Chapter 371: The Tidal Passage

As the moon turned crimson, the merfolk fleet set sail toward the Tidewall. Through that colossal wall of water lay a passage known only to a few—one that would, according to the records of the merfolk, slowly open at the appointed hour until it grew wide enough for travelers to slip through.

The merfolk had crossed this hidden way more than once before, aided by their long experience upon the Endless Sea and the protection of the Lord of Sea and Storm. For them, this voyage was almost routine.

Driven by alchemical arrays, the vessels cut across the waves at a respectable pace. Within several days, Wang Yu and his companions reached the base of the Tidewall. It was awe-inspiring even from afar; from nearby, it was overwhelming. That sheer wall of seawater soared skyward, piercing the clouds and climbing all the way to the dissociation layer in the heavens. Its oppressive weight defied words.

At ten thousand meters tall, the Tidewall blocked all sunlight. The wall’s interior was a void of pitch black. Only the outermost layers allowed light to filter in for a few hundred meters; beyond that, nothing could be seen.

What might lurk within? No one knew. Yet it was certain that vast ecosystems of abyssal beasts dwelt inside. Whoever dared cross the Tidewall had to accept the risk of potential, impending attack.

The fleet lay at anchor beneath the wall for a full day. As night descended, the moon rose high, transfigured into a disc of deep crimson. In its baleful light, the company saw the corridor open at the base of the Tidewall: a cave mouth was slowly forming under some unseen power.

That colossal and impenetrable wall of water was pierced by a gap so minute as to be invisible to the whole. Bit by bit, the passage burrowed inward, deepening into a natural corridor that was still widening and extending under the guidance of that nameless force.

“Lord Wang Yu,” said Thalassos, leaping from his vessel and swimming swiftly to the side of theirs, “this is the passage our people know of. It leads to the far side of the Tidewall, but it only lasts a brief duration. We must keep pace with the unseen force that carves it out. Once beyond, we must make haste to return.

“Otherwise, the Tidewall will close behind us, and we shall be barred outside. In that case, we must attempt reentry by the breach known to the world.”

“I understand,” Wang Yu replied. “We shall rely on you for guidance. We know little about the Endless Sea and the Tidewall ourselves.”

The merfolk, who lived right on the Endless Sea, and who were naturally advantaged in seafaring, certainly possessed far more relevant experience than they did.

“Leave it to us,” Thalassos answered readily. To him, this was no daunting task; he himself had passed through this corridor two or three times before.

The route was surprisingly secure. There were no sea-beasts within, and neither tempest nor storm troubled it. Save for its narrow confines and its fleeting nature, it bore few flaws.

The merfolk ships took the lead. They sailed straight into the opening in the Tidewall, while Wang Yu’s vessel followed in their wake. The perils of the deep would be handled by those native to the sea. Strong though his party might be on land, their might was often of little use in the sea.

Standing upon the deck, Wang Yu watched one ship after another vanish into the dark throat of the Tidewall. In times past, the merfolk had braved this passage with their own bodies alone; now, for the sake of his companions, they went by ship.

Footsteps came from within the cabin. Avia emerged and joined him at the rail, bringing news she had just received.

“The Lady of the Night has spoken to me through the Prayer Network. She says that there lies an unseen barrier through the Tidewall that severs its power. Her perception can follow us no further. From here on, we may lose all means of communication with her.”

Following the fleet, their vessel moved into the blood-lit channel. Wang Yu’s expression did not change. This was within expectations.

“It’s normal, I suppose. We still don’t know how the Tidewall was formed. No god has ever spoken of its effect on divine power. If the Tidewall can block the reach of the Lady of the Night, surely it’ll prevent other gods from using their powers as well.”

He turned toward the towering barrier, the ten-thousand-meter-tall wall that lay above them. The Tidewall rose into utter darkness as a crushing weight pressed down upon the fleet.

From outside, the corridor had seemed narrow as a thread. From within, it looked far more vast. It was hundreds of meters high and over a kilometer wide, spacious enough for the fleet to sail unimpeded.

Compared to the treacherous seas beyond, the waters here were still, unnaturally so. There were no beasts, no storms, no strange energies. It was as if this passage had been sealed away from the chaos of the Endless Sea.

Alchemic crystal-lamps blazed upon the ships, casting radiance across the waters. Though they could not pierce the depths of the darkness, they lit the immediate path forward and traced the outlines of the watery walls about them.

“I’ll keep watch out here,” Wang Yu told Avia. “I’ll leave the detection arrays and wizardry runes inside to you. The Professor is preparing for whatever fight awaits us beyond the Tidewall—let him know if anything arises. He is our strongest weapon.”

He divided up their duties even as his eyes roved over the monotonous dark. The corridor didn’t seem to be shifting much; the flow of magic was steady, the water abundant, the void’s rhythm unperturbed.

Whatever severed the Lady of the Night’s power didn’t seem to affect him or Avia.

The merfolk claimed this corridor was always this tranquil, but Wang Yu didn’t drop his guard.

The corridor extended ever onward at a steady pace. The fleet advanced meter by meter into the deep.

In the eternal darkness, the world outside was cut off entirely. It would take three or four days for the corridor to pierce the Tidewall fully—that was how long their journey would take.

