Manager, give me a membership card too!

One hour, two hours, three hours.

Just as the sun outside the telegraph room window began to slant westward, and the special envoy thought he was going to wait in vain, the telegraph machine in front of him suddenly started beeping. The man, his face beaming with joy, quickly picked up a pen and began copying down the words beside the telegraph machine. In no time, he had translated the punctuation and lines into a somewhat strange sentence.

'AF may be short of fresh water; supplies will arrive in one day.'

Become!

Staring at the telegram in his hand, the special envoy stood up excitedly, unable to contain his excitement.

The mercenaries' ships have once again caught up with the Titanic and will be able to reach the giant ship in a day. All I need to do is tamper with the engine room, then I can hide in the prepared refuge room and wait for it all to end.

Excitement, elation, and a sense of relief filled the special envoy with the joy of pushing open the telegraph room door and jogging towards his room. He didn't even notice when he accidentally bumped into someone, his mind filled with thoughts of the extravagant and blissful life that lay ahead.

"That person is so rude."

He stretched his left shoulder, which he had bumped, and watched the envoy's departing figure with a displeased expression. He muttered a couple of things under his breath before turning and stepping into the telegraph room. As soon as he entered, the tall, seemingly adult-like boy looked at the empty telegraph room with a puzzled expression and muttered in confusion:

"Where are the telegraph operators and mail handlers? Does such a large cruise ship not even have someone to manage the telegraph room?"

Meanwhile, Joseph Joestar, who was sitting in the telegraph room waiting for the telegraph operator (who was also the special envoy) to return after he had already left in a state of ecstasy, was on the sea half a day's journey away from the Titanic. A small steamship was speeding ahead at full speed, as if it were in a great hurry.

This is an ordinary steamship, typically used for transporting various goods and fishing in the open sea. However, this ship is not carrying merchants or fishermen, but rather a group of free mercenaries composed of exiled troops from Tsarist Russia. While taking on various missions around the world to earn money, they secretly plot to overthrow the Soviet government and restore the glory of the Third Roman Empire.

This time, these veterans were hired by the White Star Line to destroy their most prized possession—the unsinkable Titanic.

After receiving the first deposit, these ruthless mercenaries set sail from another port, following the Titanic all the way. They planned to wait until they reached a point in the deep ocean where no one could rescue them, then board the ship to kill, burn, rob, and rape women. Finally, they would plant a bomb to blast a large hole in the bottom of the ship, thus successfully completing their mission.

The mercenaries' ideals were lofty, but reality was harsh. Just as the group of mercenaries were preparing to speed up and board the ship to start the fight, a thick dark cloud suddenly covered the entire sea area, and a terrifying storm began to rage almost instantly.

Compared to the Titanic, a large and powerful ship that could withstand storms and fearlessly plunge into the raging torrents, this small boat, less than a tenth the size of its counterpart, had no confidence that it could emerge unscathed from the storm. Therefore, they chose a relatively safer route, leaving the most turbulent area and sailing in a calmer region, waiting for the storm to subside before continuing their mission.

This decision was undoubtedly both strategic and fortunate, as it inadvertently allowed the mercenaries to escape Kexila's mental indoctrination and escape the storm zone alive.

Now, after a period of pursuit, the mercenaries have finally found the Titanic again, and the mission can continue.

Chapter 467 The Horror Cruise

Chapter 467 The Horror Cruise

Alexei Stokkov, a 52-year-old man with the same name as the Russian Crown Prince, was a lieutenant general in the Tsarist Russian government-in-exile. He was responsible for leading a group of the most elite imperial soldiers to fight around the world and collect the materials and wealth needed to restore the Russian Empire.

After the execution of Tsar Nicholas II and his family in 1918, the government-in-exile was once paralyzed with despair. It was not until Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, a living imperial princess, appeared before Stokkov and others that they regained their spirits and threw themselves back into the plan to restore the country.

Now, eleven years have passed. Most of the loyal soldiers who followed the royal family back then are dead. Even the dignified Imperial Lieutenant General has been reduced to a mercenary serving merchants, numbing himself with the ideal of restoring the country while watching in despair as the red bear grows stronger and more united.

Lieutenant General Stokkov awoke from his vodka-induced stupor, clutching his throbbing forehead as he instinctively picked up the glass bottle by his bedside and took large gulps of vodka.

The pungent, sweet nectar of life flowed down his throat into his empty stomach. The burning pain in his stomach lining stimulated the middle-aged man, quickly bringing him back to his senses. His previously dazed and dejected eyes became sharp and bright. Unfortunately, this expression only lasted for a moment. The next second, the dazed and dejected look returned to Stokkov's face.

