Chapter 192

Chapter 192: Sea King Festival

Midi busied himself organizing intelligence from the gamble while caring for the two Dragonkin.

The "Hand of Nightmare," Wiseman, dedicated his time to extracting pure magic and strengthening the Zhenlu Arena.

Whether it was the Lionheart Arena, the Zhenlu Arena, or the ever-remarkable Count of Saint Tower Island, all prominent figures seemed to vanish. The two dominant factions on the West Coast focused on their own growth, leaving Faero Bay calm and tranquil before the arrival of its grandest event—the Sea King Festival.

This peace lulled the major maritime families into believing the unrest along the West Coast was fading.

Balls, tea parties, and various entertainments flourished.

Only a handful sensed this was the final lull before the storm.

Days slipped by swiftly.

At last, the Sea King Festival began.

Over centuries, rituals once meant to pacify the ocean and bless fishermen had warped into a competition where maritime families flaunted power, status, and scheming. Yet the festival’s location never changed: Sky Sea Island.

This modest island, unclaimed by any West Coast faction, was governed by the Faero Bay City Council. Guarded year-round by an honor fleet, it barred fishing and trade vessels within hundreds of kilometers. Only during the festival did it open to outsiders.

To many, Sky Sea Island was a sacred site.

Now, only the most influential maritime families and rising powers earned the qualification to tread its shores.

Sea King Island’s four deep-water ports brimmed with five-masted ships—each the flagship of a family head.

Patrolling fleets circled the island, showcasing their personal power to deter rivals.

On land, however, tradition and manners took precedence.

The hall gleamed with crystal chandeliers, golden decor, and plush carpets. Forty-year Bordeaux wines and rare delicacies like North Sea eels and Stoneland goat leg graced the tables. Even Faero Bay’s own treasures paled in comparison.

Attendants and maidens catered tirelessly, crafting an ambiance rivaling Belmar’s royal balls. Though the West Coast lacked nobility, the event’s extravagance surpassed old court traditions.

Aside from family heads, only Young Talents—first heirs or those with soaring reputations—attended. No ordinary heir, however privileged, could boast status beside Yunlang and Flying Sail, who commanded hundreds of ships.

Yet unlike typical balls, here, neither youthful rivalries nor dazzling socialites took center stage. All remained low-profile, aware they were mere backdrop to the true protagonists: the family heads.

As the hall filled, figures like Yunlang and Flying Sail arrived, flanked by guards. Exchanging smiles, they bypassed the festivities, ascending a broad path to a cliffside platform.

Perched at the island’s peak, the platform offered views stretching across Sea King Island and the surrounding seas.

At its center stood ten fire altars. The largest loomed in the middle, encircled by nine smaller ones spiraling outward. Blue magic flames blazed within each—the Ten Direction Beacon for the Sea King Festival’s rites.

For those who lived by the sea, direction meant life itself, making lighthouses their closest partners. The Ten Direction Beacon stood on Sea King Island as both lighthouse and gateway to the West Coast, guiding all vessels through these waters.

The family replacing the magic flame in the largest fire altar would claim the title of West Coast’s first family, with subsequent alters determining the remaining top ten rankings. Such was the tradition of the Sea King Festival.

"Why delay? Let’s settle the rankings now so we can all enjoy the festivities without worry," announced the Flying Sail Family head, sweeping his gaze across the gathered crowd.

"Impatient as ever, Flying Sail?" boomed the Yunlang Family head, last year’s champion. "First flame rights remain ours regardless of your haste."

Though annual challenges occurred, the West Coast’s power structure rarely shifted beyond the lower rankings. The true rivalry for the primary fire altar always came down to these two families. When they spoke, other family heads fell silent, awaiting the outcome before squabbling over third place.

"Enough talk!" The Flying Sail patriarch snapped his fingers. "We’ll show proper respect to the Sea God first!"

Wells hurried forward with a flare gun. The family head fired it skyward, the brilliant signal glow piercing the clouds. A deep foghorn answered from the horizon.

Three ironclad ships emerged through the mist, their steel hulls glinting coldly despite the distance. Wells’ designed warships moved with ominous weight, dwarfing ordinary wooden vessels. The triple deployment stunned the onlookers.

The ironclads separated with ceremonial horn blasts before unleashing their cannons at empty waters. Explosions sent towering geysers skyward, the concussive blasts leaving rival families pale-faced. Such firepower surpassed current West Coast defenses.

The Yunlang leader answered with his own flare. Six three-masted full square-rigged ships appeared, skimming waves like dragonflies. Their magical propulsion left barely a ripple as they formed an arrowhead formation. Instead of cannons, razor-sharp water blades shot from their prows, slicing the sea itself.

Where the ironclads relied on magical engines and brute force, the Yunlang vessels wielded magic as weaponry. Heavy armor versus liquid blades – an impossible comparison without true combat. This was pageantry, not war; neither family would risk mutual destruction for others’ benefit.

As the standoff continued, an old man in martial robes stepped forward. His raspy voice cut through the murmurs: "I’m Mintai, Grand Commander of Xuzu Kingdom’s armies and Liufeng’s mentor. Those ‘bird ships’ simply use Xuzu water-control stones. Nothing remarkable."

The implications needed no emphasis. Yunlang’s alliance with Xuzu Kingdom became glaringly clear.