In strange aeons, even death itself may die. That which slumbers eternally is not dead, and within the immortal dwelling of R'lyeh, the eternally sleeping lord awaits your dreams.
The Lord of R'lyeh—an evil god that usurped authorities over the deep sea, darkness, dreams, and air.
Its true body was sealed somewhere within the Dreamlands for unknown reasons, sinking into an eternal slumber from which it woke only on rare occasions.
Yet its kin and cults had been active on islands in the ocean's depths since the Second Age, erecting the ancient, immortal dwelling of R'lyeh deep within unknown seas to worship their eternally slumbering lord.
During the great catastrophe at the end of the Second Age, the immortal dwelling sank into the seabed along with the island, becoming yet another ancient memory hidden within the river of history. Only the cults and kin who worshiped it remained, wandering the ocean depths for ten thousand years, searching for the dwelling of their dreams.
The cultists were human—or, more precisely, evil cultists—but the kin were not. Like most heteromorphs, these monsters known as Deep Ones were originally living creatures twisted and altered by the informational disturbance of the Lord of R'lyeh.
Before reaching adulthood, they closely resembled humans, with the sole difference being that their appearances were far more delicate and beautiful than ordinary people. But once they came of age and awakened their ancient bloodline, they rapidly transformed into hideous creatures with gills on their necks. Amphibious, with the head of a fish and the body of a man, they were swift in motion and possessed immense strength.
They originated from a small fishing village named Innsmouth, where they consistently slaughtered unsuspecting intruders as sacrifices to their sleeping lord.
No one knew where Innsmouth was; it was hard to say whether the fishing village existed in physical reality or merely as a concept. Today, those rarely seen Deep Ones usually roamed the deep seas in tribes and seldom ventured far inland.
“Mr. Lynch.”
Miss Valente's soft, soothing voice interrupted Lynch's thoughts, pulling him back from Manager West's explanation. By now, the two had left the luxurious theater and were riding inside the Valente family's carriage.
Outside the window ran the surging Lande River, its clear waters reflecting the crimson moon above. Farther out lay the vast ocean, with the brightly lit White Bird Port resting at the edge of his vision.
Even though night had fallen, the port remained bustling. The clamor of voices, the clanking of metal, the shouts of dockworkers, women's singing and laughter, and lively music blended together into a symphony unique to the docks.
In contrast to the bright lights of the port and streets, the coastline was shrouded in deep darkness. Only the crimson moonlight shone quietly upon the shore, casting a hazy glow across the dark beach. Within that haze, strange figures seemed to sway.
“You are right. Now is indeed the best opportunity to spy on these mysterious heteromorphs and secure trading chips. I know it is dangerous, but I also know that no reward comes out of thin air; to gain something, one must pay a price. So I will not stop your venture. However, please be extremely careful, Mr. Lynch. Remember that your friend is waiting for your safe return.”
Miss Valente's deep blue eyes sparkled under the flickering light of the kerosene lamp, brimming with concern. Yet she merely helped Lynch check the bullets in his gun, holstered it once more, and gently advised:
“I do not possess your abilities, so I cannot hide alongside you near the Deep Ones to investigate. But I will not leave either. I will remain here to cover your back and serve as your final line of defense.”
A surge of warmth filled Lynch's heart. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, he saw Miss Valente suddenly lean forward, wrapping both arms around his neck.
Hmm? Has this girl gone mad?
Lynch's entire body went stiff, but he quickly realized Miss Valente had merely placed a necklace around his neck. Immediately afterward, he felt a sharp sting between his eyebrows, followed by a splitting headache.
【Nolan's Phase Fortress: Absolute defensive barrier created by Great Arcanist Nolan, isolating the user outside of space for three seconds. Nolan relied on this to survive countless crises until a Byakhee mistakenly delivered him to the place of the blind, idiot god.】
“This is a disaster grade mystery relic that can only be used once a day. It is the final trump card my father gave me to save my life... Please be extremely careful.”
Miss Valente bit her lower lip softly and began stuffing a pile of items into Lynch's hands one by one:
“Soul-returning grass—I saw that you bought a pipe, so I packed a few grams for you. A Torch of Light, which will come in handy tonight. Flame Oil, the kind we used back in Zur Baha Sahr to cause explosions—I made it myself. And these bullets, enchanted ammunition made specifically for your revolver—six fire and six acid. Also...”
“Alright, alright.” Caught between tears and laughter, Lynch put a stop to Miss Valente's actions. If he let her keep going, she would probably empty her entire storage relic. He quickly jumped down from the carriage and said, “Don't worry, I have my own ways to stay alive—you know that.”
“Yes, I know. I only hope you remember at all times that someone is waiting here for your triumphant return.” Miss Valente smiled faintly, stuffing a telepathic conch that resembled a walkie-talkie into Lynch's hands before waving the Parchment of Max in her hand. “Notify me whenever you need help. This time, it has a large-scale Gravity Spell from the Earth authority stored inside, ready to support you at a moment's notice.”
With his back turned, Lynch tipped his top hat. Draped in moonlight, he trod upon the bluestone pavers of the main road, walking toward the nearby beach. One step, two steps—in the shifting interplay of light and shadow, his figure melted into the vast night.
Before long, his feet met soft, fine sand. A salty ocean breeze blew in from the depths, and the rhythmic sloshing of waves sounded monotonous yet soothing, like a melodious serenade.
A bit troublesome. A trail of shallow footprints was left in the sand, which could easily blow his stealth. Fortunately, the night light was dim, so the footprints were barely visible.
When they were observing earlier, the two had noticed a few figures sneaking about the coast, only for them to vanish in the blink of an eye. That was why Lynch had come fully armed to investigate.
Yet the beach was completely deserted now, leaving only the sound of waves crashing against the sand. Shadows loomed in the silent darkness, as if countless horrors and monstrosities were lurking where Lynch could not see, sharpening their fangs and claws.
Sniffing the air, he caught only the salty ocean breeze, lacking the overpowering fishy stench unique to Deep Ones. Lynch frowned slightly. Did we missee earlier?
Hmm? No, that's not right.
A thought struck Lynch. If he left footprints on the sand, those figures earlier should have left them as well.
Crouching down immediately, Lynch listened closely to his surroundings while examining the beach beneath his feet.
The sandy beach was far from smooth, marked by numerous footprints that had not yet been erased by the tide. Left behind by at least five or six people, they trampled the sand into a messy jumble.
After a moment's thought, Lynch removed his glove and touched the footprints with his fingers.
The sand was damp, indicating the tide had recently swept through. The footprints must have been left very recently, likely by those shadowy figures they had seen earlier. However...
He activated his mystery intuition, but the feedback was thoroughly disappointing. There was virtually no residue of mysterious filth.
Could this just be a group of bored anglers? But anglers wouldn't be fishing on the open beach like this.
Regardless of who they are, I should follow them and check.
Gritting his teeth, Lynch maintained his stealth and tracked the footprints forward.
The trail was chaotic, twisting erratically, doubling back from time to time, and occasionally circling in place as if they were searching for something.
The further Lynch pursued, the stranger it felt. He began to wonder if he had misjudged and followed unrelated people. Just as his uncertainty grew, a crunch of footsteps on sand echoed abruptly from the darkness.
Someone is there!
Lynch's heart tightened as his goosebumps stood on end. Freezing instantly, he activated his ability to silence his movements and crept cautiously toward the source of the noise.
Where are you?
Who are you?
Rate on N.U.