"General, you're awake? It's already evening."

The speaker was Vasily, the adjutant who had always been by Stokev's side. For decades, this old comrade had remained as loyal and reliable as they had been in their youth.

Raising the glass bottle again, using the high-proof alcohol to numb the pain in his stomach, the bearded Stokoff staggered to his feet. He gulped down his vodka and asked in a low voice, "How far has the 'mission' progressed? Has that damned spy still not fixed the ship's engine?"

With a neat buzz cut interspersed with weathered white hair, the no-longer-young Vasily took the empty bottle from Stokkov and answered in the same serious tone as in the army:

"General, the spy has sent back a message that the Titanic's propulsion system has been successfully disabled. The ship is now stuck in the middle of the sea and will be immobilized for at least several hours. I have already assembled our men in advance, and they are ready to carry out the mission at your command."

"Has that guy fixed the engine yet? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Stokoff wiped the wine stains off his beard, somewhat puzzled. However, under the influence of alcohol, he quickly put the thought aside, slowly straightened up, draped the officer's cloak that symbolized his former glory over his shoulders, stepped past his adjutant Vasily, and walked towards the captain's cabin.

"Let's go to the deck."

The night was pitch black, not a single star could be seen. Thick, dark clouds shrouded the night sky over the Atlantic Ocean, giving Stokkov a vague sense of unease, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong.

Standing on the somewhat dilapidated deck of the small steamer, Stokkov raised his binoculars and looked at the enormous vessel that was hidden in the dark night not far away.

The Titanic, the world's largest and most luxurious cruise ship, was also their destination. This destination, now completely powerless, floats silently on the sea, rising and falling gently with the ceaseless waves, as quiet as a tomb.

With a furrowed brow, Stokkov put down his binoculars and turned to his adjutant Vasily beside him, asking with a puzzled look, "Didn't you say only the propulsion system would be disabled? Why is the whole ship black? It looks like a ghost ship."

The capable-looking adjutant shook his head helplessly, seemingly puzzled as well: "It was like this when we arrived, the entire ship was pitch black, without a single light. But I can confirm that this is the Titanic we were tracking."

Something unusual was bound to happen. The Titanic's current state instantly alerted the veteran, Stockov, who became secretly wary. However, the lieutenant general quickly dismissed his concerns. It was just a cruise ship with 2000 people, perhaps with a few bodyguards; they were no match for his elite mercenaries. "I must have drunk too much vodka to have such strange thoughts," he thought.

Subconsciously, Lieutenant General Stokkov took a small sip from a silver flask in his pocket, handed his binoculars to his adjutant Vasily, and turned to look at the ship's deck.

On the deck, dozens of men dressed in dark clothing stood in neat rows. They raised their heads slightly and looked calmly at their leader and captain, former Imperial Lieutenant General Stokoff.

Looking at the figure in front of him, who was seventy or eighty percent less than he remembered, Stokoff felt a pang of inexplicable pain in his heart. He subconsciously took out the silver flask from his pocket again and took a sip of the strong vodka.

“You are all veterans, so I won’t say anything meaningless to you; that would be an insult to you soldiers.” Stokoff, holding his flask, pointed to the Titanic silently sinking in the distance and spoke in a calm, almost indifferent tone:

"The Titanic, one of the most luxurious cruise ships in the world, is boarded by families at least of middle class. I promise you that of all the loot we plunder in this operation, half will be handed over to the 'national treasury' as usual, and the other half will be divided equally among you all. I will not take a single penny. The women on board are also yours to enjoy."

"Murder! Robbery! Rob women! Until dawn, this Titanic is your paradise. You can do whatever you want, and no one can restrain you. But after dawn, I want to see this ship sink. Can you do that, warriors of the Empire?"

Upon hearing Stokoff's promise, the men standing on the deck exchanged glances, their faces revealing bloodthirsty, savage smiles like those of jackals, and slowly nodded to their leader.

"Your will."

"Then, let's set off, warriors of the empire."

The men, their faces bearing sickly, cruel smiles, took their equipment and quietly and skillfully assembled into several small teams. They boarded several speedboats and headed towards the distant Titanic. Meanwhile, on the ship that served as their base, Stokoff watched the receding waves, his eyes revealing undisguised heartache.

In just ten years, the Empire's most elite, loyal, and courageous guards transformed into a group of bloodthirsty and cruel madmen who took pleasure in killing and torture, abandoning their former glory and honor to wholeheartedly embrace death and destruction. Most tragically, General Stokoff himself was one of these madmen.

