The Fangs of the Sea Beast, following a night of blood and rain, had returned to an eerie tranquility. The pungent stench of blood was gradually swept away by the sea breeze. All that remained were shattered planks and the tattered banners of Black Water Island drifting upon the surface—a silent reminder of a faction's total collapse.
Victory had been secured, but aboard the fleet of Flood Dragon Island, there were no cheers or banquets. Instead, there was a terrifyingly orderly busyness.
The Sea Dragon Guards, under the command of Barbarian Bull, were rapidly sweeping the battlefield. The surrendered pirates of Black Water Island were disarmed and detained separately to await interrogation. The spoils of war, ranging from weaponry and provisions to fully intact warships, were meticulously cataloged and gathered.
Tran Kien did not partake in these tasks. He stood alone upon the flagship newly seized from Old Eccentric Black Water, holding the weathered beast-skin map. His gaze was glued to the drawing of the erupting volcano and the two ancient Shamanic runes beside it: "Ruin."
The Shaman's Map against his chest was vibrating with a searing heat, resonating more powerfully than ever before. He knew this was no longer a mere clue. This was the ultimate destination.
Old Whale walked over, his expression incredibly solemn.
"Exalted Lord," Old Whale said, his single eye staring at the map with immense complexity. "This thing... this old man has heard of it in the most ancient tales passed down by our ancestors. Legend has it that before the final prince of the Hung Dynasty set sail, a group of the greatest Lac Viet Shamans and craftsmen secretly constructed a 'Sacred Sanctuary' at the bottom of the sea. It was used to safeguard our most core legacies—the things that could not be carried away."
"A Sacred Sanctuary at the bottom of the sea?" Barbarian Bull, who had curiously wandered over, exclaimed in astonishment.
"Indeed," Old Whale nodded. "It is not a mausoleum. It is a true citadel, protected by the natural array formations of the ocean and the most powerful restrictive Shamanic arts. That place is known as the 'Crystal Palace,' but it belongs to no Dragon King. It is the repository for the essence of a civilization."
"Then the Flaming Mountain..."
"The Flaming Mountain is likely just a superficial decoy tomb," Tran Kien said, his eyes shining brightly. He had figured it all out. "Our ancestors were far too cautious. They laid down layer upon layer of secrets and trials, solely to ensure that the ultimate inheritor possessed sufficient power, wisdom, and unyielding resolve."
"This map," he pointed at the mysterious ocean currents drawn upon it, "does not merely mark the location of the Ruins. It charts the one and only safe path to enter, bypassing all the hidden whirlpools and the territories of the most terrifying sea monsters."
A new plan, a new journey, unfolded before his eyes.
"Then... should we set out immediately, Exalted Lord?" Barbarian Bull stepped forward, his eyes brimming with excitement.
"There is no rush," Tran Kien shook his head once more. He was no longer the impulsive youth who only knew how to charge forward. Two years of bitter cultivation and life-and-death chess games had taught him the profound composure of a true commander.
He looked at the Flood Dragon Island fleet, which was gradually stabilizing after the battle. "A blade, no matter how sharp, will easily suffer damage without a sturdy scabbard. Flood Dragon Island is our scabbard. Before we step into an even more perilous battle, we must ensure our rear lines are truly secure."
He turned to look at Barbarian Bull. "Barbarian Bull."
"This subordinate is here!"
"I trouble you to lead half of the fleet, taking all the prisoners and a portion of the spoils, and return to Flood Dragon Island immediately. Utilize these prisoners for hard labor to accelerate the construction and fortification of the island. Furthermore, publicly announce our victory, but claim that we suffered significant losses as well. We must feign weakness, concealing our brilliance and biding our time, so that other old foxes lower their guard."
"Understood!" Barbarian Bull solemnly accepted the command.
"Old Whale."
"This old man is here."
"Accompany Barbarian Bull. Use all our remaining funds to visit the major merchant guilds. Procure two things for me: first, Water and Fire attribute mineral ores for artifact refining; second, medicinal herbs that can aid cultivators in calming their spirits and gathering their minds. The more, the better."
"Does the Exalted Lord intend..."
"I want," Tran Kien said, "every single Sea Dragon Guard to be equipped with the finest battle armor and medicinal pills before we venture to the Crystal Palace. We cannot march into a grand battle unprepared."
Finally, he looked toward the remaining vanguard forces.
"We shall not return to Flood Dragon Island. We will remain in these waters. It will serve both to guard against the eyes and ears of Marquis Vinh An and as an opportunity for tempering."
"Within the coming month, I want our vanguard forces to completely adapt to naval combat. As for me," he tightly gripped the matte-black saber in his hand, "I also require time to truly digest everything I have comprehended from this battle."
A barrage of orders fell, layered and impeccably logical. Consolidating the rear while preparing for the future, all without wasting a single moment for tempering. Upon hearing Tran Kien's plan, everyone's hearts were filled with absolute admiration.
This New King was not merely a God of War. He was a true Sovereign, possessing profound and far-reaching vision.
The next day, the two fleets parted ways. One half returned to Flood Dragon Island, bearing victory and commencing a new phase of construction. The other half, personally led by Tran Kien, once again raised the black banner bearing the character "TRAN," vanishing into the boundless sea.
They did not go anywhere. They simply remained there, in the most desolate and unforgiving of waters. They were sharpening their blade. Sharpening the keenest of blades, preparing to cleave open the doors of history that had been sealed shut for thousands of years.