Darkstone Code

Chapter 678 - 0675 is gone again

"Monster?"

A group of idle sailors immediately crowded over, standing beside Conni and gazing at the distant sea surface.

Generally speaking, when people are on a ship, their vision cannot penetrate the sea surface; due to the refraction of light and other reasons, they cannot see what’s beneath the sea.

But objects above the sea surface are quite conspicuous, like a piece of black patch without light reflection on a shimmering silver water surface.

People instantly spotted that thing, and some young men loudly speculated about what it might be.

"Maybe it’s a whale..."

"Maybe it’s a mola..."

The sailors happily speculated, with Conni eagerly joining in, "Could be a submarine..."

The surrounding sailors’ laughter disappeared instantly; each person looked at Conni with an expression of "Do you know what you’re saying?" The downward curve of their lips and clenched fists made Conni realize he had misspoken.

"Hey, I mean..."

Before he could explain anything, a violent explosion sounded, flipping the armed escort ship upside down.

The explosion wasn’t like in the movies with towering flames, but rather a massive splash suddenly erupted below the waterline, embedded with black smoke. Then the armed escort ship was flipped sideways, bottom down, beginning to sink slowly.

The armed personnel who fell into the water desperately swam elsewhere; the silent sinking of the ship would create a whirlpool, and if unlucky, they’d be dragged down to the seabed.

Fortunately, the ship was overturned, and sinking would’ve taken some time, providing enough opportunity to escape the fatal area.

The events that occurred in such a short time were so shocking that everyone lost the ability to speak.

The Federation people are not a "gutsy" nation, at least not yet, "gutsy①," facing such scenes almost akin to war, the only thing they could do was run away desperately.

But on the sea, where could people run to?

With the "plop" of falling water, people seemed to snap back, and a sailor lowered a lifeboat.

According to the Federation’s relevant laws, the capacity of lifeboats on sea ships must meet twice the nuclear capacity of the vessel.

This was a cargo ship, with a small nuclear capacity, thus only one lifeboat was suspended on each side of the ship.

As Conni ran towards the other side of the ship, he inadvertently glanced back and saw something like a swordfish swiftly heading towards the freighter...

With a loud bang, more like the wailing of twisted metal, as the almost sky-covering water descended, the ship body began to lean, an opening blew out at the bottom, seawater swiftly surged in, ears full of alarm noises...

During the explosion, the sailors were knocked onto the deck, and after a few seconds, they climbed up, pinching their noses as they jumped into the water.

Conni also followed everyone into the water, then there were the cursing captain and first mate; almost everyone got onto the boat except for those in the boiler room.

Together, they rowed the lifeboat far away, watching the freighter slowly capsize, each having a complicated expression on their face.

The disheveled captain patted a young man’s shoulder beside him, a smile appearing on his face, "This isn’t bad news, at least for us."

Everyone’s gaze focused on him, and he responded to every one of them with his gaze, "Look, twice, the first time we encountered robbers, the second time this kind of..." He didn’t even know how to describe it, "But we survived."

"That’s the best part; we’ve faced the worst situations twice, but now we’ve survived; there’s nothing more thrilling than this, narrowly escaping death."

"Each one of you is now a ’Legendary Sailor.’ You can boast about the experiences you’ve been through on any ship to anyone, and no one can refute you."

Originally indeed unfortunate, but with the captain’s words, everyone felt perhaps they were really quite lucky.

The still-dazed Conni suddenly asked, "That submarine won’t come and attack us, right?"

The previously harmonious atmosphere instantly froze to ice, the captain clenched his fists, considering it wasn’t the time to hit someone, he forced a smile and said, "According to international conventions, even belligerent nations cannot massacre civilians..."

Ultimately, these people safely gathered with those who escaped from the armed escort ship, with the help of the simple compass on the old captain’s neck, they rowed vigorously towards the Amelia shore.

More than a day later, everyone was exhausted, and the emergence of the coastline revived some who had already despaired.

Yes, despair; from the thrill of survival to despair only took a day.

