Chapter 128 The Phantom Ship

A shadow shrouded in darkness, a warship seemingly pieced together from smoke, mist, and various wreckage, was accompanying the White Oak, launching a charge towards the distant Albatross—within the mist-shrouded silhouette of that ship, one could vaguely discern similarities suggesting it shared a common origin with the White Oak.

It was different from what he remembered, but Lawrence recognized it immediately—even though it now appeared dilapidated, twisted, and bizarre, it still stirred his memories as vividly as it did in every dream.

That was the Black Oak. It was there, sailing alongside the White Oak, just like the last time they had sailed out of port together in his memory.

A loud whistle suddenly cut through the old captain's astonishment and wild thoughts, the sound emanating from the phantom ship, as if to remind Lawrence that this was not the time to be distracted.

Whistling shells fell from the sky, the bombardment from the Albatross unceasing. Lawrence abruptly turned his head and saw a ball of fire strike the White Oak's bow.

Flames erupted there, only to be instantly assimilated and absorbed by the ship's raging green flames. A section of the bow was torn to shreds, and scorching metal fragments scattered in all directions—yet, in the next moment, those shattered structures began to restore themselves as if time were flowing backward, returning to their original state amidst the rising green flames.

Lawrence felt something "leaking away," as if vitality and life were being depleted from his "perception," but that loss was quickly replenished from the all-consuming spectral flames burning from all directions. Immediately afterward, the White Oak's bow and broadside defensive cannons roared to life, each shell like an enraged spirit, emitting a chilling shriek as it burst from the barrel, tracing a stream of eerie green light through the air. Almost simultaneously, the "Black Oak" beside them also began its attack—with the booming of cannons, flashes of light erupted one after another in the rising black mist, and illusory, phantom-like shells hurtled from the fog, plummeting towards the distant enemy ship.

Lawrence gripped the helm tightly, feeling the ship's powerful vibrations with each cannon blast. He felt his perception expanding further, even extending along those flying shells, along the surging seawater around them, permeating the entire sea area. At the edge of his perception, the Albatross was like a bonfire in the night, radiating a strong and almost blinding… presence.

Not long ago, it had been a despairing foe for the White Oak, yet now Lawrence felt that the prey was so delicious… palatable.

Moments later, the White Oak's retaliatory fire finally struck the Albatross for the first time with tangible effect. With a tremendous explosion and burst of flames, the bizarre warship seemed to have a chunk "gouged" out of it by some invisible giant mouth. Within the gaping, swallowed wound, the ship's strangely twisted internal structure was clearly visible.

The attack was effective, but far from sufficient.

"Full speed," Lawrence said, gripping the helm tightly, his eyes fixed on the enemy ship that was still closing in. He knew what he had to do—or rather, what the White Oak needed at this moment. "We need replenishment."

First Mate Gus's voice rang out from the bridge: "Aye, full speed!"

The steam core roared even louder. The already high-speed White Oak pushed its speed to the limit, diving towards the distant Albatross like a swift falcon—the Black Oak still accompanying it like a shadow, maintaining the same speed, the same course.

And the distant Albatross showed no signs of changing course or slowing down to evade. The ship, which had launched a blind assault from the moment it appeared, was like a mindless, out-of-control beast. Even after the White Oak underwent a massive transformation and the battle turned against it, it continued to faithfully execute its initial goal: to attack the enemy.

Two ships, one enveloped in and cloaked by eerie green flames, the other covered in twisted, dark, bizarre structures, simultaneously launched a full-speed charge towards each other—the piercing and horrifying whistle nearly tore the sky, and the increasingly dense cannon fire of the two ships shook the entire ocean. The distance between them closed rapidly, and the mutually exchanged shells landed almost entirely on the other's hull. Massive explosions tore apart the ships, and scorching, burning fragments splashed into the sea and the sky!

But on the White Oak's bridge, Lawrence simply stared fixedly ahead. Everyone else was staring in the same direction, as if the minds of all the sailors had been gripped tightly by something. Every living being on the ship was suddenly devoid of fear, devoid of hesitation, left with only a fervent anticipation for the impending, inevitable collision—and then, the two ships finally touched.

