A massive explosion echoed across the sea's surface. Caesar lunged forward to the edge of the deck, his eyes locked on the epicenter of the blast.
"That was a Los Angeles-class nuclear submarine," the first mate said, pressing his earpiece as he hurried to Caesar's side and spoke in a low voice.
"Where?" Caesar whipped his head around, expanding his Kamaitachi domain to its absolute limit. Countless invisible wind sprites swirled through the freezing ocean.
The sound of heartbeats, the crashing of waves, the howl of the sea wind, the cracking of ice sheets, the mournful cries of whale pods, the ballast tanks venting on the submarine... Caesar's Golden Pupils suddenly flared to life. He turned and strode down from the deck, followed closely by Mai Sakatoku and the others.
Wait... His eyes widened abruptly, his face draining of color.
"Run... Run!" Caesar spun around, frantically waving his arms to signal the others as he grabbed his earpiece and bolted down the gangway. "Prepare to submerge immediately! Dive at full speed!"
The first mate and the others had no idea why Caesar had suddenly panicked like this, but fortunately, the submariners were professional soldiers who strictly executed orders. Upon receiving the command, they immediately initiated a dive, and the Nautilus vanished rapidly beneath the surface.
The moment they slipped beneath the waves, they understood why Caesar had been so terrified.
Through the observation ports, they watched as a sheet of white ice rapidly spread across the surface, sealing off the sea above in the blink of an hour. Massive icicles grew downward toward the ocean floor, and from time to time, ice sheets shattered from the immense pressure, the resulting cracks instantly sealed shut by newly forming frost.
Caesar kept his Kamaitachi active the entire time. He had heard the Leviathan's whale song, and when that peaceful song abruptly shifted into an aggressive, furious roar, the extreme cold Spiritual Word was unleashed once more. One of the reasons they had managed to submerge in time was that the Leviathan gave a split-second warning before unleashing its Spiritual Word; the surviving whale pods had caught the warning and decisively dived, and Caesar, hearing the same warning, had issued his orders in time, allowing the Nautilus to escape disaster.
The other submarine, however, was not nearly so fortunate. Massive icicles plummeted from above, trapping the vessel before it could dive at full speed. A giant white shadow plunged downward at high speed, wrapping the submarine in layer upon layer of freezing ice until, in the end, the vessel was reduced to nothing more than a silhouette buried inside an iceberg.
The blood of the Leviathan and the whales stained the ocean water. The release of the Spiritual Word ceased, and through the ports, an injured giant whale could be seen with half its body frozen inside the ice. Presumably, its wounded state had prevented it from diving in time, resulting in it being accidentally caught in the Leviathan's attack. The half of its body exposed to the open water struggled with all its might, yet it still failed to break free from the unyielding, solid frost.
A white sperm whale surged upward at high speed, shattering the hard ice in a single collision. The injured whale slowly sank downward; the Leviathan's Spiritual Word had frozen the cells in its lower body to death in an instant, and now it had only moments left to draw breath.
The Kamaitachi carried the sounds from the water back to them—the song of whales that brought death, heavy with sorrow and remorse. Even someone as proud as Caesar was moved for a moment.
"The Leviathan's behavioral patterns are very strange," the first mate muttered in a low voice. "Based on our past understanding, the Dragon Kind are a race that values strength far above all else. To gain power, the Four Great Monarchs will even devour their own siblings. There is no reason for a Leviathan to grieve for a single whale in a pod. They aren't even of the same species."
Even without hearing the whale song, they could perceive the profound sorrow radiating from the Leviathan circling the giant whale. Earlier, when it unleashed its Spiritual Word, it had been so violent and furious; now, it was filled with such grief and anguish. It tried to use its head to lift the mortally wounded giant whale, attempting to help it swim again, but the cells in the whale's lower body were completely dead. After a few final, convulsive rolls, it gradually stopped struggling.
"And the Leviathan's intelligence doesn't seem to be as high as we imagined. You could call it a beast with a high degree of spirituality, but it's nowhere near the First Generation Species recorded in history," Mai Sakatoku said. "According historical records, both the King of Bronze and Fire and the King of Earth and Mountain possessed intelligence equal to or even exceeding that of humans. They could even take on human forms and speech, whereas the Leviathan... clearly falls short."
There was a second half to her thought that she left unspoken: the Leviathan's extreme cold Spiritual Word was, in terms of domain range and sheer destructive power, on par with a First Generation Species. While a fully awakened First Generation Species possessed an intellect surpassing ordinary humans and Hybrids, the Leviathan's intelligence level was at best that of a beast capable of understanding human speech—it certainly had not reached the level of a First Generation Species.
