Ashes Of Deep Sea-Chapter 348 - 352 Informant and the Underground

Chapter 348: Chapter 352: Informant, and the Underground Waterways

Chapter 348 -352: Informant, and the Underground Waterways

After two consecutive days of snowfall, the brief clearing of the skies seemed to dispel the gloom that had hung over the City-State, and Frost awoke once again as usual—snow removal vehicles and snow-melting equipment began to clear the main roads of snow accumulation, while the old high-pressure gas pipelines and electrical systems withstood the test once more, and factories and public transportation systems also started up again.

The sounds of various vehicles and machinery gradually swelled with the sunrise.

Yet beneath this slowly awakening facade, a strange and tense atmosphere was spreading throughout the city—even ordinary people in town were starting to notice this shift in the air.

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It began with news from the newspapers: emergency regulatory notices issued by the city hall gave those sensitive to news a sniff of uneasy air, followed by all kinds of rumors emanating from the coastal districts about the Mist Fleet spotted near the City-State, and then, a mix of true and false news began to spread through the streets and alleys.

The frequent deployment of the City-State’s security forces, the assembly of graveyard guards around several graveyards, and the shocking news from certain districts—coupled with the bizarre stories about the “return of the dead” that had been circulating in town since a month ago—all these unsettling elements seemed to have suddenly come together, quietly spreading through the city.

Above the Endless Sea, the City-State was like a crowded pigeon coop, cities separated by vast seas, but people could hear each other across a short distance, nothing was more difficult than passing messages between City-States, yet nothing could be simpler than spreading news within one.

But even so, life had to go on, unsettling news merely circulated in the streets, yet the citizens still went about their business as usual, at most chatting briefly about the city’s strange atmosphere when squeezing onto the bus or meeting in taverns—such minor pressures were not enough to disrupt the operation of a City-State.

After all, people who lived in this world were already accustomed to the shadows in their lives, to them, it was normal for bizarre and strange things to happen in the city, the destructive activities of Heretics and occasional night creatures were all part of everyday life—a city that remained peaceful and serene after dark would be abnormal to them.

At the junction of Cemetery Four and Oak Street, a small tavern named “Golden Flute” was gradually getting lively.

Citizens heading to factories from the neighborhood in the morning would often pass by this intersection, and “Golden Flute,” as a cheap tavern catering to the public, was the perfect place to stop before going to work—it not only served beverages but also offered decent coffee and simple breakfasts, excellent for filling the stomach and warding off the cold, and chatting with others here during breakfast was a bit of recreation before the beginning of a tense and busy day.

The tavern’s host bustled between several round tables, the bartender behind the bar attended to guests, warm yellow light poured down from the ceiling, dispelling the winter chill, and a middle-aged man with a lean face and straw-yellow hair sat not far behind the bar, casually flipping through a newspaper while keeping an eye on the situation in the shop with his peripheral vision.

The shop was somewhat noisy, occasionally interspersed with rough jokes and unabashed swear words—most of those who came to dine were not so-called “upper-class citizens,” but rather ordinary people who commuted from the Lower City District to the industrial belt, gathering here to discuss events in the Lower City District or the factory area, or to comment on the City-State’s recent changes during a brief breakfast.

Their opinions were mostly trivial and boring, and no one would pay attention to these people’s views on the city.

As long as they didn’t fight in the shop, everything was fine.

The middle-aged tavern owner with straw-yellow hair turned the newspaper to the next page, yawning a bit with boredom.

Then, he felt that the surroundings had quieted down slightly—soon after, something seemed to block the light coming from above.

The owner looked up, and saw a towering figure standing in front of him.

The other party was dressed in a pitch-black coat that reminded one of the nightfall descending, its high collar obscuring much of the face, while the wide-brimmed hat pressed down like a dark cloud, shielding any probing eyes from the outside world, and in the gaps visible between the clothing, there were only layers upon layers of bandages.

An imposing gaze hid in the shadows of the low-pressed hat.

