Gun of Ashes

”Advance!”

The man stood at the bow of the ship, shouting loudly. As his voice echoed, the ironclad ship beneath his feet began to accelerate gradually. Accompanied by the restless boiler, it stirred up layer upon layer of waves, cleaving the sea like a sharp sword.

This was the fourth day of the Plague Doctor’s voyage. At full speed, he estimated his position to be close to the Ingwig waters; in about ten days, he would be out of Ingwig’s surrounding seas and reach the open seas between Ingwig and the Viking countries.

In recent years, human technology has made rapid progress, but not much has advanced in navigation. Once stepping into this vast ocean, one can only rely on personal experience and tools like nautical charts, compasses, and sextants. Thus, the control of sea regions by various countries is quite weak, and the Plague Doctor wasn’t too worried about encountering anything.

”Captain, I’ll leave these to you.”

After enjoying a moment of sea breeze, the Plague Doctor called out to a tall man beside him, who nodded at him and commanded the other sailors.

The Plague Doctor had no experience in long voyages, so Lawrence got him a reliable captain, reportedly one from the Gaulunaro military, but after meeting Lawrence, he became part of his Orthodoxy and also possessed the Secret Blood.

Before stepping into the cabin, the Plague Doctor glanced at the sea behind the ship. Several other ironclad ships equipped with cannons followed them, with rivets covering the Iron Armor, and the roar of turbines resounding.

All this was thanks to Lawrence’s support; without him, the Plague Doctor seemed truly incapable of forming such a fleet.

Walking into the dim cabin, the Plague Doctor opened his room door. Life at sea is dull and boring, and while people often talked about encountering pirates or something, the probability was pretty small.

This vast ocean is like a maze, and if you don’t take the main routes, you’re unlikely to encounter another ship. This is also an area humanity hasn’t completely conquered yet; it’s unpredictable, and no one knows its intentions.

The cabin slightly rocked, causing the experimental flasks on the table to sway along. However, the Plague Doctor had already secured everything in advance, even sealing each bottle mouth tightly.

In this modified room, at the other end, there was a larger space where an operating table stood. A person was fixed on it, but without light to illuminate everything, it was unclear whether he was dead or alive.

Suddenly, the ship shook violently, causing the cabin to jostle a few times, seemingly waking the person on the operating table. He let out a meaningless whimper, but the sound was faint and was quickly drowned by the sound of waves outside the porthole.

The Plague Doctor didn’t seem to notice these events. He stretched lazily and slowly walked to the desk.

Life at sea is quite dull, though that is relative. In this confined space, many people don’t know what to do, hence become restless, but the Plague Doctor was different. Whenever he had such time, he was happy, able to temporarily detach from the world and immerse himself in a research endeavor.

For instance, his academic work... if it can really be considered academic.

He pulled open a drawer where a black-covered notebook was hidden. Upon closer inspection, beneath this notebook were many more black-covered notebooks. However, the other notebooks appeared weathered, with scratched surfaces and slightly cracked spines.

The Plague Doctor considered himself a doctor and a scholar. In his incredibly long lifespan, to seek the truth of life, the so-called Truth, he, like other scholars, conducted countless studies, leaving behind a large number of experiment records and notes.

This was his latest notebook, and if nothing unexpected happened, it would most likely be his last. Thinking of this, the Plague Doctor touched the notebook’s pristine cover with a bit of excitement.

The sound of waves continued outside the window, and gradually dark clouds gathered, suggesting a storm was approaching, but none of this affected the Plague Doctor’s mood. The knowledge he craved was at the end of this course, waiting for him to unearth it.

Opening the notebook to the latest page, the Plague Doctor prepared to continue his previous thoughts but for some reason suddenly recalled his conversation with Lawrence.

While helping him install these experimental devices on the ship, Lawrence asked him, if Truth really existed at the end of the course, then what was the meaning of the Plague Doctor’s pursuit now? His answer was at the end; as long as he arrived there, it was fine, so why continue to strive?

The Plague Doctor chuckled without saying a word. He knew warriors like Lawrence naturally found it difficult to comprehend his thoughts. Allowing him to leave in pursuit of Truth was already a great act of tolerance.

He did understand that at the course’s end, he would receive all the answers, but that was merely the result. The Plague Doctor preferred to enjoy the process: exhausting all minds, resorting to any measures, using one bloody brutal experiment after another to prove clues until arriving at the Truth.

It’s like a puzzle game. The Plague Doctor yearned for the ultimate answer but was equally enamored by the pursuit process.

”So where should I begin writing?”

The Plague Doctor pondered for a moment as if an idea had formed, and began writing.