CHAPTER 217: CHAPTER 155: A JOURNEY THAT CANNOT RETREAT_3

There are still some ships nearby being painted.

Even at dusk, quite a few workers can still be seen busy at work.

"Shixin Shipyard, the largest shipyard under the Holy Mother Church, capable of building the finest Spell Ships, home to the best team of craftsmen in these seas, as well as top-notch Engravers and Ship Forgers.

Six shipbuilding clans, each with a hundred-year legacy, all take part, and it even bears the blessing given personally by the Holy Mother.

The Church’s flagship, Mother of the Sacred Heart, was built here."

The so-called Mother of the Sacred Heart—Alka had once seen its silhouette from afar.

He had to admit, it truly was such a massive beast that even a glance filled one with dread.

It was a colossal vessel, quite impossible in the age of sail.

From a distance, Alka had seen its length—at least 130 meters, with a width of about 40 meters.

From afar, it looked like a fortress at sea; its four cannon decks were like a mobile turret.

The dense rows of cannon muzzles protruding from either side were the best deterrence for any enemy.

Rumor has it those cannons use the largest caliber—the latest, church-exclusive, self-developed Vibrating Stone Cannon.

The most formidable weapon in the Homeland Sea.

The main point was, this was a ship made mainly of wood.

Clearly it relied on many Spells to strengthen and reinforce the entire vessel, and bestowed countless special abilities.

From Alka’s current perspective, that ship was most definitely a Ghost Ship.

It could never be an ordinary Spellbound Ship.

Even seeing it from afar brought Alka immense shock, let alone witnessing its voyage, surrounded by Holy Light.

As it passed by, it felt like a baptism, radiating a massive aura.

A walking Holy Light dispensing machine.

Allegedly, this still wasn’t the shipyard’s utmost craftsmanship—just that here, such a ship was already more than enough.

Any bigger would be pointless.

If that ship could be built here, then whatever restoration or customization this Music Ship needed would be a breeze.

Thinking of that, Alka couldn’t help but feel even more at ease.

When Alka’s ship stopped at the shipyard gate, a young man in a Priest Robe rowed a small boat over.

"How can I help you? This is a Church shipyard—we don’t make ships for outsiders without permission."

Alka took out the parchment document he’d gotten from the suitcase earlier and showed it to the young Priest below.

"This is a document written by the Archbishop."

Seeing the crest up top, the Priest blinked and nodded.

"Then please wait a moment. I need to inform them and clear enough room. You may enter once it’s ready."

Alka nodded, indicating he had no objection.

A short while later, he saw a passage cleared within the shipyard.

A craftsman standing atop waved a flag, signaling with semaphore.

"Come on in, girl," Alka patted the mainmast and said.

The Music Ship slowly sailed into the shipyard.

This wreck—close enough to be considered scrap—drew the gaze of every craftsman inside the shipyard as it entered.

"What’s with this ship coming in? Are we supposed to tear it down?"

"Who knows, I heard it’s a document personally signed by the Archbishop. Maybe they want it repaired."

"Repair this thing? The money and materials it’d take could build a better one from scratch."

The craftsmen bantered among themselves.

Just then, an old man came over with a cane, rapping the craftsmen on their heads.

"You useless fools, embarrassing me yet again."

Seeing the old man, the chattering craftsmen immediately bowed and stood behind him.

"Master, what brings you here?"

"That’s right, it’s so late, you should be resting."

The old man glanced at the craftsmen, scowling, and snorted, "If I don’t come, you think you can handle it? This ship is a project the Archbishop wants me to personally oversee."

"You, personally? Whose ship is this to warrant such authority?"

Hearing that, the old man swung his walking stick and smacked him on the head.

"Ouch! Master, do you have to hit so hard?"

At his cry, the old man jabbed him with his cane in disgust.

"Disgraceful. Open your eyes and look hard—this is a ship about to become a Ghost Ship."

"A Ghost Ship!"

The craftsmen blurted and instantly clamped their mouths shut, standing quietly behind their master, not daring to speak.

This was obviously beyond their skill level.

"Hmph! Stick with me and learn—this is a rare opportunity."

Saying that, the old man led the craftsmen over to the ship.

He looked at Alka and Chadite by the vessel.

"Chadite? You’ve come back safe!"

The old man walked over delightedly, smiling at the unharmed Chadite.

Hearing himself called, Chadite turned and lit up at the sight of the approaching elder.

"Grandpa Hibroke? What brings you here?"

So this old man was Hibroke—Alka thought, studying him.

This was an elderly man in a brown robe, holding a walking stick, his face wrinkled, hair and beard snowy white—clearly very old.

But judging by everyone’s gaze, and the uniquely dressed craftsmen following him,

the old man had real authority here—and was highly respected.

Been with a shipbuilding clan for four hundred years?

A descendant of the Ratmagan Clan.

His own Swallow—was one of their ancestors’ works.