Like a loosely packed snowball being pressed forcefully against the outer wall of a blazing furnace, the Albatross's bow plunged straight into the White Oak's surrounding, raging spectral flames. Accompanied by an ear-splitting noise and a deafening roar as if ten thousand people were shouting in unison, the seemingly solid steel hull dissolved inch by inch in the green flames. As the "collision" continued, the Albatross began to disappear from stem to stern into the depths of that fiery wall. The scene looked… as if it were being completely swallowed up.

And until the last gun turret on the Albatross's stern was devoured by the spectral flames, the fierce exchange of fire between the two ships never ceased for a moment.

Then, everything finally ended.

The White Oak's defensive cannons finally ceased their roaring. After the enemy disappeared, the steam core's rumbling gradually subsided. The spectral flames rising from all parts of the ship slowly contracted, transforming from an aggressive posture to a gentle one, and began to burn quietly against the ship's hull.

Lawrence was momentarily dazed, his hands having unconsciously left the helm. He looked up, surveying the scene on the bridge. The sailors were turning to look at him, each one appearing like a ghost in the grip of spectral energies, their hollow eyes seemingly devoid of human reason and humanity.

Lawrence blinked, but just as the haze in his mind was about to completely engulf him, he suddenly caught sight of a figure in the corner of his eye.

It was a young man. He appeared out of thin air, stepping through the constantly rising spectral flames around them. He wore the deep blue robes of a Deep Sea Church priest, and the holy emblem on his chest released an intense, burning light. He strode over, grabbed the burning emblem on his chest, and suddenly pressed it hard against Lawrence's chest.

A surge of heat spread from his chest, and Lawrence felt his wavering mind suddenly stabilize, and humanity and reason returned to his soul at the same time.

And with the captain's awakening, the sailors on the ship also woke up one by one. The people looked at each other, as if only then did they recall the end of that battle, recalling the scene of the White Oak and the Albatross finally clashing and "colliding." Some cried out in alarm from lingering fear, some subconsciously checked their bodies, and others raised their heads, fixing their gaze on the young cleric who had suddenly appeared on the bridge.

Lawrence frowned, looked at the young man in front of him for a long time, and finally hesitantly spoke, "Priest… Jensen?"

"It's me. Thank heavens, you can finally see me," the young ship priest gasped, as if he had just crawled out of the sea. His robes were soaked through, and streams of water ran down his hair and neck as he spoke. "Thank the Storm Lord for his protection—I've been shouting and yelling beside you for days."

Lawrence still felt as if his mind was a bit muddled. It took him several seconds to gradually recall another incongruity from the past few days—

There should be a ship priest on board, just as there should be a sun in the sky, but he had not seen the young priest's figure for some time.

Priest Jensen had disappeared from everyone's sight, and even from everyone's memory—to the point that people had even forgotten the common knowledge that "there should be a ship priest on board."

Lawrence had noticed the strange phenomenon of the sun disappearing, but he only now realized that Priest Jensen had also disappeared along with it.

"…What happened?"

The old captain, as if waking from a dream, slowly turned his head and asked in a low voice.

"I don't know. For the past few days, it's as if I was separated from you into two different dimensions," the drenched young priest shook his head with a wry smile. "I could see you, but none of you could see me, as if I had become an 'outsider' on the ship. It wasn't until just now… when the entire ship changed in the flames, that I felt this separation loosen. At the same time, I noticed that your mental state was not right, so I wanted to use the holy emblem to stabilize your reason—fortunately, I managed to catch up with this final step…"

As Lawrence listened to the priest's story, chaotic thoughts and guesses filled his mind one after another. When he heard the words "mental state was not right," a belated fear finally emerged in his heart.

He recalled the bizarre state that he and the other crew members had been in during the last few minutes of the fight with the Albatross, and a cold sweat seemed about to seep out of his back.

But he didn't have cold sweat—he was still enveloped in spectral flames, and there was no sign of his ghostly body recovering.

Lawrence lowered his head, looking at his arm, which was still in a phantom-like state, and had already formed many guesses in his mind.

"A 'favor' from the Lost Country…," the old captain shook his head bitterly, unsure whether to call it a blessing or a curse. "Bearing the gaze of Duncan Abnomal is indeed not a simple thing, but at least we survived… if this is truly the state of the living…"

Saying this, he slowly raised his head again, looking out at the sea beside him through the nearby porthole.

The ship shrouded in mist and shadows was still quietly staying there, like the White Oak's shadow.