Wang Yu stood watch upon the deck, eyes sweeping over the unchanging vista, his senses spread wide with the power of the Chariot, alert to every fluctuation of magic or void.

No one spoke. The merfolk were largely taciturn; seafaring was largely lonely and dull, and they were used to solitude.

None knew what had created this strange corridor, nor why it endured. Silence was safest. A stray sound might, in the worst-case scenario, provoke some unimaginable upheaval.

Two and a half days passed. The journey had been as calm as promised: there were no monsters, no storms, no shifts in energy. Their fleet pressed toward the far side of the Tidewall.

Wang Yu’s potent physique meant that he needed no rest. He kept a ceaseless vigil, keeping his mind sharp with simple mental math to ensure that he would remain alert.

Then, at last, a subtle change disturbed the monotony of the environment. Wang Yu’s brows furrowed. He stilled his thoughts and attuned himself to his senses. This was no illusion: something was different. There was a sound!

The journey thus far had been dull. The immense mass of the Tidewall stifled all sound from the outside world, leaving only the ceaseless surge and crash of waves echoing endlessly in the confined void.

But now, Wang Yu’s keen hearing had picked up another sound: the noise of waves being sundered was growing clearer with each passing moment.

No sound from outside could penetrate this corridor. Whatever the source of the disturbance was, it lurked nearby. Wang Yu focused his senses and extended them outward. Ahead, within the outer darkness of the waters that pressed against the corridor, something vast was hurtling toward them at alarming speed.

The noise swelled rapidly. Whatever was causing it clearly had monstrous speed. Wang Yu dared not gamble on whether it was harmless. He seized his magitech communicator and dispatched a warning to the merfolk ships leading the way.

“Stay sharp! Something strange is approaching—likely one of the abyssal beasts within the Tidewall. It’s closing in fast. I can’t tell whether it’s friend or foe.”

Then, he turned at once and called out to Avia, who remained within the cabin.

“Avia, something’s wrong. Ready the arrays and wards immediately!”

The sound was mounting to a roar. The merfolk, too, would surely have sensed it by now, but the veil of the Tidewall hid all sight, and no ripple of energy betrayed what drew near. The boundary itself seemed to cloak the intruder—only its sound pierced through.

“Understood. We’ll—tshhsksk—”

Diana had just begun her reply when the communicator shrieked into static. No voice followed—there was only a teeth-grating hiss of interference.

Wang Yu narrowed his eyes. Something had gone terribly wrong. This was no outcome the merfolk had forewarned.

The sound of the sundered current vanished an instant before the link cut. In its place came an explosive crack, the sound of something torn asunder. One of the foremost merfolk vessels was ripped apart, torn in two down the middle by overwhelming force.

Its alchemical engine burst as the conduits failed, the energy erupting skyward in a violent blaze. The sudden fireball lit the black waters—and with it came a pulse of power Wang Yu knew all too well.

“The Church of Dragonkind?!”

He had felt that aura before in the undead plane, in battle against the dracolich Varma. It was the signature power of the Church of Dragonkind, a mark of their profane rites.

But how had they found this hidden path? How had they forced their way into the Tidewall itself?

Amidst the wreckage, a colossal shape emerged: a dragon the color of ash, like a black dragon stripped of its hue. His vast wings were outstretched—yet feathers, not scales, covered their exterior. The monster’s head swung toward them.

From its jaws swelled a sphere of absolute darkness. Then the beast snapped it shut, shattering it. A tide of black energy burst forth, sweeping across the fleet.

Where it touched the sea, the waters themselves were erased, carved away in an instant. Where it struck the merfolk fleet, the sight was worse still: their defenses shattered like glass, the vessels’ hulls dissolved straight out of existence.

There was no time to flee, no chance to resist. The voidbreath cut through the line of ships in a single stroke, annihilating all it touched. Men and timber alike were reduced to void.

One explosion after another thundered as ruptured engines tore themselves apart. Fireballs bloomed upon the water, the shattered remnants of the fleet.

In just one breath, the entire merfolk vanguard was obliterated. Only Wang Yu and Avia survived, hurled into the sea at the last instant, shielded only by desperate wards and his own arms.

The runes and wards that Avia had inscribed on their ship with utmost care did little. Against this dragon from the cult, the ship’s hull might as well have been made of paper.

Wang Yu’s expression grew taut. The power of that one breath alone—this foe was beyond any that he had yet faced. This was a true legend, and an experienced one at that.

There was no running. Not here, not in the bowels of the Tidewall. Battle was inevitable. And if death was one of the outcomes—so be it.

A flame of wordless wrath kindled in Wang Yu’s chest. No fear, only fighting spirit. How many times had the Church of Dragonkind struck at them? How many friends had he watched turn to ash beneath their claws?

The dragon’s eyes fixed upon the two survivors. Philett, Archbishop of the Church of Dragonkind, had come by command of his god. Even he had not known of this hidden passage within the Tidewall.

He had easily destroyed the weak merfolk fleet. Once more, he drew in energy for a second dragonbreath. He had slain innumerable such weaklings before; a few more hardly made a difference.

But before he could unleash it, the darkness ahead gave way to brilliance. A beam of searing energy tore across the waters, rending space itself—and with it descended another dragon, red as a living flame, its body boiling with magic like a storm tide unleashed.

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