HCB Chapter 258: BENEATH THE WAVES
Chapter 258: BENEATH THE WAVES
Dawn in Driftwood crept in soundlessly, as if even the sun hesitated to wake a village gripped by terror.
Rianor was awake long before the first bright streak touched the horizon. On the straw mattress beside him, Roland was still fast asleep, his breathing heavy and even, his face half-buried in his pillow.
Rianor left his brother to his rest. He grabbed his notebook, re-examining the array of hypotheses he had scribbled down last night. On the rickety wooden table, his mana compass had returned to normal. Its needle pointed passively south, no longer spinning wildly. Silent. As if the audio terror of the night had been nothing but a collective hallucination.
But when Rianor peered through the window slit... Lupus’s boat still drifted in the center of the bay. It was a stark, undeniable reality.
He closed his book with a soft, muffled thud and stepped out of the room.
A thin wisp of smoke was already rising from the hearth of The Drifting Net when Rianor descended the stairs.
Hesta stood rigid in front of the stone stove, listlessly stirring something in a clay pot. Merek sat slouched at a corner table, his rough hands wrapped around a long-cold mug of tea. His eyes were heavily bloodshot—whether from a sleepless night or quietly shed tears of despair, Rianor couldn’t tell.
"You didn’t sleep," Rianor said flatly, breaking the silence.
Merek looked up slowly. "Neither did you, sir."
Rianor pulled up a chair and sat across from Merek. Hesta walked over like a sleepwalker, placing a bowl of warm oatmeal in front of Rianor without being asked, before retreating back to her kitchen. Rianor didn’t touch the food immediately.
"I will inspect the boat this morning," Rianor said.
Merek stared at him for a long moment. A bitter shadow crossed the old man’s face before he let out a long sigh. "I figured you’d say that since last night."
"I need a boat."
"Just take Anam’s boat at the end of the pier. He won’t be brave enough to go back to sea anytime soon," Merek offered with a hollow, mirthless laugh. "At least, not in the near future."
Dom was already waiting at the end of the pier when Rianor arrived.
Somehow, the silent guard had anticipated him. Perhaps his sharp ears had caught the conversation in the kitchen, or perhaps he had simply memorized his master’s insatiable curiosity. Dom stood tall on the rotting planks of the pier, staring intently at Lupus’s boat drifting in the center of the bay.
"The water in this bay is too clear, sir," Dom murmured without turning as Rianor approached.
Rianor stood beside him. Dom was right. From the edge of the pier, the seabed was crystal clear—an expanse of white sand, jagged reefs draped in pale green moss, and schools of small fish swimming in tight circles. The surface of the water was as still as a silver mirror. It was far too beautiful and peaceful for waters rumored to harbor a engine of death.
"It is precisely that contrast that makes me suspicious," Rianor replied.
Anam’s boat was ready—a simple, faded-red fishing vessel with a pair of oars worn smooth at the grips. They boarded in silence. Dom took over the oars, rowing with a steady, near-silent rhythm. The only sound was the soft hiss of water parting beneath the bow.
As they drew closer to where Lupus’s boat drifted, the anomaly began to manifest.
It wasn’t a foul stench, nor was it a strange sound. It was the temperature.
The air around them suddenly felt humid and heavy. It wasn’t the searing heat of the coastal sun baking the skin, but rather a sticky, suffocating warmth. It felt exactly like standing before the mouth of a volcanic cavern exhaling a slow, quiet breath.
Rianor rolled up his sleeves and dipped his hand into the bay. Warm. The temperature was identical to bathwater left to sit for half an hour.
"The thermal dispersion is uniform," Rianor murmured, drying his hand. "There is no single hot epicenter. The entire volume of this bay is being heated simultaneously."
Dom halted the oars. The boat’s momentum slowed, finally pulling alongside the blue hull of Lupus’s vessel.
From this close, the wooden boat looked entirely ordinary.
The paint on its hull was heavily chipped, showing the aged grain of the wood. The catch nets lay clumped at the stern—or rather, what was left of them. Rianor balanced himself, gripping the edge of his own boat before carefully stepping onto Lupus’s gently rocking vessel.
Phase One: Inspecting the Hull.
Rianor pressed his palm directly against the wooden planks. Warm. It defied all logic. This boat had been drifting on the bay all night, exposed to the chilly night air. By all accounts, the wood should have been ice-cold. Yet to the touch, the hull radiated heat as if it had been basking under the midday sun.
He pulled the mana fluctuation meter from his pocket. He pressed the brass sensor tip against the wood. The indicator needle twitched slightly—not wildly, just a microscopic shift.
Ting... ting...
"The residual energy is extremely low," Rianor muttered, narrowing his eyes. "And this isn’t standard mana. The wave pattern is identical to yesterday’s megafauna carcass, but the concentration here is far denser."
Phase Two: The Hemp Nets.
