Round Nine: Pursuit

The Dodo is an excellent ship, superior to both the Red Wine Queen and the Fantasy. It’s well-maintained, with a sharp bow equipped with ram horns, two square sails and one mainsail. Its sails and ropes are brand new, and it’s fitted with sturdy armor, powerful crossbows, and catapults. With enough crew and skilled sailors at the helm, it becomes a swift and dangerous sea beast—few ships can match it in a one-on-one fight.

Yet at this moment, the Dodo’s first mate, Ror, looked as if he were trying to cross a stormy ocean in a leaking boat.
“This… I can’t believe it,” Ror said, raising his hand before letting it fall weakly. “This isn’t what the big shots on the island told me. Merman Island? Good heavens, if that’s the case, we don’t even need to look for Captain Simon. At best, we might find his ring in some merman’s stomach someday.”

He glared at Moriel and Chloe sitting across from him. “If the crew hears this news, they’ll go wild. Admittedly, they joined this pursuit not only because Captain Simon owes each of them money, but also because of the awe-inspiring strength you and your warriors showed against the shark-mermen… But Merman Island is different.”

“It’s the legendary holy land of the shark-mermen,” Ror continued. “Hidden beneath stormy waves as high as mountains, with thousands of sharks far larger than ordinary ones swimming around. Good heavens, why would Simon want to go there?”

“I thought sea elves and shark-mermen were mortal enemies,” Chloe said, resting her legs on the table and swaying in her chair. “But from what you’re saying, it seems like you’re just meat that mermen can swallow at any moment.”

“It’s not as simple as you think!” Ror snapped, angered by her blunt mockery. “You have no idea the terrifying reputation Merman Island holds among sailors…”

“That’s why I’m only telling you this, Ror,” Moriel said calmly, staring at his face, which had turned blue with anger. “I don’t know why the people I’m tracking would want Simon to take them to Merman Island, or if they’re all in cahoots. I don’t care about that. The issue now is that I need to find those who are with Simon. If they’re going to Merman Island, I’ll go too. So I need a guide, Ror. You’re an experienced sea elf sailor, so I think you’re the best choice—just as they think Simon is the best choice.”

Hearing the word “sea elf,” Ror lowered his head in defeat.

“Alright. I’ll try to keep this secret… and lead you to Captain Simon and the Hermit Crab as soon as possible, before we reach that cursed place.”

After Ror left, Chloe somehow produced a bottle of wine and a deck of cards, though Moriel couldn’t see how she did it.

Moriel almost cast a defensive spell. If unprepared, the female swordsman could slit her throat in less than a second—with a sword, dagger, or even her nails—she still had long green-painted nails. Was she really a warrior who used a sword?

“We might have to drift at sea for a while.” Chloe didn’t have a third hand, but two glasses magically appeared on the table beside the bottle: “How about we keep playing cards?”
Morrill rudely rejected the female swordsman, still preoccupied by the kiss before boarding the ship: “I have a lot to do. If you’re bored, you might as well go and train that Dark Sun Assassin again.”
Chloe gently swayed her glasses, watching Morrill’s back disappear outside the captain’s cabin door. No, I have better options.
Forty-Seven, who was sitting on the ship’s railing fishing, turned his head. With his appearance now very similar to that of a human, turning his head 180 degrees was quite a startling sight.
Chloe stood on the deck, holding a sword in each hand, looking at Forty-Seven without any fear. The Dark Sun Assassin known as Shadow Wolf followed closely behind her, his expression as confused as that of an idiot—if this was some kind of charm ability, its effect was certainly too strong.
“Hmm… Forty-Seven?” Chloe performed a beautiful sword dance with both swords, her expression cheerful and confident: “Neither of us is really suited for this dull life at sea, right? So how about we play a game?”
Forty-Seven stared at the swords in Chloe’s hands. The sunlight was strong, making the blades shine brightly: “Are you sure? It seems like you want to challenge me.”
Chloe threw one sword into the air and caught it with the other before it hit the deck, spinning it like a windmill: “No, it’s not a challenge… it’s a game.”
“I’m impressed by your immense strength and invulnerability…” With incredible agility, Chloe separated the two swords again amidst their rapid movements and threw one at Forty-Seven, which pierced precisely into the railing beside him: “I certainly don’t want to have to return home right after setting sail because of a big hole in the hull. Why not test our skills purely with technique? In my adventures, I sometimes encounter very formidable opponents…”
The female swordsman seemed lost in thought for a moment but quickly regained her composure: “How about a friendly match under our control? Are you interested?”
Forty-Seven tossed his fishing rod to Twenty-Six, barely managing to lean on the long iron pole, almost being crushed onto the ship.
“Control,” Forty-Seven repeated the word, “does that include stopping before cutting your neck?”
“Of course not,” Chloe smiled, “Don’t damage the ship… and I’ll call it a stop when the time is right.”
Forty-Seven stepped down from the railing, drew his refined long sword, and faced Chloe.
“Alright, then I’ll say go.” Those words marked the beginning of the battle. All the sailors hurriedly stepped aside to make room for the moving storm of metal—and the fiery red light surrounding it.
Morrill wasn’t meditating or studying spellbooks; in fact, she was quite upset. She stood by the wheel, watching the terrifying sword fight among her crew, while the helmsman, Rol, also ignored his duties and stared in awe.

