Chapter 618: The Gathering Storm at Sacred Sea Island
Dark clouds gathered over Crescent Isle. Six silhouettes hovered at the edge of that storm: Blackie, Micah, Regis, Starfall, Dragon Child, and Uncle Jed. They hung there like a single, tense breath waiting to be released.
Ahead of them, on a small rise of rock, stood a man in flowing ancient robes. He carried the kind of calm that does not belong to people who expect trouble. This was Lord Alaric, the so-called master of Ascension Isle.
He stared at the six of them with a look that mixed surprise and something colder. Who are you people, his eyes seemed to ask.
Blackie answered for the group without a word. He shed whatever pretense he had left and took on his true shape; the dark cloud beneath his feet swelled and solidified as if called into being by his will alone.
"Listen here, punk," Blackie snarled. "I am the one who should be asking why you attacked me." The thunder in his voice was more than metaphor. It was a promise.
Lord Alaric hesitated for an instant, then ignored the challenge and let his gaze travel over the others, pausing on Regis and Starfall. "Is this magical beast... perhaps your mount?" he asked, the question carrying all the contempt of someone who had already decided his answer.
Every face in the group shifted. The casual cruelty of that remark — the idea of Blackie as a beast of burden, an object to be bought or sold — struck like a slap.
Blackie’s reply was immediate and furious. "Screw you and your whole family. You are beasts, your ancestors for three generations were animals. Come here and die."
A thunderball burst from his palms, crackling with coiling electric serpents. It came like an accusation.
Lord Alaric’s body blurred, a faint flicker to one side, and the lightning-ball slid past him as if it had missed. He made it look easy. The strike carried all the force of the storm and all the lesson of not underestimating illusion.
The six exchanged quick, sharp looks. This man was dangerous. Stronger than they had expected.
"If this magical beast has no master, perhaps I could purchase it," Lord Alaric offered, voice smooth as silk. He still did not place them on equal footing; his small smile said he believed the conversation beneath him.
"He is our companion, not a mount," Micah said, the runic scrolls that orbited him humming as he readied himself. He did not sound as if he expected the remark to settle anything.
Lord Alaric’s smile turned into something colder. "Companion? It is just a lowly beast," he said, as if repeating an obvious fact.
Before the argument could run on, Uncle Jed moved. The older man’s spear flashed through the air like a thrown planet. "Enough talk. Let’s take him down."
Lord Alaric laughed. "Heh. A bunch of brutes. Since that is how you want to play, this young lord will not waste any more time with you."
As he spoke, Lord Alaric’s figure seemed to dissolve. When Uncle Jed’s spear passed through where his torso had been, the robe stayed but the body of the man inside slid apart and vanished. Only arrogant laughter lingered in the air.
"That beast will become my mount sooner or later. Hahaha." The voice faded but the threat did not.
Uncle Jed’s jaw tightened. He had struck something and found nothing. "Stop playing games and show yourself!" he barked.
Regis, who had been watching closely, shook his head. "Do not waste your energy. That was only an avatar." He turned his gaze east as if peering through space. "If his true body were here, we would have acted already. This avatar is strange. I detected no link to a main body when it appeared."
Starfall, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "I sensed the same thing. It behaves like a completely independent entity."
Everyone looked to Starfall. He was the only one among them who came from Earth, and for the moment that fact gave his voice an odd weight.
"Do not look at me for answers," Starfall said with a shrug that was uncannily like one Ethan might have made. "I was sealed in that tomb for nearly twenty years. I have been out of touch with this place longer than any of you have been here."
---
On a tiny island far to the east, one that would be invisible to anyone who did not already know where to look, another figure descended. It was an exact duplicate of Lord Alaric. The double said nothing; it simply folded into the man on Crescent Isle as if two halves of the same person were rejoining.
Lord Alaric set his teacup down with a precise little click. The look in his eyes sharpened, hunger and calculation warring with amusement.
"Oh? Such excitement on Crescent Isle," he murmured to himself. He let the corner of his mouth lift. "Hehe. The Zane family can wait a few more days. That qilin-like beast is far more interesting." He touched the rim of the teacup as if feeling the weight of a decision settle in his palm. "I must find a way to obtain it."
As Lord Alaric muttered to himself, his finger tapped lightly against the table, the rhythm betraying the schemes forming in his mind. Each tap carried quiet malice—he was already plotting his next move against Blackie.
When his avatar merged back with his true body on the hidden island, understanding dawned. What had happened on Crescent Isle became clear to him, and to anyone else it would have been unbelievable. His avatar was not a simple projection; it had independent thought and action.
Even among experts of the Voidbreaker Rank—those who could separate their souls from their flesh—avatars always remained tethered to their master’s will. But Lord Alaric had broken that boundary. His avatars moved as if they were people of their own, not mere extensions of him.
And the strangest part was what came next: the instant the avatar returned, Lord Alaric’s strength surged, his aura growing heavier and more potent, as if he had devoured another version of himself.
Of course, Regis and the others on Crescent Isle had no way of knowing that Lord Alaric didn’t have just one avatar. He had many.
Far away across the ocean, another one was already streaking through the skies at incredible speed, cutting through clouds like a streak of light. It flew with fierce purpose, as though it had locked onto its prey.
"Damn it," the avatar hissed through gritted teeth. "The innate sacred aura has weakened... Amber Zane, you wretched woman—you’ll pay for this! And that man... I’ll tear him into a thousand pieces!"
His eyes were dark with murderous intent. The corners of his mouth twisted as if tasting bile, and his face took on a shade of greenish fury. The air around him trembled from his rage before he accelerated again, vanishing into the horizon.
---
Ethan had just set foot on Sacred Sea Island, blissfully unaware that danger was already hurtling toward him from above.
When Emery Shaw and Varric Stone saw Ethan and Amber disembark hand in hand, their reactions were instant and predictable.
"Ugh, ugh, ugh! I can’t stand being fed dog food in public!" Varric groaned dramatically, turning his back to them as if the sight might blind him.
Emery grimaced, pretending to look elsewhere. "Disgusting," he muttered, though his lips curved ever so slightly.
"Let’s move," Ethan said, ignoring their theatrics.
The ship had long since docked, and most of the passengers were already off, eager to explore. Only a few stragglers remained, and even the crew had gone ashore for a break. The four of them stood out like they didn’t belong there.
"Hey, why are there two other Flying Dragons anchored out there?" Varric asked, glancing toward the distant waters where two identical luxury ships floated, unmoving.
Ethan followed his gaze. Sure enough, two other cruise liners—each bearing the Flying Dragon emblem—were docked side by side, both eerily quiet.
If Varric’s guess was right, one of those ships should have been the same vessel Kiara had boarded. After her disappearance, her teacher had contacted Aunt Melody, and the company should have returned to port immediately for investigation. But instead, the ships had pressed on toward this destination, ignoring every protocol.
Three days had passed since the first incident, and yet these ships remained docked, empty and silent.
When Ethan’s group arrived, he learned something else unsettling. The Flying Dragon they were on wasn’t even the same ship Kiara had taken. Another cruise had departed in between theirs.
That meant three different groups of tourists had arrived on the island over the past several days—each from a different Flying Dragon cruise.
And now, none of those tourists seemed to have left.
Ethan’s instincts flared. Something was wrong.
"Why should we hand over our VR headsets?" someone shouted nearby.
The group turned their heads. The noise came from the disembarkation area ahead. A crowd had formed, passengers shouting at uniformed staff.
The staff were collecting devices from every tourist—VR headsets, communicators, anything connected to the network.
Voices rose in confusion and protest.