Yet... what if it hadn't fully awakened yet?
Mai Sakatoku thought of the Yamata no Orochi from Japanese mythology. In the history of the Dragon Kind, that creature was actually an incomplete White King; massive in body and terrifying in strength, yet defeated by three shrine maidens during every historical resurrection. A fully awakened White King was second only to the Black Dragon King Nidhogg among the Dragon Kind—the most seductive, beautiful, and powerful entity in the world. But an uncompleted White King was merely a berserk, ferocious beast; despite wielding the power to shatter mountains and summon tsunamis, it repeatedly lost to humans, and could even be defeated by Kamizuki Ruri, who carried imperial blood in his veins.
Perhaps the Leviathan before them was also merely a Dragon King yet to fully awaken. It had preliminarily acquired the power of a dragon, but still lacked a dragon's wisdom and a dragon's heart. Right now was its most fragile moment—the absolute best time to kill it.
However, Mai Sakatoku did not voice this conclusion. The instructions given to her by The Boss did not include killing the Leviathan; all she was required to do was tag along and observe. She suspected The Boss had no intention of killing the Leviathan either, because when he assigned her the task, he had put it this way:
"My good girl Mai, follow Caesar to the Arctic Circle and keep an eye on things. If it's just the Leviathan, play with it a bit, and contact me if you find anything else."
When he said that, The Boss's tone had been utterly breezy, as if he were merely arranging a vacation to the Arctic Circle for her. If there were a task like slaying a dragon, The Boss would never have dispatched her so casually—at the very least, he should have left Ame-no-Habakiri and Futsunomitama with her to make it look like she was actually going dragon-slaying. Besides, wasn't dragon-slaying supposed to be left to the savior Lu Mingfei? The savior wasn't here, so why would she have any spare time to go slaying dragons?
"Perhaps not all Dragon Kind are so cold-blooded. In fact, dragons are rather sentimental creatures," Caesar said, watching the mourning Leviathan outside the observation port. "The truth is, we don't truly understand the psychology of the Dragon Kind—just as Norton forged the Seven Deadly Sins, yet wept inconsolably over the death of Constantine. Perhaps the Leviathan is the weaker of a pair of twins, and its purpose for existing is simply to guard this Arctic Circle."
Caesar did not entirely agree with the first mate's assessment. Although the Leviathan's behavioral patterns resembled those of a child compared to previous Dragon Kings, it was still a dragon wielding immense power! Regardless of whether it was a Dragon King or not, it was an enemy of the Secret Party.
Caesar also knew that now was the prime opportunity to annihilate the Leviathan. Although the Leviathan possessed a formidable bloodline, its physical body was not indestructible; the wounds from its previous battle with the Hydra, still unhealed, had been torn open once more by the torpedo bombardment. Last time, his storm torpedoes had failed to kill Norton, but this time there was a genuine hope of killing the Leviathan!
Yet he found himself unable to give that order. Although he was already a high-ranking member of the Secret Party, tasked with carrying out its millennia-long mission of dragon-slaying, he still could not bring himself to suddenly turn his cannons upon a party that had just shaken hands in a truce with them. Back on the deck, if the Leviathan had harbored any intent to kill, they would all have been dead long ago.
But the Leviathan had shown no desire to attack at that moment, and therefore, Caesar had no reason to attack now.
Watching the Leviathan depart with its pod of whales, the torpedoes remained unfired.
Caesar waved a weary hand. "Return to the Yamal. Professor Schneider and the others are still waiting for us."
Inside the Yamal, Abbas was supporting Schneider near the hearth while Paci stood guard by the door, a hunting knife named "Augustus" tucked into his belt.
Captain Rybalko stood with his hands behind his back in front of the fire, an oil painting covered by a black cloth hanging just above the leaping flames.
"This is the fourth day. The ship's fuel is running low," Rybalko said. "Food isn't an issue, though. Both you and we can manage with slightly subpar rations."
By "subpar," he meant bread frozen as hard as stone and completely raw beef and mutton. Schneider couldn't help but feel grateful that Paci had prepared so many meticulously butchered, expensive ingredients when Caesar boarded the vessel. Now, there was no surplus fire to spare for elaborate cooking, and neither Caesar nor Finger had any set time of return. The alcohol had already been drunk dry, and anyone on the ship who strayed too far from the hearth for long would likely freeze into an ice sculpture. But according to Paci, the safety index of these ingredients was 100 percent reliable. Recalling Caesar's near-decadent lifestyle when it came to food, Schneider chose to place his unconditional trust in Paci on this matter. As for eating a few meals of raw meat, it was nothing to them; Kassel College trained elites for dragon-slaying, and most of the crew members aboard the Yamal had served in special forces. In this kind of environment, as long as there was something edible, who cared about the texture?