Forty-seven swung his sword-arm wildly and aimlessly, like a child fumbling with a stick, but his ability to twist his joints at will and the speed with which he cut through the air made him nothing short of a meat grinder to Chloe. Yet the female swordsman showed no sign of being overwhelmed; she moved lightly, handling Forty-seven’s relentless attacks with ease and even taking control of the battle to some extent. Whenever Forty-seven threatened to damage the mast or ropes, she would change direction, miraculously slipping through the afterimages of his sword strikes and guiding him to alter his attacks—the sounds of metal colliding were almost continuous, and amidst the fierce swings of their swords, onlookers could barely make out their movements.

Moriel had never seen anyone handle Forty-seven’s attacks so effortlessly. Although the “rules of the game” did limit his capabilities, Chloe’s mastery was something she had only ever seen once in her life. If she were suddenly attacked outside the prison, she wasn’t sure if she could hold her own.

Am I starting to rely on Forty-seven? The thought sent a chill through Moriel. Ever since the Fall of the Seven Sins Tower, Forty-seven had been by her side. Aside from those annoying remarks he made, which she had gradually gotten used to, he often behaved like a true construct—protecting her and eliminating enemies with such excellence that when he stood beside her, the female mage didn’t have to worry about her safety at all. It felt as safe as being in a steel castle filled with guards—what if he wasn’t there?

Forty-seven leaned back to avoid Chloe’s counterattack. He could have easily ignored the strike, as it would only leave a fleeting scratch on his armor without any real effect, but he still dodged it because he had to follow the rules of the game and fight like a normal person—even though bending his upper body backward sharply and turning his waist at a right angle was probably beyond what a normal person could do.

Chloe took the opportunity to twist her wrist and thrust her sword downward, while Forty-seven turned his waist again and slid behind her in a highly twisted posture, raising his sword, now full of cracks, to swing down fiercely. Chloe turned to block the attack but was forced to kneel on one knee due to the intense force. Her sword was knocked aside by Forty-seven, leaving her unable to defend herself and forced to roll across the deck to avoid the barrage of strikes. But just as the onlookers thought the female swordsman was doomed, she precisely kicked Forty-seven’s wrist holding the sword. In that fleeting pause, she seized the chance to get back on her feet and regain the initiative.

Perhaps Forty-seven following me is just like his pointless fishing on the ship—simply because he has nothing else to do. The thought made Moriel uncomfortable, but she seemed to have no strong reason to refute it. Moriel knew well that Forty-seven wasn’t as committed to finding Kayro as she was, which was one of the reasons he hardly ever spoke up along the way. Otherwise, in his usual style, he would have destroyed every Shirek temple he could find, just as he did in Agus…

Would 47 leave? It was the first time Moriel asked himself that.
The battle on the deck was over. The broken sword flew up to the mast, cutting several ropes and causing one sail to fall with a rustle.
47 threw away the hilt and stared at Chloe’s long sword, which, though also full of cuts, remained miraculously intact.
“A little trick,” Chloe said as well, tossing her sword onto the deck, where it immediately shattered into several pieces.
When 47 returned to the captain’s cabin, Moriel was already there, flipping through a spellbook with an expressionless face.
“You seem to be having fun.”
There was a hint of resentment in Moriel’s words, but 47 didn’t know why.
So he replied naturally, “Yes,” and left before Moriel could get angry.
Moriel continued reading.
The mysterious Fishman Island, the mysterious female swordsman, the mystery… What am I thinking? Moriel stared at the spellbook, its symbols and diagrams intricate and obscure—but it hadn’t been moved since it was opened.
Orlando jumped abruptly from his slightly swaying hammock, drenched in cold sweat.
Unconsciously, he touched the gem-encrusted magic dagger at his waist and glanced at the black long sword hanging nearby, as if seeking strength from them.
The mirror on the wall reflected Orlando’s slightly distorted face. He was in his thirties, with thin cheeks, a stubbled dark chin, and hair slightly messy from his nap. His eyes had almost no white, filled entirely with darkness, giving off an indescribably eerie aura.
Orlando steadied himself, waking up from the absurd and twisted dream, but a deep chill seeped even deeper into his heart—if there was anything in the world that could frighten this top assassin, it was surely Sherek’s hysterical screams in his dreams, ones he could never escape or resist.
Few believers who received Sherek’s oracle in their sleep could accurately describe such scenes upon waking. Even when boasting, their voices trembled involuntarily from the depths of their souls. A thousand nightmares combined couldn’t compare to it—when a god chooses to implant his will directly into a mortal’s mind, especially one recognized as insane, what kind of torment would that be? No wonder many who even received the slightest “divine favor” from Sherek became permanently insane.
And this time, the oracle Orlando received was even worse. From the fragmented words mixed among the shrill, meaningless noises, he sensed the murder god’s anger, dissatisfaction, and signs that he was losing patience. This made Orlando tremble again. If Sherek suddenly decided he couldn’t complete the task or was no longer useful—something common for this capricious murder god—then his colleagues’ daggers would immediately pierce his back, regardless of his terrifying skills, which were almost entirely granted by Dark Day.

