Chapter 110: Midnight Tide

  Executing a "tactical confiscation" of a heavily armed, fully crewed Syndicate warship anchored in the middle of a bustling commercial harbor required flawless precision. Lyra spent the remaining hours of daylight locked in their inn room, meticulously planning their approach. She drafted a crude map of the harbor using her charcoal stick, marking the patrol routes she had observed and identifying the optimal insertion point.

  "We cannot approach from the main docks, Zeno," Lyra explained, tapping the parchment. "The Syndicate will have the gangplank heavily guarded, and the Coral Guard maintains a strict curfew on the commercial ring. If we are spotted walking up to the ship, it will trigger an immediate, massive firefight in the middle of the city."

  "Then how do we get on the big white boat?" Zeno asked. He was currently occupied with wrapping the thick canvas sack containing the Void-Iron shard securely into the center of his heavy backpack.

  Lyra smiled, a dangerous, thrilling expression. "We don't walk. We swim."

  Zeno paused, his hands freezing on the straps of his pack. He looked at Lyra, his amber eyes wide with genuine, rational apprehension. The memory of the freezing, crushing darkness of the trench was still fresh in his mind.

  "Lyra," Zeno said slowly, his voice dropping an octave. "I am incredibly heavy. I swim exactly like a very large rock. If we try to swim to the boat, I will definitely sink to the bottom of the harbor."

  "I know, sledgehammer," Lyra reassured him gently, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But you won't be swimming. The harbor isn't the abyssal trench; it's only about forty feet deep. You put on your blue-steel climbing boots, drop to the sandy floor, and march directly under their ship. I will guide you from above. But you must keep your kelp-fiber sea-cloak fastened tight around your neck. We will need it."

  Zeno considered the logic. Walking underwater was significantly less terrifying than trying to float. "Okay," Zeno agreed, taking a deep breath. "I will walk under the water."

  They waited until long after midnight. The vibrant Pearl Market finally settled into a quiet, rhythmic slumber. Bioluminescent corals cast long, eerie shadows across the empty, shell-paved streets. The heavy tropical air was thick and humid, muffling the sounds of the distant ocean swells.

  Dressed in their dark, camouflaging sea-cloaks, they slipped silently out of The Gilded Conch. They bypassed the heavily patrolled main thoroughfares, utilizing Lyra’s agility to navigate the chaotic rooftops and narrow back alleys of the coral city.

  They reached a secluded rocky outcropping outside the commercial ring, hidden from the view of the main docks. The dark, calm water of the harbor lapped gently against the petrified coral.

  A few hundred yards away, sitting low and heavy in the water, was their target. The white warship was silent, its blood-red sails tightly furled. However, even from a distance, Lyra’s sharp eyes could spot the silhouettes of heavily armed sentries pacing the upper decks.

  Zeno stood in the shadows. He unbuckled his massive Rock Serpent gauntlets, stowing them deep within his backpack to prevent any accidental scraping against the hull. He wrapped his bare hands meticulously in his dark Mountain Bear wraps.

  "The pointy rocks are too loud for sneaking," Zeno reasoned quietly. "I will use my quiet hands."

  "Take a massive breath, Zeno," Lyra instructed, stepping to the edge of the outcropping. "Ready?"

  Zeno nodded, expanding his broad chest to its maximum physical capacity, holding a vast reserve of oxygen in his highly conditioned lungs.

  They stepped off the edge of the coral reef simultaneously.

  Splish.

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  The entry was nearly flawless, generating barely a ripple. The tropical harbor water was surprisingly warm, a stark, comforting contrast to the freezing abyss of the trench.

  As predicted, Lyra’s lightweight frame and incredible agility allowed her to glide smoothly just beneath the surface. Zeno, conversely, sank like a dropped anvil.

  He plummeted forty feet straight down through the murky water, his heavy boots striking the soft, sandy bottom of the harbor with a muffled thud. He engaged his blue-steel cleats, digging deeply into the sand to establish a firm foundation against the mild underwater currents.

  He looked ahead and immediately realized this would not be a simple stroll.