"Then we'll ration it even more strictly. I believe Caesar will be back soon," Abbas said.
"Though I don't know what your background truly is, it's clear now that you are indeed an extremely elite unit," Rybalko said from the bottom of his heart. Over the past few days, he had witnessed the actions of his subordinates and the elites of Kassel College firsthand, and he couldn't help marveling that this group of passengers performed even better in adversity than men like them who had served in special forces.
"Since things have come to this, can you finally give me the truth?" Rybalko fixed his gaze on Professor Schneider's eyes. "You clearly aren't ordinary people. How could ordinary people possibly possess abilities like that? You came here to kill a god—how much do you know about gods? Perhaps some of our intelligence can be shared."
"Perhaps you should show your sincerity first." Schneider remained silent, and Abbas spoke in his place.
His tone carried not a single ripple, showing neither panic over their secrets being exposed nor hostility toward Captain Rybalko's aggressive questioning. He simply stated his demand in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, yet it made Rybalko feel as though he could not refuse.
Rybalko took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't know if I can trust someone who can unleash lightning."
"Since you believe in the existence of gods in this world, you should also believe that there are those who have stolen the power of gods," Abbas said indifferently. "At least we have revealed all of this before you, rather than keeping it hidden in the shadows."
Rybalko nodded. "That's also why I'm willing to continue trusting you. Though, to be honest, I don't believe in curses, but I do believe in the existence of gods."
With those words, he reached out and snatched away the black cloth hanging above the hearth, revealing the oil painting once more to the world.
The moment they saw the painting, Schneider and Abbas were struck dumb with shock. It was a piece of symbolism: a cyan sky and a cyan sea reflected one another, and sandwiched between the sea and sky stood a gloomy, isolated island. The rock walls along the perimeter of the island were carved with one stone dwelling after another, creating a stark contrast between the dark forest and the stone walls illuminated by firelight. The entire island looked like a mausoleum—or perhaps it truly was one, given that those stone dwellings each housed a coffin.
If this was an island of death, then perhaps the one who could travel here was the Grim Reaper himself?
Right at the bottom of the painting, a small boat was approaching the isolated island. A coffin rested at the bow, and a figure entirely wrapped in white stood silently at the prow, looking for all the world like the God of Death.
Professor Schneider abruptly stood up. "Where did this painting come from?"
Rybalko watched Schneider's sudden agitation quietly and replied with a calm voice, "Remember when I told you there was a previous captain on this ship? This painting was his collection. For many years, he searched everywhere for this island."
Through his black mask, Professor Schneider's heavy breathing grew rapid. After a long silence, he slowly sank back into his seat. "This is an island that symbolizes death."
"Yes, the painting is titled *Isle of the Dead*," Rybalko nodded. "I made a point of confirming it; this is the work of the Swiss painter Arnold Böcklin."
"No, you don't understand," Professor Schneider shook his head heavily.
He had never seen this painting before. What had startled him was not the island, and certainly not any artistic mastery or profound mystery he perceived in the canvas; it was because he had seen that figure standing at the prow of the boat.
Clad in plain white, standing quietly and serenely, like the Angel of Death.
He had seen this Death before! In the conference hall of Valhalla, on the screen where EVA livestreamed footage of Frost transporting the dragon bones to the underground vaults of the Bank of Rome.
The white reaper had appeared suddenly, and an extreme, scorching heat had instantly obliterated everyone present. Sucked away along with their lives had been one-third of the world's monetary gold and the dragon bone of the Dragon King Constantine!
That was unequivocally a Dragon King, an unprecedented enemy of the Secret Party, and now he had appeared once more on this canvas.
"This island," Rybalko said, pronouncing each word with deliberate care, "is Avalon."
Avalon, the blissful paradise of Arthurian legend, symbolizing the afterlife and the world beyond. Yet the Avalon in the painting exuded an eerie, unsettling aura—a concerto of light and dark, an endless entanglement of life and death.
Both Rybalko and Schneider fell into silence as they stared at the painting, perhaps retreating into their respective memories. Thus, neither of them noticed that Abbas, ever since the cloth over the painting had been lifted, had frozen in place. A crimson, molten-gold hue bloomed in the depths of his eyes, as though reflecting a raging, roaring fire.