Silent Crown

Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

It was 6 pm in Avalon.

The sky was still dark, the ice-cold drizzle had disappeared and was replaced by a fog, which grew thicker and thicker. The fog permeated the air, and almost engulfing the entire downtown.

At the moment, the cleaning up of downtown had yet to be completed. Having once fallen at the hands of the demons, downtown was still occupied by a large number of the vile spawn of the sea, which had even attracted a lot of parasitic demons, and the pollution level escalated.

Some heavily polluted areas had even become habitats of demons. They were plaques parasitic on Avalon, and would definitely develop into deadly tumors in the future if not cleared in time.

The Knights of the Round Table, leading the garrison, went about the downtown doing their job without a moment's rest. Hundreds of tons of burning coal were transported by torpedo cars and distributed to the various squads. After the coal was equipped on the Showerheads, gusts of blazing flames shot out, burning the demons and their lairs into ashes together.

In the distant sky, flames rose. But certain places were still dark.

Everyone downtown had always understood one thing: one must be able to handle one's issues by oneself. Sometimes, if the army was not doing a good job of cleaning up, they could only take it upon themselves. And when it involved their immediate interests and life-threatening problems, their efficiency was actually higher than the army's.

The first to be cleared was the hidden port favored by smugglers. After the short span of half a day after the fall of the downtown, the port was reclaimed. After the musicians' blazing fires purged everything on the water, the whole port became clean and neat. The air was filled with the reassuring smell of smoke. It was sharp and warm, but not stinking.

At the port, in the dim light and the dense fog, someone held a lantern high and looked into the distance.

"This is the last ship of today." Conrad, fugitive and former Captain from Asgard, sat on the cold steps, smoking cigars of low quality, and looked at the blurred outline in the distance, which was gradually approaching.

At the moment, he had been recruited as a thug. With killing techniques trained in the army and a one-track mind, he was fairly recognized among the local gangs. He brought a few dozens of brawny men along to the port to work as temporary porters and await further instructions.

After a busy afternoon, he had unloaded three ships' worth of goods, and was so tired that his hands were getting cramps. As he looked at the last ship approaching slowly, he couldn't help but sigh. "These smugglers are really putting their lives on the line to get rich, still daring to sail in such circumstances."

The thin man working for him chuckled. "If I have a boat, I will do so too.

"Weapons, food, spirits… These items are in shortage, do you know how high their prices have soared in the black market? You can't even buy a pound of pork with the amount of money needed to buy a pound of gold.

"All rich people have gone crazy now. In their eyes, whoever can bring them what they want at this time is better than the rescue angels from the Religious Court of Inquiry last night.

"I calculated briefly just now; each trip they take here can earn them more than 20 times the profit before…" Seeing the blank looks on the people around, he spat and counted with his fingers. Estimating conservatively, he said a number. In a flash, everyone's eyes turned green with envy.

"Do you think this is the main deal? Not even close!" The thin man lowered his voice and said, "Smuggling things here just earns them additional profit. Do you know how much they charge to fetch a person out of here? They don't accept paper bills, not even money orders from the Church, only black gold!"

The porters who gathered around him were stunned and started talking all at once.

Not far away, the person in charge frowned. He glared at Conrad, who was at the lead, signaling for him to keep his subordinates in check and stop the goddamn gossiping.

Hearing his voice, the young man beside him smiled. "They are all very energetic young people. It's good. At least this place won't feel dead."

The manager wiped the sweat off his forehead and gave an ingratiating smile. "They're a bunch of ill-mannered rednecks, but it's fine as long as you don't find them irritating."

The young man shook his head and did not answer. He just stared at the smuggling ship that was gradually approaching from afar.

The manager held the lantern up for him, illuminating the thin blanket on his knees, which sheltered him from the cold. The blanket was checkered, revealing the outline of his two slightly atrophied legs beneath it.

Upon accidentally glancing at them, the manager felt as if his vision had been burnt by a soldering iron, and dared not look again.

In the dim light, the young man's face looked pretty, like that of a girl. He sat quietly in a wheelchair, his fingers tapping on the back of his seat without making a sound. The quiet pair of eyes was iron-gray. It resembled steel that cooled after being heated red.

"Sir, something's not quite right." At the frontmost of the pier, the hunched man waving the lantern frowned. "They did not return the signal."

