SPLASH!

Dorian was forced into the ocean by the bloodstained cutlass of the pirate, disappearing beneath the waves in a final burst of foam.

The burly first mate, his body reeking of blood and sweat, grinned with mad satisfaction.

“Thank my mercy,” boomed “Bonecrusher” Miles, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “No need for any more terror and blood to summon the sharks. Walking the plank’s much kinder than being dragged under the keel, wouldn’t you agree?” He laughed cruelly.

In the water below, some of the sharks, now sated, began circling the pirate ship in perfect formation, as if guided by an unseen force. Their eyes glowed crimson, and Miles watched them with reverence in his gaze.

“To command them like trained swordsmen, scouting and fighting for the ship, it takes a blood ritual every three days,” he muttered, his eyes alight with ambition. “The cost is steep, but this... this is real power! If I stay loyal to the captain, one day, maybe Blood-Eye will grant me this supernatural might, too.”

He turned and walked away, confident that none of the “sacrifices” would survive the plunge into the sea.

Indeed, the bloody history of the Cannibal Shark had forged their reputation—unmatched arrogance, relentless violence. Few escaped their grasp.

And so it went—the half-starved sharks devoured the old sailor ahead of Dorian, reducing him to shreds in moments. They turned their glowing eyes on Dorian, charging towards him through the churning water.

Bound hand and foot, Dorian knew escape was impossible. Even a fully armed knight would have stood no chance in these perilous waters.

The sight of those glowing, predatory eyes made his heart freeze.

“These aren’t ordinary beasts—these are supernatural creatures!”

Through a muddle of fragmented memories, something within Dorian recognized the scene—an echo from a time before. Though he had knowledge, it brought no comfort.

In the water, he could do nothing as the sharks rushed him, mouths open wide, creating swirling eddies that pulled him closer.

A blur of fins, blood-streaked foam, jagged teeth gleaming like a hundred daggers—

Dorian's deep blue eyes narrowed, his thoughts accelerating.

It was as if time itself slowed, giving him a brief flash—a playback of his life before death.

Fragments of memories—two different lives—surfaced, anchored by the words he had overheard from the sailors.

A gaunt young man, skeletal from the ravages of ALS, lay dying. He looked directly at Dorian, his eyes filled with determination:

“I refuse to die like this, helpless and alone on a hospital bed!

I want to run, to jump, to swim, to explore the world without chains.

To see glaciers, deserts, the aurora borealis, vast forests, endless oceans… If I could die amidst the raging sea, it would be the perfect end.”

Then, another vision—a sweaty young man, clad in armor, training with a heavy longsword, wielding it with unwavering dedication until his body gave out. The grueling training since childhood had burned an indomitable will into his bones.

“A knight never retreats, never turns his back on the enemy!” he roared, swinging his sword.

The two visions merged, filling the void in Dorian’s consciousness.

Suddenly, something unexpected happened.

The glowing blue light that had appeared in his right eye since he fell into the sea seemed to find its purpose, bursting out from his iris with a radiant glow.

The toll of a grand cathedral bell echoed within his skull, and strange visions unfolded before him.

The sun rising and setting, clouds drifting across the sky, the tides ebbing and flowing, life flourishing across the earth…

He saw primitive tribes farming with fire, winged dragons hunting the skies, armies of knights advancing in a tide of steel… A ceaseless flow of humanity's history—from its dawn to the present—flashed before Dorian's eyes.

“What… what is this?!”

Before Dorian could process his confusion, the radiant light surged through every vein and nerve, merged into a single object in his mind’s eye—a diary.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

No, not just any diary—an ancient The Celestial Compass, its cover yellowed with age, stained with watermarks that had long since dried.

The cover had no words, only the image of a blue eye—as deep and mysterious as the ocean itself.

As Dorian locked eyes with that image, the logbook opened of its own accord, deep blue ink scrawling across the page.

[The passion for life, the desire for freedom, the courage to face impossible odds—and an anchor from the 'true history'...]

[Conditions met!]

[The Logbook is rebooting—ready to record a new history!]

[The introduction turned, and the first entry began to inscribe itself:

[“Some say we live on a tranquil isle of ignorance, surrounded by the boundless sea of darkness.

[Perhaps we should have never set sail.

[But we have no choice.

[The Logbook will chronicle the Captain’s journey into the unknown and the hidden, offering gifts of Spirituality* and Entries*.

[Starting Point: October 12th, 1471, in the Age of Silver. The War of the Red and White Roses ends. The throne of Hastings belongs to the White Rose of York!

[Captain Dorian Crimsonvale, perhaps all you need is a small push, and you could write your own legend in this era!”]

Dorian's mind exploded with clarity. His eyes shone with newfound determination.

“I am Ali, a transmigrant… and I am also Dorian Crimsonvale of Hastings!

The Crimsonvale Red Rose—the family wronged, our kingdom stolen!!!”

