Chapter 262: The Crazy Captain

Chapter 262 The Mad Captain

The negotiators had already entered the meeting hall, which

The shopkeeper, betrayed by a flicker of astonishment, studied Neo with a lingering, earnest gaze before bending down to produce a mask, proffering it forward.

"Please, put this on."

"Very well." Neo donned the mask; it fashioned the visage of a serpent, wretched and grotesque.

"In two hours' time, proceed to the café at the end of the street. The cipher is: the weather has turned warm."

"Understood. I shall be there."

Neo turned on his heel and stepped out of the modest Little Mermaid parlor.

He dissolved into the surroundings with seamless ease, a faculty born not merely of his familiarity with these hidden signs, but of the fundamental truth that he was, in essence, a living vestige of the Light—and one of remarkably exalted rank.

Had Bertha, a divine envoy, beheld him, she would have addressed him directly as Elder.

Nothing bore truer witness to his identity than that gentle, radiant aura, a reality that occasionally struck Neo himself as a touch ironic, given that his heart belonged solely to Order, yet destiny insisted on cladding him in the Light.

In the days of old, a certain solitude had weighed upon him, a quiet isolation that endured until the moment he discovered Karen.

Though Karen differed from him—his affinity for the Light seemingly acquired later in life, bound in an inexplicable harmony with his other nature, whereas Neo was of the pure, unadulterated Light—that singular convergence was enough; it predestined between them a profound layer of trust that transcended the mere bond of captain and subordinate.

Neo slipped the mask from his face and entered a neighboring tavern, where he ordered a scattering of dishes, pointedly omitting the seafood; he wore the garments of a local, and locals did not order seafood from such establishments.

He supped leisurely, watching the tide of pedestrians drift past the window, letting the hours dissolve into the afternoon.

Rising to settle the score, Neo departed the tavern and made his way toward the terminus of the street.

The café was modest, its patrons few, though from time to time figures cloaked in masks or veils slipped through its doors; Neo adjusted the serpent mask over his features.

He found the thing utterly hideous, yet a custom piece was a luxury time would not afford him now.

Crossing the threshold, he was met by a waiter who scrutinized the mask of every newcomer, nodding in recognition before guiding them toward the rear.

Beneath the café lay a cellar, a descent that opened into a cavernous subterranean chamber, its proportions awkwardly elongated rather than square—a deliberate design born of the necessity for secrecy.

Neo selected a seat; before the gathering stood a small dais supporting a single chair.

To those in the know, it was a clandestine assembly of the remnants of Light; to an innocent observer, it might have resembled the humble stage of a stand-up comedy act.

Presently, a man took the seat beside Neo.

As if struck by a mutual chord of recognition, their eyes met.

The last time Neo had felt such an intuitive resonance was upon beholding Karen beneath his mask.

Yet Neo knew well that Karen was currently perched in the council hall, observing the negotiations, making his presence here an impossibility.

And yet, this fellow possessed hands of a striking whiteness, a detail that bore an uncanny resemblance to Karen.

Reflecting that it was a rare mercy to encounter someone who stirred his instincts, Neo decided that courtesy demanded he initiate a dialogue.

"Have you dined?"

Certain overtures of greeting remained universal, untouched by the passage of eras or the shift of cultures; after all, the taking of sustenance was a daily ritual shared by all mankind.

"Indeed, I have. And yourself?"

The stranger offered an equally guarded, awkward reply.

"I have eaten," Neo said, "at the seafood tavern just down the street, though I refrained from ordering the fish."

"A wise choice. The seafood there is poor. One fares better purchasing it at the market and preparing it oneself. I have no fondness for heavy seasoning; I find it masks the natural essence of the catch."

"A friend of mine shares your palate exactly," Neo remarked. "He always says food should be tasted in its truest form—that it is the finest bounty nature bestows upon us."

"Is your friend a follower of the Church of Berry?"

"Ah, no. He merely fancies using nature as a metaphor for other matters. He, too, is a disciple of the Light, and he spends his days cursing the God of Order."

"Ah, I see. Is this friend of yours also on the island?"

"He is."

"And he did not join you?"

"Between the two of us, it suffices that only one attend."

"How long is it since you arrived upon these shores?"

"We have only just landed, arriving aboard a merchant vessel."

"Then you would do well to tread carefully. The Dark Moon authorities have been hunting us of late. The purge has yielded little fruit thus far, yet one cannot afford to let one's guard down."

"What brought this about?"

"It is murmured that one of our brethren infiltrated General Taffman's villa in an assassination attempt. The venture failed, drawing down the General's wrath upon us all."

"Oh? How could he be so reckless!"

"Quite so. A reckless style of conduct that leaves the rest of us to pay the price."

"Indeed. He deserves to hang!"

Neo cursed himself without a flicker of remorse.

"We should not judge too harshly," the stranger murmured. "I expect his intentions were noble enough."

"Do you happen to know the purpose of tonight's assembly?" Neo inquired.

"They say it concerns the great affair currently unfolding upon the island—the negotiations between the Church of Order and the Church of Samsara, which should be underway even now."

"Yes, I am aware of it. Are we to be rallied to strike against these two great orthodoxies and disrupt their talks?"

