow reflected on the surface of that mist, dim and unreal.

“…What are you looking at?” Out of some indescribable mindset, Duncan suddenly whispered.

But he received no response–the giant was indeed already dead. That rotating eyeball seemed to be just some kind of “inertia” remaining after the ancient deity's death or a slight “tremble” in the colossal cadaver, maintaining the illusion of life.

Yet Duncan suddenly thought of a phrase–In the dying embers after the Annihilation of All Things, the corpses of ancient gods ruled over the ashes of the world.

These dead deities, even in death, and even long after a second death, their remnants still maintained some degree of “operation.” Their death was a strangely indescribable state, even if shattered into countless pieces like the head of a goat, twisted into inconceivable shapes, this “operation” would continue, and this lengthy process… seemed as if it could persist into eternity.

Still, Duncan wasn't quite clear about these so-called “gods,” or “ancient kings,” what sort of beings they were, and what state they were in now, but from this King of the Pale Giants, he felt as if he were gradually… touching upon a certain “Face of Truth.”

At this moment, Duncan furrowed his brows.

He seemed to have seen something.

Inside the giant's turbid eye covered with mist, there seemed to be something.

Duncan moved even closer, observing the murky reflection more carefully, striving to discern recognizable images from those shadows covered in a layer of time's traces. Gradually, he finally saw some things–
First, he saw a massive entity with the fierce appearance of some sea beast, yet possessing an elegance of Holiness. It stood before him, and then there was another figure, wrapped in flames, standing aside. Behind these two figures, dimly visible glowing objects could be seen, appearing to be a series of neatly arranged lights embedded on a massive cube…

There were also giants clad in black robes, twisted and indescribable lumps, like the shadows of clouds floating above many existences, tall and bent limbs, thick thorns, pale golden arcs…

Many silhouettes like these, dim and illusory, were reflected in the giant's solitary eye, each with its strange shape, quietly circling in the darkness.

Duncan stared in astonishment at those figures whose mere images seemed to emanate infinite power, and it took nearly half a minute before he suddenly realized what it was–
These were “gods,” the images of the “ancient kings.”

What was reflected in the giant's eye was a scene from a long, long time ago–before the ancient epochs, during a night between the Great Annihilation and the Deep Sea Era, these towering beings had gathered here. They surrounded the giant, silently standing.

Their figures were thus deeply imprinted in this cloudy eye.

It was a funeral.

It was a scene of the gods saying farewell after the King of the Pale Giants died from a failed Creation.

Duncan's thoughts raced in his mind, giving rise to numerous associations. He tried to match the reflections in the giant's eye to the legends of the mundane world and the intelligence he had recently gathered, only to find that beyond the four known gods and a few ancient deities, many of the figures were completely absent from any existing tales or records.

Even for more than half of the figures, he had no idea who they were–there was no mention of them in orthodox records, nor in the heretical legends of the cultists.

Duncan stood silently.

If every “deity” represented a reasonably powerful civilization that persisted after the world's destruction, it seemed that over half of the “ancient gods” had quietly fallen before the Third Long Night–even the Book of Desecration had not retained their names.

The likes of the King of the Pale Giants and the Dreaming King, who died from Creation, turned out to be the fortunate ones among these fallen kings.

Duncan sighed softly, took a step back, and prepared to turn away.

But it was within this sigh that he noticed another detail.

His own figure was also reflected in the giant's eye now.

The reflection was among those ancient kings' figures, frozen in the river of time.

There was a space there, neither too large nor too small.

It was as if this spot had already been left vacant when they gathered here a hundred centuries ago to send off the King of the Pale Giants.

(Time for book recommendation, the title is “The Witch: Survival in the Steam Era,” by Pig Little Wu. The author's own promotional blurb: In the steam era, I come with the dawn, a firegun in my left hand, a wand in my right, and behind me stand countless followers with forbidden items…

There are already quite a lot of words, and it feels like it's ready to read.)

Chapter end

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