He crouched near the stern, examining the clump of fused fibers. This was clearly not a tear from physical strain. The way the material had melted was bizarre. The traditional hemp fibers had fused into a single, hard mass; its texture had even turned semi-transparent in some parts, resembling shards of glass that had been heated to extreme temperatures and suddenly doused in ice water.
Strangely, there were no char marks. No traces of ash. No scent of smoke at all. There was only the residual... radiant heat that didn’t originate from fire.
Using a small knife from his belt, Rianor sliced a small piece of the fused globule, dropping it into a small glass vial from his pocket.
Phase Three: The Foreign Residue.
A pair of oars lay neatly at the bottom of the boat. The grips—precisely where Lupus’s hands would have held them—were coated in a very thin, black powder. Rianor swiped at it gently with his index finger.
Cold.
Bitterly cold. In stark contrast to the warm wooden hull, this powder felt like metallic dust fresh out of a deep snowdrift.
Rianor rubbed the powder between his thumb and forefinger. It felt like baby powder, yet inexplicably lighter. He dipped his finger into the sea, attempting to rinse it. The powder refused to wash away. The pitch black seemed to invade his pores, clinging like permanent ink.
He pulled out a clean handkerchief, carefully took a sample of the powder, folded it tight, and tucked it into a separate pocket.
"My Lord," Dom’s baritone shattered Rianor’s concentration. "Look at the seabed."
Rianor followed Dom’s finger. Because the water was unnaturally clear, the seabed was visible without obstruction. White sand stretched flat. Mossy reefs lay undisturbed. Small fish swam freely.
There were no tectonic rifts. No submarine volcanic craters. No geothermal heat sources down there.
"There is no local volcanic activity," Rianor concluded. "The water temperature is being heated artificially, and the heat wave is propagating here. It doesn’t originate from this spot."
"Then from which direction is the engine channeling its heat?" Dom asked.
Rianor didn’t answer immediately. He stood up slowly, staring far out across the southern horizon—toward the boundless, open sea, the exact direction his mana compass continually pointed.
"It’s not around here, Dom. Whatever it is, it’s out there. Deep in the abyssal depths."
By the time they returned to shore, the pier was no longer empty.
Dozens of villagers had gathered, crowding the wooden planks. The fishermen who had been hiding in terror behind barred doors yesterday afternoon now stood close together with their wives and children. Even the elders with walking sticks had ventured out. Every eye stared at Rianor as he stepped off the boat, their expressions a mix of dread and hollow hope—much like prisoners awaiting a judge’s gavel.
Merek stood at the very front. "Did you... find something, sir?"
Rianor didn’t answer right away. He sat on the edge of the wooden pier, pulled out his meter, and verified the sample inside the glass vial.
"What killed your fishermen is no sea monster," Rianor’s voice finally rose, calm and steady, breaking the tense silence. "Nor is it a curse, let alone the wrath of your gods."
Whispers instantly rippled through the crowd.
"Then what is it, sir?" asked Hesta, her fingers tightly gripping the Holy Maiden locket at her chest.
"A pure energy anomaly," Rianor kept his eyes on his meter’s screen. "There is a source—very far out in the southern sea—releasing massive amounts of energy. This energy propagates through the water like a conductor. The song you hear every night is the resonance of its vibration. And the warming of the bay is merely the side effect of its residual heat."
"Energy... from where?" asked an old fisherman, his brow furrowed.
"Unfortunately, my device isn’t advanced enough to identify the elemental classification," Rianor closed his meter and slipped it back into his pocket. "But one thing is certain: the source is not in this bay. And the energy release reaches its peak at night. That is why the wails and the anomalies only appear after dark."
"Then what about Lupus?" Hesta’s voice began to tremble as she held back tears. "What actually happened to him?"
Rianor paused. His hand brushed against the pocket containing the black residue sample. He knew what his device had shown during the test. Organic carbon residue. The molecular remnants of a biological entity cooked and vaporized in an instant, without a trace of fire. He swallowed the truth. Not now. It was too brutal for common ears.
"Perhaps... he was at the wrong coordinates when the energy wave peaked," Rianor chose his words carefully. "For now, you do not need to know the detailed mechanics."
Hesta bowed her head. Her tears finally spilled, splashing directly onto the silver locket in her palms.
"But there is one piece of good news," Rianor continued, deliberately raising his tone to carry across the crowd. "Fishing during the day is still perfectly safe. This energy source only operates at night. As long as you ensure all boats are hauled back to shore before sunset, your lives are safe."
"Until when, sir?" Merek demanded. "Until when must we live under the terror of this clock?"
Rianor looked back out toward the vast southern sea. "Until someone is brave enough to go down to the source and shut the thing down by force."
"You?"
"It’s not my time yet. But one day, certainly."
By midday, Rianor’s caravan was ready to resume their journey.
The carriage trunk had been reorganized. The sturdy horses had drunk their fill of fresh water. Dom checked the tension of the reins one last time. Naya and Orva loaded the remaining provisions from the inn. In the corner, Adul sent a routine signal to Iron Hearth—Signal stable, no emergency directives.