The smuggling ship was coming closer slowly, and people with good eyesight could already see the paint peeling off from the bow, but the whole ship was deathly silent. No signal was sent, and no sound could be heard.

"Mr. Watson, allow me to show you out," the manager bent over and whispered. Thinking of the possible consequences, his face turned pale. "The situation doesn't look good."

"It's no big deal, just order your men to get ready." Watson propped up his chin with his palms. He tilted his head and gazed at the boat that was floating in the calm currents. "Send the musicians over to take a look. Be careful, there are still plenty of valuables on board. Don't let everyone here come in vain."

The last sentence seemed to be a joke, but he said it in such a serious tone that no one dared to laugh.

Soon, an obese musician rose into the air, crossed the short distance and landed on the deck. Then he bent down and vomited. The snakes stored in his chest cavity slid out from his mouth one by one, rapidly dispersing in all directions. They entered every opening, sneaked into the cabins and began to investigate. But it didn't take long before the musician's expression changed to one of confusion. After inspecting repeatedly, he gave a signal.

It was safe.

Upon returning, the musician bent down and reported in a low voice in Watson's ear, "The cargo is still in the bilge, but no one is on the ship, nor is there the smell of blood."

"Alright, let's go." Watson nodded and turned the wheelchair in the other direction.

The person beside was stunned. "Go?"

"There's no one alive to look for us and collect money anyway, just leave the things here." Watson said casually, "Do you still want to carry the things home despite knowing that something is wrong?"

Everyone swallowed hard and turned back to look at the deathly silent smuggling boat. Their eyes were full of dismay, but the strange atmosphere around made them shudder uncontrollably.

Upon hearing the command from their superior, the workers below were stunned for a moment, but soon reacted. They dropped the crowbars, spades, and other tools they prepared and got ready to leave.

"Just give it up like that?" Conrad, who was smoking on the shore, inhaled deeply. The superiors didn't seem to care, but he couldn't help but feel anguished over such a waste.

But when he looked at the ship that seemed to resemble a black hole. His heart couldn't help but pound, despite him not knowing why. A huge chill went down his spine, and extinguishing the spark of anguish he felt, as he finally realized the strangeness of it all.

One can earn as much money as one wants to. Worst come to worst, one can do so by robbing, no big deal, he thought. But one only has one life.

"What are yall waiting for? Let's go." He took the cigar from the corner of his mouth, threw it into the seawater below the steps, and walked away. The red-hot cigar traced an arc in the air, penetrated the mist and fell into the water. At the moment the fire went out, it seemed to have illuminated a face. For a split-second, Conrad thought that it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

The next moment, the calm surface of the dead silent seawater was suddenly broken. The demon lurking underneath pounced suddenly. Cold water droplets splashed and a thick suffocating stench filled the air. Its speed was incredibly fast. In just an instant, it overwhelmed him. Its jaws opened to reveal two rows of sharp teeth, and pressed down at his throat.

Crack. The sound of cervical vertebra breaking rang out.

Blood splashed, and his head fell from his shoulders.

Screams sounded one after another as well.

The initially deathly silent sea boiled in a sudden. Countless dark shadows emerged from it, breaking the water surface, and climbed out. They leaped onto the port, looking for the traces of every living thing.

Unlike the Murlocs from the previous attack, which were used as feed and consumables, the demons attacking this time were even weirder. They had no feet, but long snake-like tails, and four arms each. Unlike ordinary demons, they showed no signs of slowing down after leaving the water. Instead, they swayed their tails to propel themselves, achieving an incredibly fast speed.

In the blink of an eye, they overwhelmed several thugs who were infamous for their brutality.

The people who finally managed to react unsheathed their swords and battled with the demons. However, except for a few who obviously had military experience or underwent special training and cultivation, others could hardly sustain their efforts.

Several musicians immediately formed a circle with Watson in the middle to protect him, then only activated their musical movements. They attempted a counterattack, but was interrupted by several loud bangs. The smuggling boat docked at the shore suddenly shook. The hull ruptured, and several gigantic, beast-like demons climbed out of the crack. They leaped onto the port and started devouring people.