  The Black Lotus Syndicate had not left their flagship unguarded beneath the waves. The harbor floor directly beneath and surrounding the warship was seeded with a deadly defensive perimeter. Heavy iron chains were anchored into the coral, tethering dozens of spiked, floating alchemical mines that bobbed ominously in the dark water. Touching a single chain would trigger an explosive chain reaction capable of tearing the hull—and Zeno—apart.

  He had to navigate a literal minefield.

  Zeno focused, placing one heavy foot methodically in front of the other, carefully weaving his massive frame between the taut, rusted chains.

  Midway through the treacherous path, his descending boot nearly crushed a massive, jagged rock. The "rock" suddenly shifted, raising two massive, serrated pincers defensively. It was a Giant Armored Crab, disturbed from its slumber.

  Zeno froze, his boot hovering inches from the creature's shell. A stray pinch could easily throw him off balance and into a mine chain. He looked down at the massive crustacean. Despite his burning lungs and the lethal explosives surrounding him, his culinary instincts flared.

  He gave the angry crab a slow, respectful nod. You look very delicious, Zeno thought, holding his breath, but Lyra said no cooking tonight. He carefully stepped over the crab, leaving the creature in peace, and resumed his tense march toward the massive shadow of the warship's hull.

  After five agonizing minutes, the colossal, pristine white hull loomed over him, blocking out the faint moonlight. He was directly beneath the ship.

  He looked up. Lyra had bypassed the heavily guarded upper decks and swam to the heavy iron rudder at the stern. She had securely wedged one of her Elvarian daggers into a gap in the plating, creating a makeshift anchor point.

  She held tightly to the hilt with one hand, and unspooled her strong, pale white spider-silk rope with the other, dropping the weighted end down into the dark water.

  Zeno grabbed the thick silk line with both wrapped hands and gave it two sharp, decisive tugs.

  Up at the surface, Lyra felt the signal. She didn't attempt the physically impossible task of hauling a teenager who weighed hundreds of pounds in gear straight up through forty feet of water. She relied on her tactical genius.

  She pressed her palm against the wet silk rope. Instead of pulling, Lyra channeled a highly compressed, silent stream of pale green wind Tena directly down the length of the cord. The magical air funneled straight into the tight collar of Zeno’s waterproof kelp-fiber sea-cloak.

  Underwater, Zeno’s heavy grey cloak rapidly inflated like a massive buoyancy balloon. The sudden, immense displacement of water generated a powerful upward lift.

  Zeno felt his boots leave the sand. The inflated cloak gently and silently carried his immense weight upward through the dark water, bypassing the explosive mines with flawless vertical precision.

  He broke the surface silently, gasping for sweet, fresh air in the deep, unlit shadows directly beneath the massive overhang of the ship's stern, invisible from the deck above.

  "We are on the boat," Zeno whispered cheerfully, wiping the salt water from his amber eyes as his cloak deflated. "You are a very good balloon maker, Lyra."

  "Don't thank me yet," Lyra breathed, her eyes scanning the smooth hull. "Now we have to figure out how to get inside without using the main gangplank."

  They examined the waterline. Lyra spotted a heavy, rusted iron drainage grate set into the thick wood—a bilge maintenance access port. It was locked tight, secured by thick iron bars designed to keep scavengers out.

  Lyra inspected the heavy lock. "It's rusted shut. I can't pick this, and cutting it will make too much noise."

  Zeno stepped up, floating gently beside the grate. He abandoned his usual explosive methods. Subtlety was required, and he knew how to adapt his monstrous strength.

  He reached out, wrapping his bare, thick fingers around two of the solid iron bars. He didn't throw a punch. He didn't use a loud surge of blue Tena.

  He planted his boots against the slick wooden hull beneath the water for leverage. Then, Zeno applied raw, terrifying prying strength.

  His massive biceps and shoulders trembled under the sheer, silent exertion. The veins in his neck bulged. He applied steady, relentless pressure, pulling the bars in opposite directions.

  The thick iron groaned a soft, agonizing protest. Under the overwhelming force of a 26 Strength stat, the solid metal slowly bent and yielded like warm taffy. Zeno smoothly pried the entire grate free from its heavy stone moorings, preventing a single loud snap.

  He lowered the warped iron grate gently into the dark water without a splash, revealing a dark, narrow tunnel leading straight into the bowels of the warship.

  Zeno grinned, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "We have a door. Ladies first."