Behaviorists once conducted an experiment; they built two passages, one pitch-black, where nothing could be seen, and the other filled with brightness.

They divided the participants into pairs, with one walking through a pitch-black passage and the other through a brightly lit passage.

Both passages were the same length, without any obstacles, and one could walk out of them by taking strides forward in about fifteen minutes.

Yet, among all the participants, only one person emerged from the unseen passage, while everyone else failed. In contrast, everyone who walked the brightly lit passage eventually emerged.

Seeing and not seeing provide two extreme types of feedback, much like these sailors floating on the sea.

They rowed tirelessly yet never saw the coastline; from initial excitement, their morale declined, numbness ensued, and in little time, despair set in—the moment their efforts seemed hopeless, despair found them.

Not to mention the lack of fresh water and food exacerbating emotional decline. The fact that they managed to persist without emotional breakdowns until now is somewhat remarkable.

If any one of them was taken out and left alone on a lifeboat, they might have collapsed long ago.

And this proves the power of collective strength.

Several hours later, these people finally reached shore, finding those sent by the company to receive the cargo at the port hotel.

"I thought you would arrive a bit earlier, did you encounter a storm?" The person speaking wore a... faintly sarcastic expression. The captain looked disheveled, first drenched by seawater then scorched by the sun, his face both black and red, neck peeling, his appearance not much better than the locals.

Thus, the question seemed to inquire whether they encountered a storm to look so haggard, yet it was mere sarcasm.

The captain took out a pipe, rudely opened the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, crumbled two into it, even using the other’s lighter.

He watched the other’s displeased face, puffing and exhaling slowly, as if he was elevated, a rebirth completed at that moment.

He casually remarked, "The ship sank, along with our cargo!"

...

At eleven-thirty, a sleeping time, Mr. Wardrick, dressed in pajamas, had just finished a friendly match with his wife and was preparing to sleep contently when the phone rang abruptly.

He whispered a few words to his wife, suggesting she sleep first, then draped a coat over himself before heading to the study.

"What happened?" he asked while supporting the receiver with his shoulder, lighting a solid-colored cigarette. He knew such calls at this hour weren’t made in jest.

In the Federation, there was a clear distinction between public and private, and once the working hours ended, people didn’t want to be disturbed.

They didn’t want to be disturbed, nor did they wish to disturb others, except as a last resort.

This call was no prank; the solid-colored smoke rolled in his mouth, nicotine absorbed through mucous membranes, rapidly taking effect. He was prepared: "I hope it isn’t bad news."

The receiver fell silent for two seconds, then a heavy voice replied, "Our ship sank." Perhaps the description lacked detail, so the person on the other end added, "The ship heading to the Amelia Region sank, along with our cargo."

Mr. Wardrick took about ten seconds to respond, "Does anyone else know?"

"The board convened an emergency meeting overnight. If you’re available, come to the company; if not, join the conference call—here’s the number..."

Mr. Wardrick pondered, "I’ll come to the company; prepare a car for me."

After hanging up, he sat there, taking several drags from the solid-colored cigarette, an indiscernible expression on his face, undoubtedly Lynch’s handiwork.

His appraisal of Lynch rose further; if the military’s rapport had reached the level of attacking domestic merchant vessels, Lynch’s value obviously needed reassessment.

Half an hour later, Mr. Wardrick, suited up, appeared in the board meeting hall, where many had gathered, while others, caught off guard and elsewhere in Bupen, joined the conference call.

After waiting a bit more, when the last person connected, the meeting formally began.

"I just asked the shipping company, salvaging our ship would cost about ten million." The board chairman pressed his temples, clearly troubled.

"Including various other losses, we’ve written off another twenty million, gentlemen, twenty million!"

"Adding the previous fourteen million lost, without accomplishing anything, we lost so much already—who can tell how much more we’ll lose?"

His voice wasn’t angry, nor loud, yet no one dared to overlook its severity.

Wardrick sat to one side, expression stern, though his eyes harbored an elusive hint of amusement; he had almost won this round.

-

①, a slang similar to "manly."