Tilting his head back, he drained the last bit of liquor from his silver flask. Standing at the bow of the ship, Stokoff wore a strange smile that was both manic and calm, just like those former guardsmen who were now elite mercenaries. He took the submachine gun handed to him by his adjutant, Valishi, and turned to walk toward his own speedboat.

The rapidly spinning propellers drew a long white trail across the sea as Stokkov, accompanied by his adjutant Vasily and several personal guards, arrived at the Titanic, which lay quietly ashore.

Looking up at the colossal vessel that stood dozens of meters tall, the lieutenant general raised his hand and waved it downwards. A harpoon gun on the speedboat fired with a muffled thud. The sharp and sturdy metal harpoon, along with its cable, traversed more than twenty meters under powerful propulsion and firmly embedded itself in the side wall of the Titanic's second deck.

After testing the rope at the end of the metal harpoon to see if it was secure, Stokkov refused his adjutant Vasily's request to be the first to board the ship, grabbed the rope in his hand, and began to climb upwards.

Even at the age of fifty-two, and despite indulging in alcohol and women, Stokoff was still as agile as an ape, climbing upwards almost without stopping, and soon reached the deck of the Titanic.

As soon as he climbed onto the deck, the sight before him made Stockov frown slightly.

It's too quiet, abnormally quiet.

At this moment, the Titanic was as silent as a graveyard at midnight, with not a soul in sight, which was completely different from what Stockov had imagined.

Under normal circumstances, even if a cruise ship loses power, there should be some activity on board. Not to mention the patrolling sailors and ship security guards, it's impossible for all 2000-plus passengers to stay quietly in their cabins; some would definitely be moving around and talking.

But to Stockov today, the Titanic is like a ghost ship, completely deserted, eerily quiet.

Just as the lieutenant general instinctively became alert once again, a dull thud sounded behind him, attracting Stockov's attention and causing him to turn around and look back.

It was his adjutant, Vasily, the loyal adjutant who had followed in Stokev's footsteps and had already arrived on the Titanic.

Seeing the unusual expression on his superior's face, the adjutant Vasily cautiously scanned the surroundings, stepped forward, and whispered, "What happened, General?"

Upon hearing his subordinate's question, Stockov was about to answer when his expression suddenly froze. He paused for half a second, then calmly replied in a low voice, "Everything is normal. Leave two men here to guard the mooring lines. The rest of you come with me to the captain's cabin."

"Yes, General."

Upon receiving the order, the adjutant Vasily casually assigned two bodyguards to stay behind and then picked up his gun and followed Stockov toward the Titanic's captain's cabin.

'Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump...'

The crisp sound of sturdy leather boots striking the hardwood floor echoed far, far away in the pitch-black cabin...

Wearing military-grade L-shaped flashlights on their chests, Stokoff and his group walked through the cabins of the Titanic. The quiet, dark environment heightened their senses to the limit, and they could even faintly hear their own hearts beating slowly in their chests.

Thump, thump, thump

Strong and powerful, the throbbing sound symbolized vigorous vitality, but to Stockov it was so noisy and grating that it almost drove him mad.

My heart is pounding...it's so noisy...so annoying, the corridor is so long...why aren't we there yet? The design plans clearly don't show it being this far...

His breathing grew heavy without him even realizing it, and his eyes, irritated by alcohol, gradually became bloodshot. Stokoff gripped his submachine gun tightly, his eyes glaring fiercely at everything around him.

The empty corridors and passageways, the monotonous cabin doors, and the occasional eerie sounds of seawater churning the hull.

Suddenly, Stokev, who was walking at the front of the squad, stopped. His adjutant, Vasily, who was following behind and nearly bumped into him, also stopped. Thinking their commander had encountered the enemy, Vasily immediately raised his weapon, stepped forward, and shielded Stokev behind him. While scanning the area with his hawk-like eyes, he whispered:

"General?"

The silent Stockov did not answer the adjutant's question. After standing still for a few seconds, he suddenly raised his leg and kicked the tightly closed cabin door next to him. The sturdy wooden door made a piercing groan under the man's full force, and then gave up resistance under Stockov's second kick, opening with a bang.

Picking up his submachine gun, Stokkov leaned into the cabin, his face growing increasingly grim as he looked at the empty room.

"Kick down the door! Kick the door open!"

Seeing their leader's grim expression, the adjutant Vasily and the others cast questioning glances at him. Stokkov said nothing, but waved his hand, ordering them to kick open the doors of the nearby cabins. The soldiers didn't ask why, but quickly scattered, kicking open door after door.

Empty, empty, empty, all empty.

One door after another opened amidst the ear-piercing thud of being kicked, and with each door opened, the expression on Stokoff's face grew increasingly grim.

"Enough, all of you, come back!"