A ship tracking them… Orlando suddenly realized he had to do something, even if it was just to show Shirek.
He picked up the cloak that had served as a blanket and was now on the floor, and with a single motion, he opened the door of the room filled with traps and locked, then silently stepped out of the cabin.
“Oh, Mr. Orlando, everything is normal now…” Simon, who was steering the ship, quickly reported as he caught sight of Orlando entering wrapped in a black cloak from the corner of his eye.
“I heard the Hermit Crab is your ship?” Orlando asked, looking through the crystal porthole at the dark clouds gathering on the horizon—storm was coming.
Simon managed to hide his surprise well. He hadn’t expected Orlando to know that: “You’re well-informed. That was a long time ago…”
“When will we reach Gyojin Island?” The cold tone in Orlando’s voice made Simon swallow half of what he wanted to say.
“I can only say it’s uncertain… and it should be ‘find it,’ Mr. Orlando.” Simon wasn’t willing to be vague about this. Apart from him, everyone on the ship was a novice sailor, and their handling of the Hermit Crab was rather clumsy, which worried him greatly: “We’re currently heading deep into the Pearl Islands. We’re not yet off the established route. Only when we reach…”
“Change course,” Orlando interrupted him again.
“What?” Simon was shocked: “That’s not possible. We’re not on a coastal outing! And a storm is coming soon…”
“Change course. Someone is tracking us,” the killer said coldly.
Simon simply raised his hand from the wheel. After a few days together, he had become well aware of these strange people’s absolute obedience. But if he was forced to deviate from the course this time, Simon couldn’t do it—it would be pure suicide.
“Then, Mr. Orlando, please tell me which way to go—left or right?” Orlando seemed unprepared for this usually obedient pirate to dare defy him like this. He just stared at Simon in confusion: “That’s impossible, Mr. Orlando. I don’t know how much you know about the sea, but if we change course now, the only outcome will be dying at the bottom of the sea!”
Simon thought the other man would listen to his advice out of respect for his experience as a captain—after all, they wouldn’t have hired him to steer the Hermit Crab otherwise. But Orlando simply pointed to the left and left the control room. It was clear he didn’t take Simon’s words seriously at all. Worse still, the direction he gave seemed completely arbitrary.
The Cult of the Dark Sun on the deck immediately became busy. They untied the ropes and raised the sails according to Captain Simon’s orders, working on tasks completely different from their usual assassination work. They all looked very clumsy, but eventually, the Hermit Crab began to turn, slowly heading into unfamiliar waters.

Morrill struggled to shake off her wild thoughts and focus. Fortunately, this spell worked quite well, so even though the Hermit Crab changed course, it couldn’t escape Morrill’s mental tracking—quite lucky, really. She called for Ror and briefed him on the situation, asking the Migratory Bird to make the necessary adjustments while continuing on its original route.
“Is Captain Simon crazy? He’s starting to deviate from the course—this is a major no-no in ocean navigation, especially when sailing deep toward the Pearl Islands…” Ror shifted from shock to concern and turned to Morrill. “Are you sure the Hermit Crab is heading in that direction? Continuing this pursuit will also be dangerous. Soon other sailors will notice something’s off. What if trouble breaks out?”
“I don’t think Captain Simon is crazy. Maybe someone else on board asked him to change course. I just don’t know if they discovered Gyojin Island or us following behind.” Morrill stared at the direction the Migratory Bird was heading—nothing but a straight line where sea met sky. “Keep sailing, Ror. Whether it’s to Gyojin Island or into unknown waters, it’s still a risky venture. For now, we can only hope to catch up to our target soon, perhaps with a chance to return safely.”
But if Kairo, or clues about Kairo, were indeed on Gyojin Island, then they had to go there no matter what.