Marseille Harbor Labyrinth Mystery

Neptune Is Here

It wasn't a saw blade cutting the hull, but a much more menacing sound—the noise of hydraulic pressure grating against the seafloor. That machine must be digging near the Le Requin icehouse. The Neptune Cartel didn't send a scouting team; they sent a mining crew.

Jean pulled his hand away from the pillar, ignoring the rust he hadn't finished scraping off. Brewing the Salt Mist Potion here now was too risky. If the Cartel detonated the icehouse, the entire Vieux-Port would become an alchemical war zone. He had to get away from the center of the conflict immediately and find a truly safe location.

Jean grabbed the tablet Anton had given him, which still displayed the energy map. He pressed the encrypted communication button. Two rings, and Anton answered. His voice was flat.

"I hope you're not calling to say goodbye," Anton said.

"Neptune is here, Anton. They aren't attacking. They're mining. There's a massive machine beneath the Le Requin icehouse. Did you know?" Jean asked, his voice low and tight.

Silence stretched for a moment. "Damn it. They moved fast. They must have predicted Le Requin would fall and came to seize the Nexus before you could claim it."

"I can't brew the Salt Mist Potion here. It's too hot. I need a hidden base. The derelict ship. The one you mentioned the other day. Where is the ideal location?"

"You know, Jean, you're a strange Crime Lord. Everyone runs from derelict ships. You go looking for them."

"Junk is my raw material," Jean shot back. "I need a place far from Le Requin's surveillance, but with a strong current of pure brine. Where?"

Anton sighed. "There is one, on the western edge of the pier, near the old chemical dumping area. Its name is the *Triton*. An old cargo ship, half-sunken. No one wants to touch it because of mercury contamination rumors. Le Requin doesn't even include it on their patrol maps. It's about two kilometers from you."

"Mercury contamination?"

"Exactly. But isn't that what you like? The dirtier, the better?" Anton sounded amused. "Alchemically, it's perfect. A current of deep seawater flows in through a coral breach beneath it, but the surface pollution keeps it hidden from Neptune's pure magic surveillance. It's an alchemical blind spot."

"Send the coordinates now."

"Sent. Listen, Jean. You have about an hour before that icehouse explodes or Neptune manages to take control of the Nexus. After that, the entire harbor will become a battlefield."

"I'll secure my fortress before dawn," Jean promised. "See you at the icehouse, Anton. Don't be late with the next intel."

"I won't be," Anton said, and the connection terminated.

Jean switched off the tablet, tucked away the Flavor Alteration Potion he had made last night, and started moving. Not running, but moving with measured steps, like a shadow merging with the night dampness.

He navigated the narrow alleyways smelling of rotten fish and urine. Each step felt light; the effects of the Instant Purification Potion were still active. He was no longer exhausted, but he needed to conserve his energy levels for a major transmutation.

As he walked, he used his Alchemist senses. He smelled the water. The water around the port he was leaving felt agitated, hot, saturated with chaotic energy. That was a sign that Neptune was at work.

But the further west he walked, toward the chemical dumping area, the less the vibration occurred. There, the water felt cold, heavy, and still. A flow of deep seawater, rich with pure salt, hidden beneath a blanket of industrial pollution.

Jean reached the end of the pier, near a stack of abandoned containers. Moonlight barely pierced the thick fog hanging there. Below him, about twenty meters from the dock, lay the cargo ship Anton had promised: the *Triton*.

The ship was a heavily rusted steel monster, its hull painted moss green, and most of its body listed sharply, indicating it had been half-sunken for a long time. It wasn't secured by chains; it was simply stuck in the thick mud.

Jean jumped onto the stack of containers, getting a better view. The ship was perfect. Isolated, and it looked like useless junk. But he could feel the energy beneath it. Deep inside, there was a pulse of ancient brine. He had to get aboard. And he had to lock himself in there.

Jean found an improvised bridge, a piece of rotten wood connecting the container to the *Triton*'s deck. He stepped carefully. The wood creaked beneath his weight.

