High Martial: I Use Everything as Swords

Dragon’s Fang Port, the foremost outpost of the East Sea Fortress City.

To call it a port was a stretch; in reality, it was just a temporary stronghold forcibly cobbled together on a massive coastal reef cluster using quick-dry cement and alloy plates.

Waves crashed against the rusted breakwater, letting out a dull roar.

For the past month, this place had been a paradise for Gold Diggers.

The air always reeked of a mixture of cheap alcohol, the stench of the sea, and low-quality engine oil.

But today, a nauseating stench of fear had been added to the mix.

Old Zhang was an old hand who’d been getting by at the docks for twenty years. He’d lost an eye in the mines years ago and had it replaced with a second-hand prosthetic that would occasionally spark.

He clutched a large wrench, squatting behind a pile of cargo containers, his single eye fixed on a nearby berth.

A farce was unfolding there.

"Let me on! I’m the vice-president of the Hongyuan Trading Company! I have a priority pass!"

A fat man in a silk Tang suit was waving a thin magnetic card in his hand, the flesh on his face trembling with agitation.

Two bodyguards carrying large leather suitcases followed him, trying to shove aside the guard blocking their way.

The guard was a pockmarked greenhorn, but he held his rifle steady, the muzzle aimed right at the fat man’s nose.

"Orders from above. All civilian vessels are to be immediately commandeered for priority transport of the wounded and non-combatants. Your pass is worthless here."

"Worthless? Do you have any idea what’s in this case? It’s Spirit Crystals! The payment for this entire shipment!"

The fat man grew desperate. He pulled a handful of Spirit Coins from his pocket and tried to shove them into the guard’s hands.

"Come on, brother, just help me out. Just one spot..."

SMACK!

Before the guard could speak, a large hand shot out from the side and slapped the Spirit Coins out of the air.

The security captain in charge of the port’s public order walked over, his face dark, and kicked the fat man in the ass.

"Get lost! One more word out of you and I’ll fucking shoot you! If you want to live, get in the back of the line!"

The fat man cried out and scrambled back into the crowd.

Old Zhang spat on the ground and stuck the wrench into his belt.

"A bunch of idiots," he muttered.

These rich folks were used to throwing their weight around, but when their lives were on the line, they weren’t even as quick-witted as rats scrambling in the mud.

He looked up at the sea in the distance.

Something was wrong with the sky out there.

It was two in the afternoon, when the sun should have been at its most scorching, yet a thick layer of gray clouds pressed down on the horizon.

The clouds didn’t look like they were floating in the sky. It was more like they had grown out of the water itself—viscous, heavy, and reeking of death.

And it was too quiet.

Aside from the sound of the nearby waves, there was no sound at all from the expanse of gray clouds in the distance.

Seagulls, schools of fish, even the sound of the wind—it was as if they were all swallowed up the moment they reached it.

"Old Zhang!"

A low shout broke his train of thought.

A young man in greasy work clothes ran over, hunched low, still clutching a half-eaten can of food.

"You heard it too, didn’t you? That sound."

Old Zhang glanced at him sideways. "What sound?"

"That humming."

The young man scratched his head, his face a little pale. "It’s like a woman is breathing right next to my ear. It’s making my skin crawl."

Old Zhang’s heart skipped a beat.

His prosthetic eye had a noise-canceling feature, and his hearing wasn’t great to begin with, so he hadn’t heard a thing.

But seeing the dockworkers around them gradually stop what they were doing, their faces blank and confused, he knew this was serious.

"Plug your ears!"

Old Zhang growled, pulling two wads of greasy cotton gauze from his pocket and unceremoniously stuffing them into the young man’s ears.

"Don’t listen if you want to live!"

...

「Thirty nautical miles from Dragon’s Fang Port, deep within the fog.」

A Ghost Ship, pitch-black and shaped like a coffin, hovered silently above the waves.

A figure wrapped in a gray robe stood on the bow.

A strong sea wind was blowing, yet it could not stir the corner of his robe, as if he didn’t exist in this spatial dimension at all.

He held a fist-sized Crystal Ball in his palm. Inside it, a murky gray fog churned, and countless twisted, screaming faces could be faintly seen.

"The population density of this Dragon’s Fang Port is even higher than I imagined."

The gray-robed figure let out a soft chuckle, his voice as dry as two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.

Behind him knelt two rows of acolytes, also dressed in gray robes.

Their faces were painted with strange greasepaint, their eyes fanatical yet vacant. They were muttering incantations, seemingly in time with the rhythm of the distant "Sea Demon."

"Lord Holy Envoy, the spatial barrier’s Vibration has begun."

An acolyte, prostrated on the ground and not daring to lift his head, said, "East Sea City has reacted quickly. That Tier Four, Li Tiecheng, is mobilizing the Aerospace Forces."

"Tier Four?"

The gray-robed man, addressed as the Holy Envoy, snorted with contempt.

"In this ’Divine Gift Land,’ Tier Four is a joke.

The spatial rules of Dragon Abyss are like a sieve. Aside from those low-dimensional ants, anyone who enters dies."

He raised the Crystal Ball in his hand and gestured with it toward the distant Dragon’s Fang Port.

"This is a grand feast."

"Those foolish Mortals think they can defend this place with a few cannons and their so-called Spiritual Energy Technology? Laughable."

"Tell ’Mother’ that dinner is served."

As his voice fell, the Crystal Ball suddenly flared with an eerie purple light.

In the distance, the mass of gray clouds pressing down on the sea’s surface suddenly began to boil.

The humming, which had been barely audible, instantly shot up an octave.

It was no longer a gentle whisper, but a shrill shriek, like fingernails scratching frantically across a blackboard. It pierced the thirty nautical miles in an instant, slamming violently against the defensive shield of Dragon’s Fang Port.