The game has become a real alternate world

Chapter 1140 - 795: Ferryman

The clamor of battle gradually receded, leaving only the rhythmic sound of waves hitting the ship’s hull.Of course, there were also the seagulls that are unavoidable at sea.

If these seagulls, as large as eagles and extraordinarily fierce, could still be considered seagulls.

After all, they hovered here, truly targeting the sea beast carcasses still drifting on the water surface.

Under normal circumstances, these sea beast carcasses would be considered pollutants, but given their close integration with the surrounding environment, pollution was no longer a concern.

Evidently, the seagulls were indifferent to this as well.

While the adventurers, weary but excited to have survived, discussed the changes in the Night Watchers, some sharp-eyed individuals noticed incongruous figures at the edges of the deck and at the lower stairway entrances of a few large ships.

These figures had not been seen before, and no one knew where they had suddenly emerged from. However, many people didn’t care too much; after all, each transport ship was quite large, and adventurers, while able to access most areas, still had some restricted areas.

These strangers were not wearing the Night Watchers’ signature, practical gray-black armor or uniforms.

Instead, they wore distinctly special attire in stark black and white.

Not entirely symmetrical, it seemed to deliberately blend these two extreme colors with solemn tailoring—perhaps a pure black robe edged with snow-white collars and cuffs lined with Silver, or a white undergarment covered by a long waistcoat edged with black runes.

The fabric was also quite peculiar, gleaming under the sunlight with a unique texture between leather and cloth, faintly radiating a metallic luster.

In any case, they stood out, vastly different from the ordinary Night Watchers, as if on a different level entirely.

Their behavior was also entirely distinct.

They lacked the sharpness of combat personnel and the efficiency of logistics personnel, exuding instead an indistinguishable aura of near-ritualistic solemnity and gravity.

A mysterious sense of the Order Society somehow emerged among them.

Their faces were covered with plain black or white masks, devoid of any marking, exposing only their eyes, making their expressions unfathomable.

As they moved, they made no sound, their footsteps steady as if treading on an altar instead of an iron deck.

Such presences were hard to ignore, but most adventurers neither spoke nor disturbed them, merely watching silently.

This group—about seven or eight per team—was scattered throughout the fleet.

When they appeared, the relaxed chatter on the deck unknowingly quieted significantly.

This wasn’t due to any command from the Night Watchers but an inexplicable, instinctive silence.

A Forest Elf Mage, who was analyzing the battle details with a companion, suddenly stiffened, her pale golden pupils contracting rapidly.

She instinctively gripped her magic staff, her previously relaxed pointed ears perking up alertly, slightly rotating backward as though catching some invisible fluctuation.

"Master Liya? What’s wrong?" asked the Dwarf Warrior, Durik, beside her.

Liya did not immediately respond but intently observed the "Black and White People" who had just approached a pile of Night Watcher Warrior remains torn apart by sea beasts.

Her voice carried an uncharacteristic, almost suppressed heaviness.

"I feel very uncomfortable. Don’t go over... don’t disturb them. The aura surrounding those people... is ominous.

"But also... heavy. It carries the flavor of deep immersion across the boundaries of life and death, directly dealing with souls and the underworld... very ancient, very profound, definitely not benign."

Her words immediately caught the attention of a few nearby adventurers.

A half-elf wanderer with a trace of elven blood quietly said, "I feel it too... very cold, very... hollow? Like standing next to an old cemetery just after rain."

However, only mages or creatures or professions sensitive to magic power fluctuations could sense this.

The other mercenaries couldn’t discern this detail, only knowing from appearance that these people were not to be trifled with. The mages spoke in mysterious terms, which the others couldn’t refute.

After all, mages were the elite among all professions, the most knowledgeable; without the ability and insight, it was better not to speak out of turn to avoid ridicule.

At this moment, the group of Black and White-attired Ferrymen had already begun their work.

They operated like precise machines, with clear division of duties, their movements devoid of any unnecessary sound.

Confronted with the remains, pale-skinned, or even missing limbs, they showed no trace of fear, disgust, or sadness.

One of them silently opened a similarly black-and-white box with a smooth surface, extracting a roll of cloth emitting faint energy waves.

This cloth was extremely peculiar—one side as black as the deepest night, the other as white as freshly fallen snow.

The black side seemed to absorb the surrounding light, while the white side appeared to emit a faint, cold glow. With extraordinary gentleness yet utmost precision, they treated each fallen warrior’s remains with this strange cloth as if handling the most precious and fragile work of art.

Even when wrapping the broken limbs, their actions carried a nearly religious ceremonial grandeur.

As the black and white cloth encased them, a chilling phenomenon occurred.

The gruesome wounds, flowing vile blood, and even the beginnings of decay seemed to be blocked by an invisible barrier.