Chapter Thirteen: Submersion Depth Test

A cormorant’s cry pierced the air, laced with excitement.

It dove from the sky, swift and precise, like an arrow unleashed at full speed.

As with countless hunts before, the outcome was never in doubt—the great cormorant effortlessly snatched the crucian carp in its beak.

Its bill was long, sharp, and powerful, ending in a hook as formidable as an eagle’s. A large pouch hung beneath its throat, reminiscent of a pelican’s, enabling it to swallow fish weighing up to six pounds in a single gulp. A crucian carp of scarcely a pound was barely an appetizer, nothing that would trouble the bird.

But just as it prepared to swallow its prize whole, it noticed a transparent filament trailing from the fish, twisted tightly among the nearby waterweeds.

Such a strange occurrence had never arisen in its many hunts. The cormorant’s eyes gleamed with a bird’s peculiar confusion.

Before it could make sense of it, Lu Chen sprang into action.

His powerful tail lashed the water like an engine roaring to life, generating a great surge. His body burst from the water, soaring over a meter through the air.

Jaws wide, razor teeth glinting, he snapped toward his prey.

Only then did the cormorant realize the predator lurking beneath the waterweeds. It frantically beat its wings, desperate to ascend and escape.

But it was too late.

For wealth men die, for food birds perish. The moment the cormorant landed, its fate was sealed—it would be Lu Chen’s meal.

Birds employ three modes of flight: gliding, soaring, and flapping. Smaller birds can take to the air with a beat of their wings, but large birds, hindered by weight and resistance, must first run along the ground for several seconds, gaining momentum to glide into the sky. The greater the bird, the longer the runway.

Those precious seconds denied it any chance of escape.

With a snap, Lu Chen’s teeth clamped down on the cormorant’s foot.

Without hesitation, he dragged it underwater and unleashed a death roll, twisting his body in a vicious spiral.

The three other young saltwater crocodiles surged in, each seizing a portion of the bird and rolling in opposite directions.

Torn by four relentless forces, the cormorant had no opportunity to struggle. Its desperate cries were cut short as it was shredded into four bloody pieces.

Such flawless teamwork was testament to Lu Chen’s rigorous training.

The cormorant’s remains weighed over five pounds—enough to satisfy the appetites of all four young crocodiles. As leader, Lu Chen claimed the largest, choicest portion.

But rather than devour it at once, he used his claws to strip the feathers, cleaning the flesh before swallowing it in one gulp.

Powerful gastric acids quickly dissolved the meat into pure energy.

“Great Cormorant. Family: Cormorant. Genus: Cormorant. Provides 1 energy point.”

Reading the system’s notification, Lu Chen understood at once—the essence within the cormorant’s flesh was far inferior to that in the king rat snake he’d previously slain.

Regrettably, since that last hunt, he had not encountered another such snake.

There were other serpents in the reeds, but they were all rather small, and their speed made them difficult to catch.

After a brief rest, he left three young crocodiles to prowl the shallows while he swam toward the center of Willow Lake.

He had not encountered the giant snakehead for some days and was growing bolder.

As the sun set, a cascade of golden light spilled across the shimmering water. A length of black driftwood floated with the breeze, drawing ever closer to the lake’s heart.

The relentless sun of recent days had warmed the lake considerably; the surface seared by midday heat, reaching nearly thirty-four or thirty-five degrees Celsius.

Lu Chen glanced around, swung his long tail, and propelled himself downward.

This was the deepest part of Willow Lake.

He longed to see what secrets lay below.

At seven meters, twilight enveloped the water. Looking up, he could just glimpse the floating weeds above.

At ten meters, the gloom thickened. The canopy of weeds cast everything into shadow; visibility fell to less than five meters.

At twenty meters, the temperature plummeted, and his movements grew sluggish. To his surprise, the depths concealed many large fish.

The anglers were right—by day, the wary fish retreated to deep water.

Carp, grass carp, silver carp—upon seeing the crocodile, each bolted at once.

Another time, he would have given chase, but for now, exploration was paramount.

Thirty meters…

The central depths of Willow Lake were astonishing—at thirty meters, he still had not touched bottom.

Icy cold stabbed into his mind, blood flow slowed, and he could scarcely feel his limbs.

Vision failed him—despite his keen eyesight, he could barely see three meters ahead.

The pressure of the surrounding water made his head throb, numbing his limbs.

His sight blurred…

He could not go deeper.

Lu Chen did not know what was wrong, but instinct warned him of danger. He hurriedly beat his tail, spreading the webbing between his toes, and feebly paddled upward.

His body rose slowly; visibility improved with every meter.

Twenty meters…

Ten meters…

Breaking the surface at last, Lu Chen felt as though he had been reborn. The oppression eased, but his limbs remained weak, his head aching as though struck by a hammer.

Had he met the giant snakehead now, he would have perished.

He dared not linger at the heart of the lake, but endured the pain and swam on.

After more than ten minutes, he struggled ashore.

Gazing at his reflection in the water, he saw his eyes streaked with blood.

Why had this strange condition overtaken him?

He lay in his den, mind swirling with questions.

Was it the frigid temperature below, causing loss of body heat? Had he reached the limits of a crocodile’s dive? Or was there another cause?

After a moment’s thought, he surmised it was likely a combination—a case of diving sickness.

Over time, he had gained a deep understanding of his crocodilian body.

His ability to lurk for so long beneath the water was thanks to his unique respiratory and circulatory systems.

First, his lungs were large and lined with highly evolved epithelium, allowing for unidirectional airflow like that in birds, rather than the bidirectional flow of mammals. Thus, he could absorb and store far more oxygen when necessary.

Additionally, the crocodile’s heart was remarkable. Underwater, it could slow from twenty-five beats per minute down to as few as one, reducing oxygen consumption and prioritizing blood flow to the brain.

These adaptations allowed an adult saltwater crocodile to remain submerged for hours.

Yet, for all that, a crocodile is not truly aquatic—it is a reptile, and thus has its limits. To exceed them is to invite disaster.

Still, he believed that as he continued to grow, his endurance would increase in turn.