After gathering his men, Stokoff's face was extremely grim.

The deserted cruise ship, the eerily quiet atmosphere, and the fact that they had come into contact with something before the collapse of the Russian Empire—Stokov knew they were under some kind of 'mysterious' influence and could be in danger at any moment.

The instant the thought crossed Stokoff's mind, his expression suddenly froze, then turned blank. The next second, however, a gleaming dagger plunged into his left palm, blood spurting out.

The sudden, intense pain jolted Stockov's mind, bringing back to the clarity of information that had almost been forgotten.

"General?!"

"Don't worry about me! Retreat! Retreat now!"

Pushing aside his adjutant Vasily, who was trying to check on his injuries, Stokkov raised his right hand, pulled out the dagger embedded in his left palm and threw it aside. He then skillfully pulled out gauze from his waist to wrap his wound and began to run wildly back the way he came.

Chapter 468

Chapter 468 The Horror Cruise - End

Heavy breathing and hurried footsteps echoed in the empty cabin. Stokev, clutching his bleeding hand from the exertion, ran back to the speedboat.

Before they knew it, the surroundings had turned completely dark, with only the L-shaped military flashlight on their chests stubbornly emitting its last rays of light, guiding them back to the speedboat.

Finally, as the last hatch was breached, the mercenaries returned to the deck of the ship, but Stockov's face showed no sign of relief; instead, it looked even uglier.

Because at this moment, the deck was completely empty except for them. The dozens of mercenaries who should have returned after receiving the retreat signal were nowhere to be seen, and even the two men who were left to guard the ropes had vanished, leaving only two dark guns lying forlornly on the ground.

Vasily, the adjutant standing behind Stokkov, also realized the seriousness of the situation. He stepped forward, squatted down, and used the light from the L-shaped flashlight on his chest to observe the positions where the two sentries had stood, trying to find any possible clues.

There was no struggle, no blood, not even bullet marks from the firing. Apart from a few water stains, it was as if some unstoppable force had directly seized the two sentries who remained behind, leaving no room for resistance.

Picking up one of the water-stained guns, Vasily returned to Stokev's side, looked at his gloomy-faced superior, and gave him an inquiring look.

"One minute, we'll wait one minute. If they don't come back in one minute, we'll leave."

Stokoff practically spat out those words. His soldier's instincts told him that evacuating the ship immediately was the right thing to do, but his decades-long bond with his subordinates prevented him from making that 'right' decision.

Those were his brothers who had fought alongside him in countless battles, through blood and fire, from thousands to only a few dozen. If he were to leave like this, the Guards Legion would be completely wiped out.

It was only by reasoning that Stockov decided not to rush back into the Titanic's cabins to rescue people.

Time ticked by, and the atmosphere on the deck gradually grew quiet. The disheveled man with a thick beard stared intently at the ticking time on his pocket watch, his slightly worried gaze gradually turning cold and calm.

Beep beep beep~ Card~

Finally, when the second hand on his pocket watch pointed to the Roman numeral XII (12), Stokoff silently closed his gold watch and turned to walk toward the Titanic's side.

No footsteps, no gunshots, no sound—his teammates...would never return.

By this time, Stockov had regained his composure from the initial panic and realized that his mission had failed. Not only had he gained nothing, but he had also lost dozens of his closest companions.

He will discuss all of this thoroughly with the White Star Line people. They dared to give him false information and conceal the "mysterious" message on the Titanic; they must pay the price!

As he plotted his revenge, Stockov was about to reach for the cable that was secured to the second deck with a metal harpoon when a hurried whisper came from behind him.

"General, little..."

Vasily?!

The familiar voice that had echoed in his ears for decades allowed Stockov to recognize the owner of the voice even though he had only heard it briefly. However, when he turned around warily with his gun in hand, the deck behind him had returned to silence and emptiness, with not a single person in sight.

Vasily was gone... and his personal guards were gone too. Only Stokev remained on the vast deck. A strange terror and dread, accompanied by a profound sense of helplessness, instantly overwhelmed Stokev's mind and consciousness, causing his breathing to quicken involuntarily.

Da da da~ Da da da~ Da da da~

The dazzling flashes of light and the roar of gunfire echoed across the deck of the Titanic. Stokoff pulled the trigger all the way down, firing incessantly in all directions at the non-existent enemy.

But apart from making a series of crisp metallic clanging sounds when the bullets hit the deck of the ship, they didn't hit anything, and the surroundings remained empty.

The gunshots echoed across the sea, like a mocking laugh at Stokkov's incompetence. Even the gentle breeze seemed to scorn his weakness.

Something... is affecting my mind, making me foolish, hesitant, cowardly, and irrational.