Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

He didn't take off his clothes, but just wrapped himself in a thin blanket and leaned against the bed, letting himself drift into a light sleep.

The cabin was cramped and damp, but compared to the abandoned mine's water tanks, dilapidated old courtyards, and the underground river in the snow-capped mountains, it was quite safe.

But that night, he had a nightmare.

There was no sea or boat in my dream.

There was only endless darkness.

In the darkness, a colossal eight-armed statue stood silently.

It appears to be cast from decaying bronze, grayish-white bones, and damp, cold flesh, with eight arms that either hang down, are raised, or are pressed against the chest.

The statue has no complete face, only a blurry outline of facial features, but the eye sockets are as deep as two wells.

Xilun had seen it before.

That is the shell of an evil god.

But why?

Why does it appear in my dream?

He had clearly left Victoria, and Nurles' arrival was interrupted by Lady Black Raven; all that remained in his body was a trace of the power of the remnant of the evil god.

The eight-armed deity in his dream seemed to be watching him the whole time.

It's not about looking at an enemy, nor is it about looking at a believer.

It's more like watching a body that will eventually return to its side.

The shadows of eight arms slowly stretched out, and darkness crept up on Xilun's ankles, knees, and chest like a tide.

Xilun tried to raise his spear, but found he had no golden spear in his hand; he tried to circulate the chill, but his bones felt empty; he tried to breathe, but his lungs were filled with viscous black water.

A crimson glint suddenly appeared deep within those well-like eye sockets.

Immediately afterwards, countless tiny sounds came from inside the statue.

They sound like a patient's groans, a child's cries, or someone whispering his name in his ear.

Weston.

Weston.

come back.

He suddenly opened his eyes.

The cabin was still swaying gently, the sea fog outside the window had not yet dissipated, the kerosene lamp had long been extinguished, leaving only a faint smell of burning.

My back was soaked with cold sweat.

Xilun sat on the bed, his breathing slightly rapid, his right hand unconsciously pressing against his chest.

A chill ran through the air, and tiny wisps of black energy retreated from the crevices.

I haven't had a nightmare in a long time.

Since advancing to the third rank, although his spirit was damaged, it was much stronger than that of an ordinary person, and ordinary dreams could not make him lose control and wake up.

But that wasn't an ordinary dream.

Xilun raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, his eyes gradually turning cold.

"Were you waiting for me to weaken too?"

No one answered.

Only the sound of waves crashing against the hull was exceptionally clear in the darkness before dawn.

"You've become symbiotic with me, but that doesn't satisfy you."

"You are constantly eroding my spirit, corrupting my will, and slowly allowing my power to be parasitized by you."

"And then, I became your puppet..."

He did not continue sleeping.

Xilun sat up cross-legged again and began practicing the meditation method left by Susie, gradually pulling his consciousness out of the lingering chill of the nightmare.

The chilling aura spread along the bone crevices, like a thin layer of ice, pressing those restless black traces back into the depths.

His spirits gradually returned.

At daybreak, Karls sent hot soup and soft bread, and cautiously inquired whether he needed a more spacious cabin.

Xilun simply said no.

For the next ten days or so, the Tulip sailed southeast along the ocean current.

The weather at sea changes very quickly; sometimes it's sunny in the morning, but by the afternoon dark clouds loom overhead and strong winds make the masts creak.

The sailors were used to it, but the passengers were often terrified.

Siren spends most of his time in his cabin meditating, eating, and resting.

Occasionally, he would go up to the deck late at night when no one was around, and practice his newly acquired deep-sea diving skills by taking advantage of the tides.

This talent isn't overwhelming, but it's very useful.

It makes his body less strenuous underwater, allows him to adjust his direction more smoothly with the help of water currents, and slightly improves his lungs' tolerance to suffocation.

If combined with the Water Dividing talent and the Mysterious Yin Coldness, it will save a lot of energy when hunting alien species in the sea in the future.

Karls comes once a day.

He was very discreet, never rashly inquiring about Xilun's origins, nor questioning the unusual events that occurred on the water ghost that night. He simply told Xilun about the customs, power, and taboos of the Prisoner Star Islands little by little.

As a result, Siron gradually came to the conclusion that the Ronte family was indeed on the verge of decline.

They have local identities, trading companies, a small number of boats, and Emerald Lake, a place where demons gather, but they lack extraordinary individuals who can make a name for themselves in the assessment.

He needs an identity, a place to stay, access to materials, and an undisturbed environment to recuperate.

The two complement each other perfectly.

On the morning of the sixteenth day, as the sea fog dissipated, the silhouette of an island finally appeared in the distance.

Not one.

Instead, there are more than a dozen islands of varying sizes, like dark blue stones casually tossed onto the sea by a giant beast, connected by long bridges, boardwalks, and shallow harbors.