A pressure that was difficult to ignore just from the visual sight hit him head-on, and the middle-aged owner with straw-yellow hair almost immediately felt his heart skip a beat, panic involuntarily surfacing in his eyes, his first instinct was to mistake the other for a cleric of the death cult—because those devout officials were most fond of such “bandage attire” that was slightly excessive for ordinary people, but then he realized that this black-clothed person did not wear the church’s triangular emblem, nor carried the guard’s standard-issue staff.

After a moment of frantic confusion, the middle-aged owner forcefully calmed himself, he saw behind the towering figure three more persons, one was a tall young lady, another seemed to be a kindly looking old man, and the last was a veiled, aristocratic and mysterious blonde woman, his thoughts quickly churning.

The “guest” who came specifically for me looked anything but benevolent in their attire, the heavy aura faintly exuded even made it hard for me to breathe… Could they be secret security officers from the central city district? Or people sent by other powers from the Chill Sea? Why are they looking for me? Threats, recruitment, or… do they have a request?

He set aside the newspaper in his hand and stood up calmly, looking up at the man in black, “Who are you looking for?”

“Mr. Nemo Wilkins,” Duncan noticed the panic and nervousness in the middle-aged man’s eyes, obviously due to his own imposing manner, but it was intentional— he was observing the man’s reaction, which could reveal his most genuine emotional changes and help determine whether someone had been affected by cognitive interference or memory modification, “Is that your name?”

“Everyone here knows my name,” Nemo Wilkins nodded, meanwhile, gesturing gently to the clerk not far away, “Are you looking for me? But I’m just an honest businessman…”

“The fog on the sea has been frequent recently, and the wind is very cold,” Duncan said slowly, while reaching into his chest to pull out the map of the City-State prepared by Tyrion himself, “We need a good warming drink— one that could even warm the dead’s heart.”

At the moment he heard “the fog on the sea has been frequent, and the wind is very cold,” Nemo’s breathing changed ever so slightly, and then his gaze fell upon the map of the City-State.

The “store manager” concealed all emotional and visual changes extremely well, in fact, apart from that momentary change in breathing and heartbeat, there was no sign of anything unusual on the surface, but even such subtle responses had not escaped Fenna’s eyes.

“It seems we’ve found him,” Fenna said softly.

Duncan nodded slightly, folding the map and putting it away, “Is there space on the second floor?”

“The upstairs is full,” Nemo shook his head, “Follow me.”

With that, he walked out from behind the counter and led the uninvited guests toward a door next to the stairs.

The tavern was still filled with noisy voices, and even if someone noticed the commotion at the counter, no one paid much attention to what was actually happening.

Duncan and his company followed behind Nemo Wilkins, passing through the slightly small wooden door into a corridor that appeared to lead to the storeroom behind the shop. They then turned into another door midway through the corridor, descending a sloping ramp for a considerable distance— until they felt they had left the range of the surface tavern far behind, and they stopped before a dark wooden door.

“This place is really deep,” Maurice couldn’t help but mutter.

“Caution doesn’t hurt, this city does not welcome those associated with the Mist Fleet,” Nemo Wilkins said while walking towards the door, “Enemies are everywhere— even if half a century has passed.”

“How did you dig out such a place under the watchful eyes of the City-State authorities?” Fenna’s point of interest differed from the others, as a Judge, she was more concerned with a “gray intermediary’s” skills in hiding within the City-State, “How do you get rid of the stones and earth when digging such a long tunnel beneath a tavern? And how do you hide the noise of the digging?”

Nemo Wilkins turned his head slightly, glancing at the exceptionally tall, white-haired lady, his tone tinged with amusement, “It’s simple— no need to dig, this is part of the underground waterways of Frost.”

As his words trailed off, the dark door was opened, and with creaking sounds, the glow of gas lamps shone into Duncan and his companions’ eyes.

Along with it, there was the faint sound of flowing water coming from some unknown place.

Duncan looked past the door and saw a surprisingly spacious “hall,” which seemed to be an ancient crossroads of sewers. In the distance, corridors stretched into the dark; there were tables, beds, and shelving arranged in the corners of the hall, which looked as though it could be lived in.

It could even accommodate quite a number of people.