The sound of rushing wind filled his ears. The sharp scent of fish and blood flooded his senses as the tide of memories swept him away.

A bolt of lightning split the sky.

By its blinding light, Dorian caught sight of himself, dressed in an officer trainee's uniform, aboard a massive sailing warship.

Flags flapped wildly in the storm—the black-cross-on-red flag of Hastings Kingdom, the Red Rose banner of the Crimsonvale family, the King's Sword pennant, the Storm Knights banner, the fleet command flag, the captain's pennant, and a colossal Blue Dragon Figurehead at the prow.

“This is the Blue Dragon King! The flagship of the Crimsonvale family!”

Using the power of the The Celestial Compass, Dorian's consciousness was transported back five days, to the night when York and Crimsonvale fought for the throne.

To the very memory that had been mysteriously erased.

The two noble fleets, one bearing the Red Rose and the other the White Rose, had been locked in battle for days in the Dover Strait. Like much of the Thirty-Year War, neither side could gain the upper hand.

On that fateful night, a sudden storm was said to have ended it all, burying the Crimsonvale family in its fury.

Yet now, as the missing pieces returned, Dorian knew the truth—it wasn’t the storm that had defeated them…

“No!”

His expression twisted, and he spun on his heel, rushing for the ship's cabin. Even if he knew it was useless, he couldn’t stop himself from trying.

But the disaster had already come, unevitable.

A sickening, dissonant piping cut through the storm—the sound filled the air with nausea and dread. The seawater around the Blue Dragon King turned pitch black, and something vast moved beneath the waves, sending an almost palpable wave of fear radiating through the ship.

Suddenly, everyone on board—except for Dorian, who was standing at the sterncastle on duty—awoke from their slumber.

Blank-faced, they rose and walked onto the decks.

Among them were his father, Prince Edmund Crimsonvale, and his uncle, the current King of Hastings, Mad King Henry VI.

Naval soldiers who should have been on duty lay unconscious where they had fallen, sprawled across the deck.

It was a tragedy, replayed.

From the weakest among them, those without supernatural resistance, the Crimsonvale family members began throwing themselves overboard—into the black water, without a splash, without a trace.

Even those of higher supernatural sequences, who regained a brief clarity at the precipice of death, were pulled down, their limbs frozen, dragged by unseen forces into the bone-chilling depths.

The darkness beneath the waves was almost solid—a fear that took shape, an ancient terror lurking in the deep.

It could not be fought. It could not be escaped. It could not be avoided.

Once more, Dorian found himself gripped by despair and helplessness, finally understanding what his father had shouted to him that night.

Before succumbing to the pull of the black sea, his father had used his Storm Knight ability, calling forth a powerful gust of wind to hurl a golden signet ring—the family crest—towards Dorian.

“The danger comes from the dream, Dorian! Run!!!” he had shouted, his face a mask of urgency.

But remaining awake hadn’t spared Dorian either.

Within moments, he too had been dragged into the black waters, along with the Blue Dragon King and every Crimsonvale aboard.

As Dorian's consciousness began to fade, he caught a fleeting glimpse, illuminated by lightning—an immense shadowy figure beneath the sea, something beyond understanding. It vanished, like a bubble in a dream.

With it, his memories—those that contained the truth—were swallowed as well.

Except, unlike the others, Dorian was no ordinary soul.

He was a transmigrant, a stranger from another world.

Where the surface of his mind was shattered by the trauma, his past life surged in to fill the gap, barely saving his life—making him the last survivor of the Crimsonvale family.

He had drifted with the chaotic currents of that stormy night, eventually ending up in the Dover Strait, and had become caught in the pirate raid on the Pelican.

Now, with the The Celestial Compass reawakened, the memories of what happened had returned—memories of something that had devoured history itself, something that allowed no witness to its terrible truth.

His two lives were united again.

And that strange The Celestial Compass seemed to be bound to Ali’s memories from his previous life.

But for now, Dorian—finally, truly Dorian once more—had no time to consider the mysteries.

His eyes blazed.

“Revenge—!!!”

The The Celestial Compass continued to write:

[Captain, you have glimpsed the secret behind a great turning point in history—the shadow behind the War of the Red and White Roses, historical impact 31%.

[If the Yorks had the power to easily destroy the Crimsonvales, why did they wait thirty years?]

[The blood feud over the stolen throne runs deeper than a simple succession struggle—it is an enduring conflict fueled by betrayal and hatred, carried across generations.]

[Based on the level of historical influence and for completing the first decryption:

[You have earned your first Entry—Historical Corrector (Activatable after official initiation into any supernatural profession).]

[Your Spirituality has increased substantially.]

[It is said that the Bayfolk, ancient pirates who once plundered the world, adhered to a strict creed:—Vengeance is inevitable!!]

[The ancient Bayfolk blood within you begins to boil.]

[Spiritual Awakening Begins!]