Through the crack in the hull, one could see the torn boxes inside. The hiding places of the creatures were self-evident. The creatures that had made their ways out of the boxes were still proliferating. They had no hair on their bodies, but were covered in a layer of scales. As if they had just been born, the soft scales that were originally moist, hardened quickly. Soon, weird crisp sounds rang out from their skulls, which were covered with strange hair, and sharp horns grew out of their foreheads.

For the monsters which were as big as elephant calves, the killing of enemies was far more important than the hunt for flesh and blood. They did not take a second look at the blood on the ground, but continued to attack anything that was still moving aggressively.

Someone risked his life and pierced through a demon's scales with brute force, but the parasites and acids that spurted out of its abdomen after that made him scream.

"The demons are not of naturally-existing species." Watson tapped the handle of the wheelchair and raised his brow slightly. "Natural evolution will not result in such targeting behavior… It is a species cultivated by dark musicians." He seemed to have understood something, and the corners of his mouth turned up to form a sneer.

The sound of birds flapping their wings rang out. Under the wheelchair, it was as if a pigeon cage was opened.

One, two… countless robins of a cyan color emerged from under the wheelchair, flew up, tweeted crisply, and flew at their prey. They were only flying birds, but they gave off a resplendent glow in the darkness. Their wings did not consist of feathers, but of flames!

Flames that burned in an iron-blue color flared on them. The power from the Son of Phoenix incorporated the destructive heat from the path of modifications into bestiality, and the thousands of birds gathered into a torrent. Under the control of their summoner, they produced a low humming sound that cut off all other noises, and swept across the entire harbor. In a flash, the situation had been reversed.

"Powerful indeed." The musician, who was his bodyguard, couldn't help but sigh. Such attainments could be considered shocking, and even musicians like him who had long made names for themselves were far less powerful.

Just watching Watson made him feel ashamed.

But while Watson was focusing on controlling the huge flock of birds, a crisp cracking sound suddenly sounded from the ground.

The brick-paved ground suddenly bulged.

Following the waves of aether from Watson, a demon that had sneaked into the quagmire from the seawater and hid under the soil suddenly made its way out. Stirring up a stinking gust of wind, it rushed at Watson.

It was incredibly quick!

At the moment, everyone's expression changed, but it was too late for them to do anything. In a flash, only a cold glint flashed across the air. From the cracked handle of the wheelchair, a slender dagger popped out, its metal glint tracing an arc in the air, and fell into Watson's hands. He flipped his wrist and stabbed down.

It was like a fleeting meteor.

A miserable whine sounded. The worm-like demon had been nailed securely to the ground and struggled with all its might.

Just as everyone was relieved, Watson grew impatient. He turned back, and looked at the shadows in the distance. "How much longer are you going to stay there and watch?"

In the shadows, someone rubbed his face awkwardly, "Oh, I've been discovered?"

Watson gave him a cold look, and said unceremoniously, "Come and help."

"Sure." In the shadows, the newcomer smiled and stepped forward. The broken lantern that fell on the ground illuminated the robe draped on him and the right hand he lifted. His pale index finger ignited a wisp of flame and pressed it on the pipe at the corner of his mouth. So, in the misty smoke, the pipe was lit. The reddish tobacco leaves burnt as if a fuse that was extended into the sky had been lit.

At the next moment, a terrifying glow emerged from the dark clouds suddenly. It was a furious thunder, and burnt the iron-black clouds red.

Whistling sounds burst forth one after another. Several dozens of fiery fires cut across the sky and descended as if God had cast knives of punishment. Activated by the purifying musicians, stakes smashed towards the ground, shaking the earth. Everyone staggered and almost lost their balance.

After that, a horrifying heat burst forth, accurately engulfing each and every demon, and pulled anything that exuded the aura of non-humans into the frightening inferno. In the end, in the dead silence, only gulps could be heard from the people witnessing the feat.

The men holding their weapons looked each other blankly, their faces illuminated by the raging fire.

It only took an instant before all the demons disappeared as if they had never been born. All of them were exterminated in the flames, and the fire purified everything.

Under the piercing light of the bonfire, silver hair was caught up in the hot wind. In the thin smoke that was slowly dissipating, the young man in the purple robe tilted his head and looked at one of his few remaining friends. So, he smiled happily.

"Hey, Watson." He said, "It's been a while."