Merek intercepted Rianor right before the man in glasses boarded the carriage. "I don’t know how to repay this favor."
"Don’t worry about it," Rianor tossed his leather bag into the cabin.
"You’ve given us more than just answers, sir. You’ve given this village a reason to no longer be paralyzed by fear."
"It was hardly a complete explanation. Merely rough observations."
Merek forced a thin, weak smile. "To us simple folk, sometimes that alone is more than enough."
Rianor didn’t reply. He leaped into the carriage. On the opposite seat, Roland was yawning, trying to shake off his grogginess.
"Did you solve the riddle?" Roland teased lightheartedly.
"Only a fraction of the surface."
"Just a fraction?"
"I’m not paid to solve all of it now. My task at present was simply to provide them with enough data to stop them acting like terrified fools."
Roland let out a soft chuckle. "That... is a remarkably diplomatic sentence for a scientist as cold as you."
"I have a teacher who’s quite adept at weaving words," Rianor remarked flatly.
Hup!
The carriage lurched forward. Wooden wheels creaked once more, crushing the clay road of Driftwood. Outside the window, the scenery began to shift. Window shutters were slowly opened by the villagers. On the pier, several young fishermen began to lower their boats back into the water. Lupus’s blue boat still drifted in the distance—but now, two other vessels were rowing toward it. They were no longer afraid.
Rianor watched the scene through the glass until it finally vanished behind a bend in the road.
The caravan now traveled southeast, gradually moving away from the coastline.
The transition of the environment was subtle but definite. The air, once humid, sticky, and smelling of salt, began to dry. The sea breeze was replaced by the scent of rich soil and the sharp aroma of pine sap. The coastal scrub gave way to straight, towering tree trunks, with a carpet of wild ferns beneath.
The sea was entirely behind them now. Ahead, rolling hills began to partition the landscape.
"We are approaching the mountain pass, sir," Dom reported from the driver’s bench.
Roland instantly pressed his face to the glass. "Mountains?"
"The border of Luminara’s territory. Protected by a natural mountain belt."
Roland narrowed his eyes, staring at the jagged gray silhouettes rising through the thin mist in the distance. "Wait, I don’t recall seeing mountains that massive on the political maps."
"That’s because Luminara deliberately isolates itself from the world map, Roland," Rianor said, closing his notebook.
"For what reason?"
"Well, that’s the primary question. And that is what we’ll find out when we get there."
By evening, they were forced to set up camp early at the foot of a rocky hill.
The temperature plummeted sharply. It wasn’t the blood-freezing cold of Northreach, but a dry chill that turned every breath into a thin puff of white steam. The canopy grew incredibly dense. The songs of birds were rare, leaving behind an intimidating silence.
The camp was pitched beside a shallow stream with ice-cold water. Naya began stacking wood for a campfire. Orva was busy distributing rations of dried meat. Adul stared at his communication box anxiously—the signal strength was dropping rapidly as they neared the mountain belt.
"Tomorrow we officially cross the Luminara border," Roland said, warming his hands near the campfire flames. "Are you mentally prepared, Brother?"
"Prepared for what?" Rianor asked without interest.
"To face a council of priests who view our technology as the work of demons?"
Rianor stared flatly at the flames. "They don’t have to believe me. They only need to digest the data I bring."
"And if they choose to close their eyes to your data?"
"Eventually, all rational minds bow to data, Roland. It’s just that the stupidity ratio of some parties means they require a little more time."
Roland laughed heartily, his shoulders shaking. "Ah, pure optimism from Rianor Sudrath. I’ll have to note that down in my personal memoirs."
At that exact moment, right at the edge of the horizon... atop one of the rocky peaks beginning to be shrouded in the darkness of night, something moved, slicing through the sky.
It wasn’t an eagle. The silhouette was far too massive.
Dom’s muscles tensed. His dagger slid halfway from its sheath. "My Lord..."
Rianor had seen it first. A colossal shadow glided silently across the peak—its bat-like wings were incredibly wide, complete with a long, barbed tail, and a scaled neck silhouette that briefly blotted out the starlight behind it.
"A wyvern..." Rianor murmured.
"Those ancient beasts still exist here?" Roland swallowed hard, his eyes wide in disbelief.
"This border mountain belt is their natural habitat," Rianor stood up immediately, his eyes locking onto the shadow in the sky. "Do not add any more wood to the fire. Everyone, stay in position."
The winged reptile glided past a second time. It flew slightly lower, as if scanning the forest floor. Perhaps searching for prey, or perhaps scouting the anomaly of their campfire.
Then, with a powerful sweep of its wings, the beast wheeled upward and vanished behind the ridge of the mountain peak.
Only then did Roland dare to exhale the breath he had been holding. "Damn... that thing’s size is far more terrifying than the illustrations in my history books."
"That was just a scout, Roland. It will return," Rianor said coldly. "They are highly territorial creatures."
"Return when?"
Rianor stared at the mountain peak, now black as charcoal. "Tomorrow. Precisely when our carriage attempts to climb their pass."