Boom—
Boom—Boom—
Several loud explosions erupted in succession from the hull of the floating ship.
But the ones who lit the explosives were the very crew mbers aboard the ship.
The first mate, who had just claid the half-elf was no stronger than a First Rank, now stared blankly at the sky, completely indifferent to everything around him.
Dozens of crew mbers ran back and forth across the deck.
So were laughing, so were begging for rcy.
One was scrubbing the deck with a bloodstained mop. As soone passed by, their foot slipped, and they plunged headfirst into a wooden bucket filled with red, filthy water.
Before he could even struggle to climb out, the mop-wielding crew mber, wearing a twisted grin, raised the mop and viciously plunged it into the bucket.
A sickening crack like a waterlon splitting rang out, and a cluster of white, unidentifiable objects floated to the surface.
The mop-wielding crewman nodded in satisfaction, then pulled the now red-and-white mop out and continued sliding across the deck.
The first mate was still gazing at the sky.
He opened his mouth—inside, there was nothing. No tongue, no teeth, no throat. Just a writhing mass of red atballs.
A “woo woo woo” sound emanated from within.
A panicked crewman accidentally bumped into the first mate and instantly forgot what he had been doing. Mimicking the first mate, he too looked skyward.
“Ah!” He stared into the sky, eyes filled with terror, mouth wide open.
But before he could let out a second cry, sothing pierced through his mouth with a squelch—taking with it his lips, teeth, throat, straight through to the end.
The fear on the crewman’s face vanished. He slowly closed his mouth.
A few minutes later, when he opened it again, his organs and muscles had all lted into lumps of flesh, emitting a weeping “woo woo woo.”
Another huge explosion sounded. The wooden hull at the ship’s bottom burst open, and from within rolled out a massive black sphere ten ters in diater.
The black ball resembled a tangle of knotted hair, the ends of which were still twitching. It was a grotesque mass ford by the necks of countless slender shadowy wraiths twisted and tangled together.
They bit each other fiercely, writhing and contorting, as if locked in a life-or-death battle with hated enemies.
From within the black sphere ca agonized howls.
Humans were going mad. And even the monsters weren’t spared.
Wilder stood atop the tallest sail, looking down, the corners of his eyes twitching uncontrollably.
“I don’t know how much Yura paid you, but I can offer more. Stop this corruption, half-elf—this is suicide!”
He wasn’t in good shape either.
The skin on the left side of Wilder’s face had been torn off, revealing raw, red muscle.
The muscle slowly pulsed and regenerated, only to be ripped away again by his own hand.
A closer look would show that the red on the left side of his face was far too vivid—less like blood, more like blazing fire, scorching his flesh and nerves.
His once thick beard and curly hair had been entirely ripped off. Each ti they regrew, Wilder rcilessly tore them out again.
That was the most terrifying part.
All the injuries—were self-inflicted!
And the half-elf had only struck once.
That one ti was when the Land Drifter’s cannonball hit him. The half-elf instantly turned into countless flakes of snow.
Thus, in the warmth of spring, a blizzard descended.
Ten minutes later, the half-elf stood atop a sail slightly lower than Wilder’s. Snowflakes still danced around him.
These snowflakes would instantly lt upon touching the ship, seemingly harmless but they were the true cause of the catastrophe.
It was from being touched by one such snowflake that Wilder’s face was half-destroyed.
Even now, the corruption there was restless, trying constantly to break through his defenses, to invade his core, to reach his mind and soul.
“I don’t know who Yura is. I ca on Gorsa’s behalf.”
“Gorsa?” Wilder narrowed his eyes.
Though the half-elf’s corruption was gnawing at him, he remained calm.
After all, to track Saul, this ship was rely a guard vessel in his fleet. If it was destroyed, so be it.
As for the crew… Wilder had resolved to sacrifice them all when he signed the three-party agreent.
He was, after all, the one ant to serve as the visible enemy and draw enemy fire.
This, his n didn’t know.
But if, by drawing fire, he accidentally drew Gorsa himself—
That would be too dangerous.
At this thought, Wilder no longer spared a glance at the people on board. He soared into the sky, channeling his magic to its limit, enduring the ntal pressure from the half-elf, stabilizing his ntal form, and flying quickly toward Hanging Hands Valley.
Only when the half-elf confird that every person aboard had been consud by his corruption did he slightly turn his head. His entire form scattered into swirling snowflakes, chasing after Wilder.
Suddenly, a piercing voice rang out nearby.
The sound had such penetrating force that the flurry of snow began to unravel slightly.
So the storm reford into a person.
The half-elf looked toward the newcor who had just prevented his pursuit.
“Kist?” His voice was still beautiful—just devoid of emotion.
Light flashed. An elegant figure stood atop a massive tree trunk near the ship.
Kist set down his harp and offered a theatrical bow to the half-elf.
“An honor that you still rember my na. For that, would you consider sparing Wilder this ti? I owe him a life, after all.”
“Don’t believe you,” the half-elf said calmly.
“Tsk tsk,” Kist clicked his tongue and changed tack. “Fine, fine. I actually owe him a favor.”
“Don’t believe you.”
“Right, that excuse was la too.” Kist thought for a mont, then brought his hands together. “Truth is, he’s still of so use to . So he can’t die just yet. Could you let him go this once?”
That reason seed a little more believable.
The half-elf didn’t imdiately decide whether to believe it or not. He rely shifted his toes in Kist’s direction.
But before he could speak, another voice answered for him.
“No!”
Both Kist and the half-elf turned to a third direction.
A powerful magical aura surged from afar.
But in the next instant, Kist leapt down from the tree, landed lightly on his toes, and darted away, vanishing nearly a hundred ters in the blink of an eye.
At the sa ti, a man in a red-brown cloak—Gorsa—appeared in the very spot Kist had stood.
He stared at Kist but spoke to the half-elf. “Don’t forget my commission, half-elf.”
The half-elf withdrew his foot, which had already shifted direction, and once more turned into a swirling storm of snow, rushing after the fleeing Wilder.
Now, only Gorsa and Kist remained.
Silver eyes t silver eyes.
One gentle. One playful.
Suddenly, Gorsa moved. He raised his right hand—wrapped in pink bandages—and opened his palm. A black shadow flew out, expanding rapidly like a net, swooping down toward Kist.
The shadow spread swiftly, blanketing the sky above Kist, as though turning day to night.
Kist instantly tensed. His long fingers plucked rapidly at the harp strings, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream.
“Clang—”
As if a mirror had shattered from a hundred ters in the air, the black canopy above him fragnted into countless shards and rained down from the sky.
Like a storm of black snowflakes.
The mont the flakes hit the ground, they darted into the shadows of grass and trees, vanishing without a trace.
Kist’s fingers didn’t stop even after the dark veil had shattered. The harp's rapid notes sent waves of sound like solid ripples, keeping all the shards at bay—none could approach him or his shadow.
Only when every last fragnt was gone did Kist lower his harp. His face had paled several shades, but the smile still hung on his lips.
“You really switched to dark-elent magic? Aren't you afraid of being spanked by your glorious ancestors?”
(End of Chapter)
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