"I cannot say, though I doubt that is the design. The flames of war have already erupted, and our capacity to sway a peace treaty is marginal at best. Nothing we achieve here could compel those two orthodox orthodoxies to alter their grand strategies or their fundamental boundaries."

"Then the purpose of this gathering would be..."

"Look, the master of ceremonies has arrived. Master Sebass, the regional leader of the Dark Moon Island organization."

A man of diminutive stature, bearing the withered aspect of a small old man, stepped onto the dais. He wore a ram’s mask, an adornment so disproportionately vast against his slight frame that it lent him a thoroughly discordant appearance.

By now, some seventy or eighty souls had taken their places below; a hush fell over the assembly as all eyes turned to the stage.

"My friends, our time is short, and so I shall endeavor to dispatch our business with all possible celerity.

As you are all well aware, Dark Moon Island has played host to the conclave between the Church of Order and the Church of Samsara. This represents the most solemn occasion this island has witnessed in decades, far eclipsing the centenary celebrations of the Dark Moon sacrifice.

Those traitors of the Dark Moon who once turned their backs upon the Light now yearn to leverage this event to wedge themselves into the ecclesiastical echelons and expand their domain of influence—a grand design that was the dying wish of that traitor, Bernard."

The matter of the Serpent Island had ever remained a closely guarded secret, largely hidden from the common denizens of Dark Moon Island.

Yet the disciples of the Light, through generations of whispered oral tradition, perceived the unvarnished truth with absolute clarity; after all, their allegiances dictated their perspective.

Though Philias and his congregation of nearly a thousand faithful had vanished into the ether overnight, the subsequent edict issued by Bernard—demanding a ruthless cleansing of the island's disciples and missions of Light—served as an eloquent testament to the treachery that had transpired.

Betrayal, betrayal, and betrayal anew!

The resurgence of the Light had once more been trampled by perfidy.

Master Sebass pressed on: "Consequently, the better part of the island’s garrisons has been deployed to the Bernard Hotel to ensure its defense. The Dark Moon clan trembles at the prospect of any mishap befalling the emissaries of the two orthodoxies; they are groveling at the heels of those churches with disgusting devotion.

We have verified that the guard forces stationed at the Guze Pool have been depleted by half to satisfy this endeavor.

Furthermore, a couple of days past, some unknown soul slipped into General Taffman’s villa with intent to assassinate him, only to meet with failure. Ah, it may well be that the gentleman in question sits among us this very evening."

Neo instantly snapped his head around, fixing his gaze upon the man seated beside him.

The man replied evenly, "It was not I."

Neo replied, "I don't believe it."

"Because of that assassination, the Dark Moon Island had no choice but to continuously draw martial artists away for the manhunt, stripping four more squads from the Guze Pool. Now, only four squads remain to guard it.

This is our best opportunity in a century.

We all know that over a hundred years ago, our guide, Mr. Philias, arrived at Dark Moon Island aboard the sea turtle Dorons, bringing with him a group of the faithful of Light.

Later, Dorons assumed our guide would take root and develop here on the island, meaning it wouldn't be needed for a while, so it chose to enter a self-induced slumber. Mr. Philias then arranged to have it sealed within the Guze Pool.

That is a guardian divine beast of Light; its body is as colossal as a mountain, and its maw can spew terrifying torrents of lava. It was touched by Mr. Philias's grace and surrendered itself beneath the Light.

This is precisely why, after Bernard betrayed us, neither he nor his descendants ever dared to relax their guard over the Guze Pool.

Right now,

This is our moment. While the forces of Dark Moon Island are stretched thin, we intend to muster a force to storm the Guze Pool and awaken Lord Dorons, the divine beast that has slumbered for a century!

Our goal is to have Lord Dorons inflict punishment upon the descendants of the betrayer!!!

Of course, after the traitor's descendants are punished, we hope Lord Dorons can return to the sea to guard our island's missions, rekindling the light of our church's revival. Praise the Light!"

"Praise the Light!"

"Praise the Light!"

Dorons?

Something seemed to stir in Neo's mind, and following this flicker of memory, he recalled something.

"Now, I shall arrange the specific operational plan. We need volunteers, and we can only rely on volunteers. Those unwilling to join may leave shortly, but please keep this a secret.

Those willing to join, come step forward to register with my assistant now.

Believe me,

If all goes well, within these next two days, you will hear Lord Dorons's furious roar echoing from the Guze Pool, and it shall tremble through the entirety of Dark Moon Island!"

The middle-aged man beside Neo rose, preparing to sign up.

Immediately after, Neo also stood up. He did not move forward to register, but instead vaulted directly onto the podium.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sebas asked, thoroughly startled by Neo's sudden, impassioned ascent to the stage.

Neo, however, bellowed:

"You fools! Even if you successfully breach the Guze Pool, you won't be able to wake Dorons. Awakening Dorons requires blowing the Covenant Conch. That conch is currently inside Bernard's tomb, buried right alongside him!

As long as we get that conch and blow it within a thirty-kilometer radius, Dorons will sense it and awaken!"

Following this,

Neo raised both arms high,

And shouted:

"The place we must attack is Bernard's tomb!"

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