The island is covered with trees, and white stone houses and gray-black docks are scattered along the coast. Windmills and lighthouses can also be seen from higher up.

We've arrived at the Prisoner Star Islands.

Xilun stood on the edge of the deck, gazing at the port that was getting closer and closer.

The sea breeze ruffled his black hair and stirred the wounds beneath his sleeves that were not yet fully healed.

He coughed softly, but there was no sign of backing down in his eyes.

New seas, new rules, new enemies and prey.

He needs to grow a new body here, one strong enough to withstand the storms and darkness.

When the Tulip slowly docked, the pier was already crowded with people.

The ports of the Prisoner's Islands were rougher and more bustling than Siren had imagined.

The wooden pier was blackened by seawater, and fish scales, salt grains, and bits of meat from an unknown sea creature remained in the crevices.

Thick iron chains hung on the shore, and several shirtless workers were working together to drag a seashell box that was half a person tall. Dark blue viscous liquid kept seeping from the opening of the box, and the fishy smell was quickly spread by the sea breeze.

The cries of vendors, the boatmen's chants, the sharp calls of seabirds, and the deep rumble of engines all mingled together like a pot of boiling broth.

Wearing a dark coat, Siron followed Karls and the other members of the Ront family off the ship.

As soon as he stepped onto the dock, he noticed many eyes sweeping over him.

The people here are generally stronger than the residents of the lower city on the mainland.

Many dockworkers have broad shoulders and thick backs, and their skin is tanned reddish-brown by the sea breeze. Some of them have fine scales on their necks, arms, and even the edges of their cheeks, which reflect light slightly with their movements.

Some people have shallow gill-like cracks behind their ears, it is unknown whether this is due to bloodline influence or a trace of mutation left by long-term consumption of some kind of marine animal material.

Extraordinary power doesn't seem to be hidden so deeply here.

It seeps into every inch of life like salt.

Piles of marine animal materials were stacked along the dock, including crescent-shaped horns, transparent tentacles cured with salt, and several pieces of bluish-white meat jelly emitting cold air.

The vendors shouted out their prices, while the buyers rudely opened the cloth bags to check the quality of the goods. During the bargaining process, they would even stick daggers directly into the table.

Xilun's gaze swept over them calmly.

He could sense that the Prisoner Islands lacked the oppressive order of Victoria's steam-powered cities.

It's more chaotic here, and more direct.

The stench of the survival of the fittest is practically written on every slippery wooden plank.

"Mr. Siren, over here."

Karls turned around, his tone even more respectful than on the ship.

After the water ghost incident that night, he was completely convinced that Xilun was at least a second-tier senior extraordinary being, and possibly even close to the second-tier extreme realm.

For the Ronte family today, such a person is their lifeline.

The group walked along the main road of the dock and came to a registration entrance built of gray stone.

Two stone pillars, engraved with wave patterns, stand at the entrance, with an iron sign hanging above them that reads "Registration Office for Foreigners in the Prisoner Star Islands".

Several guards dressed in silver-gray short coats stood nearby, with knives at their waists and silver seashell badges pinned to their shoulders.

There were many people in line.

There were merchants carrying wooden crates, sailors who had just disembarked, and several extraordinary outsiders who were clearly carrying weapons.

The guard behind the registration desk had a cold expression as he checked each person's credentials and inquired about their origin and purpose of stay.

When it was the turn of the Ront family, Karls first handed over his family credentials and then took out a pre-written document.

"The Langte Family Trading Company has returned from a purchasing trip. This is Mr. Siren, a family retainer we invited. He is preparing to stay in the Prisoner Star Islands for an extended period, and the Langte Family will provide the necessary guarantees."

The registrar looked up at Xilun.

That gaze was scrutinizing.

Xilun did not deliberately release his aura, nor did he adopt a domineering posture; he simply stood quietly.

His pale face made him look like he was recovering from a serious illness, but his dark eyes were so deep that the registrar glanced at him a few more times before subconsciously looking away.

"worship?"

The registrar glanced through the documents, his tone indifferent. "Has the Ronter family been able to afford offerings lately?"

Carls showed no embarrassment; instead, he smiled naturally.

"Thanks to the protection of the sea god, our family is not so poor that we cannot afford to entertain a single friend."

A young guard nearby chuckled but said nothing more.

The registrar asked Xilun a few more questions.

Name, origin, whether carrying prohibited cult items, whether having participated in pirate groups, and whether having been expelled from the Prisoner's Islands.

Xilun answered them one by one.

He used his real name.

The registrar wrote a few strokes on the bronze book, stamped it, and handed him a small gray iron plate.

"Temporary identity certificate, guaranteed by the Ronte family, is valid for three months."

If anything happens to the guarantor's family, the certificate will automatically become invalid.

