I turned to Gunlaug, my voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Looks like you have an opportunity to demonstrate the prowess of the famed Golden Serpent."
Gunlaug smirked, his golden armor echo manifesting in a flash of brilliance. The intricate plates shimmered with a soft glow, each piece a testament to his mastery and rank. "I have to see who comes knocking on my ship," he said before leaping overboard, a golden streak cutting through the air before vanishing beneath the waves.
Almost simultaneously, the Nightwalkers followed suit, their movements synchronized, disciplined. The water barely rippled as they slipped beneath the surface, their dark figures blending with the abyss.
I remained where I stood, extending my senses. The ocean teemed with creatures born of nightmares—some weak, easily dealt with, while others carried an oppressive weight, a presence that rivaled Ascended. The Nightwalkers moved fluidly, like wraiths of the deep, striking with precision, their teamwork impeccable. I could almost picture it—a deadly ballet unfolding in the darkness, each movement calculated, each attack meant to cripple or kill.
In the distance, a surge of power caught my attention. Something—or someone—had entered the fray, a force that rippled through the water like a tidal wave of strength.
"That must be Bloodwave," I muttered to myself. "Much weaker than Sir Gilead."
The battle raged on, and despite their initial momentum, I could feel the subtle shifts in energy, the delicate balance of combat tilting in our favor.
Only ten minutes had passed since the first clash when I heard hurried footsteps. Orin, Saria, and Garrik rushed toward me, their expressions a mix of urgency and determination.
"Sir, we secured the bodies of Veylen, Raha, and Lirian in the Rhino. What should we do?" Saria asked quickly, her breaths coming in short gasps.
I nodded approvingly. "Good work. Go to the cargo and stand guard at the Rhino. Wait for orders."
"What about you, Captain?" Garrik inquired.
"I will remain here, providing assistance," I answered, already focusing my Aspect.
As my power activated, an almost invisible golden hue spread in a fifty-meter radius around me, a ripple of unseen force that washed over the ship and extended toward the combatants below.
The three Awakened stilled for a moment, their eyes widening in surprise. I felt it the instant my ability took effect—the surge of power running through them, their strength amplified by nearly twenty percent. The realization struck them almost simultaneously.
"Go," I commanded.
"Yes, Sir!" they responded in unison before dashing off to carry out their orders.
Beneath the waves, I sensed the Nightwalkers falter for a fraction of a second before Gunlaug sent out a silent signal, rallying them. With renewed vigor, they resumed their assault. Their movements sharpened, their strikes became fiercer, and the tide of battle turned decisively in our favor.
The Nightmare creatures, once formidable, were now struggling. They grew weaker, their attacks sluggish as if some unseen weight pressed upon them. The difference was stark. My ability was more potent than before, stronger than what I had initially believed possible.
"Its effect has grown since the gate outbreak in the NQSC," I murmured to myself. "Not just me, but my abilities are growing stronger as more people acknowledge me."
Minutes turned into an hour, and eventually, the fighting ceased. One by one, the Nightwalkers climbed back onto the ship, their breaths heavy but victorious. Gunlaug emerged last, his golden armor stained but his spirit unshaken. I deactivated my ability as the ship passed through a strange, lingering remnant of the black sea.
I stared at the shifting waters. "Similar to the Dark Sea of the Forgotten Shore… but much weaker."
Gunlaug stepped beside me, flexing his fingers as if testing something. "That was… unusual. My strength increased by more than forty percent. It was a strange feeling."
"No problem," I replied, though my thoughts remained preoccupied. The effects of my ability were inconsistent—each individual seemed to be affected differently. Some grew stronger by twenty percent, others by forty. What determined the variation? Rank? Willpower? Faith?
It was something to consider.
The rest of the journey passed uneventfully. The sea remained calm, and no further threats emerged. Weeks of travel blurred together, the monotonous routine of life aboard the ship settling in. Then, one morning, as I stood on the deck, gazing toward the horizon, I saw it—the distant outline of Falcon Scott, rising against the endless sky.
We had arrived.