As he reached the deck, a stench immediately greeted him: the smell of decaying chemicals, kerosene, and the mixture of mercury Anton had mentioned. Jean exhaled in relief. That smell—disgusting to ordinary people—was, to Jean, a rich palette of raw materials.

He walked to the captain’s cabin. The key was long gone. Jean merely touched the rusted door hinge, channeling cold, quick alchemical energy.

The hinge hissed, the rust vanishing. It weakened, and Jean kicked the door open.

Inside, it was dark and damp. Jean turned on the flashlight on Anton's tablet. The cabin was filthy, but large. There was a rusted navigation table and several storage lockers. Broken windows let in the moisture.

"Floating Laboratory," Jean murmured, smiling faintly. This was the fortress he needed to create the Salt Mist and perform Level 2 Transmutations.

He set down the tablet and the potions he carried. Now, he had to secure the ship from the water. Jean walked onto the deck, to the area that listed the most, where seawater slopped in and out. He knelt, touching the foul water.

Transmutation. Fortress. Create a shell that would repel Neptune. Jean began channeling his purification energy into the ship's hull. He forced the metal and the surrounding pollution to interact with the deep-sea brine, creating a thick, hard alchemical layer.

This transmutation had to be massive. He wasn't just sealing holes; he was turning the entire ship into an extension of himself.

The water around the *Triton* began to churn violently, but without the sound of an explosion. It was the hard work of chemistry. Oil turned into hard resin, metal pollutants into powerful alchemical ore.

In ten minutes, the ship felt stable, solid. Jean was exhausted, but satisfied. His fortress was secure.

"Perfect," Jean whispered. "Now, the Salt Mist." He returned to the cabin. He opened his bag, pulled out the rust he had collected from the pillar, and began mixing it with water he filtered from a puddle on the cabin floor. He needed the Salt Mist Potion to disrupt Le Requin, giving him time to loot the minerals in the icehouse.

Jean focused on the mixing, his eyes fixed only on the dented soda can that was now the Potion container. Suddenly, he heard a sound. Not from inside the ship, but outside. A light thud, as if someone had just landed on the deck.

Jean immediately stopped brewing; the Salt Mist Potion was only half-finished. He grabbed a rusted metal pipe from the corner of the cabin. "Who's there?" Jean shouted, his voice sharp.

There was no answer. Only cold silence. Jean stepped out of the cabin, walking slowly on the deck that was now covered in the new alchemical layer. The night fog obscured his vision. At the far end of the deck, near the main mast, was a silhouette he didn't recognize. Not one of Le Requin's thugs. This silhouette was thin, tall, and moved with a strange, almost fluid speed.

The silhouette turned towards Jean. Its eyes glowed faintly under the fog-shrouded moonlight. "I knew you were coming here," the voice whispered, raspy like water flowing over stones. Jean gripped his metal pipe. "Who are you? You're not Le Requin's man. You don't have the aura of Neptune." The figure laughed, a sound like chains being dragged across sand.

"I am the Keeper of this Vessel," the figure said, stepping forward. Jean saw that the figure was wearing a very old, soaked diving suit, and its body was covered by a thin layer of algae and crystallized salt.

"This ship is abandoned," Jean countered.

"No. This vessel is my home. And you, Alchemist, you carry the stench of salt too pure for this filthy place." The figure raised its hand. The surrounding seawater, which Jean had just transformed into a coral shield, began to tremble.

"I'm not here to fight," Jean said. "I'm here to work."

"Work?" The figure advanced faster. "Your work is transmutation. And your transmutation has awakened me. I am the manifestation of the pollution here. I am the Toxin you seek to purify."

Jean understood. This was an entity, not a human. A muck elemental formed from mercury and oil. "You can't stop me," Jean said, channeling energy into his metal pipe, trying to transmute it into solid salt.

"I won't stop you," the Ship Keeper said, its voice now sounding like boiling water. "I will become part of your Potion."

The figure leaped at Jean. Not a physical attack, but a dirty, toxic liquid-based assault. Jean had to defend against direct contact with an entity made of pure pollution. Jean yelled, swinging the metal pipe forward, just as the Ship Keeper was about to crash into him—