After curfew, no one may appear in the upper-level streets of the main island without a valid reason. Fights are the responsibility of the individual; murders will be handled according to area regulations.

Xilun took the iron plate and ran his fingertips over the cool engravings on it.

"clear."

And so, he obtained his first legal status on the Prisoner Islands.

After leaving the registration desk, Carls visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Those people were from the Silver Shell Council," he explained in a low voice.

"The Prisoner Star Islands do not have a truly unified government, but the main islands and the major merchant guilds form the Silver Shell Council, which is responsible for ports, taxes, curfews, and some assessment matters. Once you have the credentials, things will be much easier for you later."

Xilun nodded.

"You said that the Lannister family's gathering place for demons is called Emerald Lake?"

"Yes." Kars's face showed a complex expression. "That's the place passed down from our ancestors, and it's our most important foundation now."

He led the way while explaining the situation of the Ronte family.

The Langte family started out by selling grains and preserved seafood. They also had several extraordinary individuals who were quite capable. At their peak, they owned three merchant ships and two dock warehouses.

However, in the past decade, the sea conditions have become increasingly severe, and attacks by sea monsters have become frequent. Several losses of shipping routes have severely damaged the family's vitality.

Several outstanding young individuals from the previous generation perished while hunting in the open sea, leaving the family with very few capable members.

"The patriarch is getting old," Kars sighed. "There are a few first-tier young people, but they are still far from second-tier. The assessment can't wait for anyone, and others won't wait for us to catch our breath."

Xilun listened without rushing to comment.

To get from the pier to Emerald Lake, you need to cross two connected islands.

They first traveled in a narrow carriage pulled by dwarf seahorses along a white road paved with seashell fragments.

Low stone houses line both sides of the road, their roofs mostly covered with moisture-proof black tiles, and seaweed, dried fish, and brightly colored cloths drying on the windowsills.

Some strange landscapes can be seen in the distance.

Half of a giant sea monster's spine stands in the center of the square as a road sign; a dried fish tail hangs from the top of a small church's bell tower; and several children are practicing throwing forks by a shallow pond, their laughter clear and bright, yet their wrists already showing some strength.

After crossing a wooden bridge, the salty smell in the air lessened, replaced by the damp scent of grass and trees.

Emerald Lake is located in the center of this island.

It was a lake that wasn't particularly large, with clear green water, like a gem polished by the sea breeze.

Large patches of soft grass grow along the lake, with water droplets clinging to the blades, sparkling in the sunlight.

A fine mist rose from the center of the lake, and as Xilun approached, he felt that the spiritual energy around him was much richer than that at the dock.

Not top-tier.

But for him, who had just arrived at the Chaotic Sea and needed quiet to recuperate, it was enough.

Around Emerald Lake are several interconnected bungalows with light-colored walls and dried herbs and seashell wind chimes hanging from the eaves.

Further away are warehouses, training grounds, kitchens, and several green planting areas.

There are many people coming and going.

There were men, women, and children, all dressed simply but cleanly, and they all greeted Karl when he returned.

Some people looked at Xilun with curiosity, especially after seeing his distinctive mainland clothing and pale complexion, their eyes filled with doubt.

Xilun glanced at it briefly, and a slight thought crossed his mind.

The Ronter family had more members than he had expected.

The number of the clansmen and their dependents who live here permanently is probably in the thousands.

If such a family were located in the lower part of Victoria, they would be considered a considerable force.

However, on the Prisoner Star Islands, due to the lack of high-level combat power and resource assessment, they may lose their foundation at any time.

This reaffirmed for Xiren that the rules here are even more brutal.

Having more people doesn't necessarily make a difference.

Without enough powerful extraordinary individuals, numbers can actually become a hindrance.

Carls led him to a detached house on the east side of Emerald Lake.

The house wasn't big, but it was very quiet and close to the lake.

Opening the window reveals a view of the lake and distant greenery. The room is fully furnished with a bed, desk, wardrobe, and bathroom, and even has two rows of empty medicine shelves.

"Sir, you'll be staying here for the time being," Carls said sincerely.

"The room has been cleaned. If there's anything you're not satisfied with, please let me know. The clan leader is currently handling affairs on the outer islands and will return to visit you in a few days. Until then, please rest assured and recuperate."

He then pointed to two servants waiting outside the door with their heads bowed.

"These two people are responsible for food, hot water, and daily cleaning. If my husband doesn't like people coming near, I can have them just leave their things at the door."

Xilun glanced at the two servants.

A middle-aged woman and a boy of about fourteen or fifteen years old both had their heads down and looked somewhat nervous.

"No need for too much trouble," Siren said. "Just bring water and food, and don't let anyone into the house."

"clear."

Karls left behind a few samples of local fruit and a simplified map of the Prisoner's Islands before taking his leave.