Round Four: Drifting

“…Oh? Moriel’s construct? You seem even handsomer now… And so generous too. Thank you very much.”
O’Sullivan stretched out his hand, seemingly waiting for 47 to return Atlas.
Without saying another word, 47 stepped forward toward O’Sullivan. This fair-faced count seemed to have regained his arrogance from their first meeting, even resorting to irony against him. It seemed necessary to switch to fists—after all, they had done that before.
“Wait,” Moriel stopped 47, stepping forward a few paces with his hands clasped in front of him. “What are you doing here? I heard that on that night you killed Stanley III, who came personally to Lucas’s residence to oversee the purge of the Council, and tried to kill all the nobles present, aiming to seize the throne. NowThe entire Agus is hunting you you, yet you still carelessly associate with the people of the Shirek Church. Have you really abandoned the glory of the O’Sullivan family?”
“Is that so…” O’Sullivan crossed his arms, his face showing no trace of emotion. His voice was relaxed, as soothing as a breeze through the forest, as elegant and noble as ever. “A madman trying to seize the throne of Agus, a traitor… Is that the official version? Typical of nobles—empty and cheap.”
Although Moriel didn’t know what had happened to O’Sullivan after leaving Vatan City, there was no doubt he was very different now from before. He might have completely become a servant of the Eternal Darkness. The fact that the name O’Sullivan family elicited no reaction from him was proof enough.
“Are you the female mage who participated in that adventure? Deceived by false lies into this filthy temple, you must also feel disgust and contempt for Lady Misty, right?” A gloomy-looking follower beside O’Sullivan interrupted their pretentious reminiscences. “Red Robe Mage, I understand your desire to make the deceivers pay. The Eternal Darkness will notice your commendable sentiment. But if you’re not yet a servant of the Eternal Darkness, then stay out of it, understand? Of course, if you want to join us like Count O’Sullivan here…”
“I have no intention of getting involved in the conflict between the Eternal Darkness and Lady Misty,” Moriel replied crisply. “But I have reason to believe that my friend Kayro has been innocently drawn into this strife and is in great danger. I can’t just stand by.”
“I think you have some misunderstandings, Moriel,” O’Sullivan said gently, shaking his head slightly. “We just want to find Lady Misty through that little girl… She’s the culprit, isn’t she? So why can’t we understand each other, even help one another?” He seemed to have found a kindred spirit, his tone even light-hearted.
“The Eternal Darkness isn’t a forgiving deity,” Moriel said bluntly. “Will you consider Kayro’s safety? You, who were once a count of the Agus Empire, how much do you really know about the Eternal Darkness? I doubt you even know why it favors you so much. Let me guess—did it appear in one of your chaotic, confused dreams? Right?”

Except for O’Sullivan, who still smiled with his hands behind his back, the other four members of the Black Cult instantly changed color. This was already considered a provocation to them.
“Morrill, out of our past encounters, I give you one piece of advice—I hope you’ll listen carefully.” Despite the tense situation, O’Sullivan spoke in a calm, unhurried tone. “I know you’ve gone through a lot… As a young high-ranking mage, you have reasons to be proud. But then again, you should know just how insignificant our power is in the face of true eternity. Since that girl named Kayro has been chosen by the Lady of Mist, she is naturally an enemy of the Dark Days. You can’t stop her, nor should you try—believe me, you can’t afford to defy the gods!”
Morrill didn’t reply. Instead, she turned to look at Forty-Seven.
“It was you who made me wait,” Forty-Seven said, waving his hands innocently.
“Do you want to drive me mad?”
As soon as Morrill spoke those words, O’Sullivan retreated immediately. He shot backward like an arrow, his fluttering black robes leaving behind faint, burning afterimages.
Although it was the first time he had seen Forty-Seven in this state, and although he had acquired some new powers, O’Sullivan wisely chose to back off rather than confront him head-on like the other four members of the Shirek Cult. Ever since his last confrontation with Forty-Seven in the temple, he had realized it was never a good idea—let alone now, with Morrill having become far more powerful than before!
But the other Dark Guards and priests serving Shirek clearly didn’t know what they were up against. Even if they had, they might not have been able to retreat like O’Sullivan—they weren’t the lucky ones favored by the Dark Days.
Morrill paid no attention to the enemies charging at her. Instead, she immediately cast a spell at the fleeing O’Sullivan. This young former imperial count had always been a dangerous figure—though no longer a tiger, he was still like a rattlesnake. If one didn’t want to die mysteriously like Yatu, it was better to be cautious—as for those foolish enemies, they could be dealt with by equally foolish people.
But she was still a little late. Not because her defenses were insufficient or her spell activation was delayed, but because O’Sullivan, surrounded by burning black mist, moved at an unbelievably fast pace. By the time a series of glowing magic missiles caught up to him, a translucent rhombus-shaped crystal had appeared in his hand. The entire dim temple was instantly filled with countless delicate, wave-like light patterns cast by the crystal. Morrill’s attacks were fully absorbed by O’Sullivan—evident from his body losing balance under the impact of the missiles—but this didn’t stop the crystal in his hand from emitting a powerful, wave-like glow.
And this was all in just a fleeting moment—so fast that even Forty-Seven didn’t have time to take out his first opponent.
Water suddenly surged into the hall from somewhere, instantly forming a massive vortex with no discernible top or bottom.

Damn it! Morriel, spinning in the huge waves, didn’t have time to continue attacking O’Sullivan and immediately began casting magical protections on herself. The faces of the Shriek Church members trapped in the vortex were also filled with shock and anger. In such a life-or-death situation, they couldn’t care about O’Sullivan’s special status and started cursing loudly, “Bastard! How dare you—”

Ripples spread across the swampy lake with its swaying water plants, followed by murky waves. It seemed as if the bottom had been drained—within just a few seconds, the entire area became completely dry, leaving only a few deformed creatures hopping around in the mud and some broken weapons left behind by unknown people. If adventurers happened to find this place and were lucky, they might even discover some magical weapons.

O’Sullivan emerged from a pitch-black, filthy swamp, struggling to grab a vine of unknown origin and climb onto slightly firmer ground.

“Cough, cough…” He sat down, his face pale and disheveled, covered in stinky mud. Even the wounds caused by the magical missiles weren’t spared. If not treated promptly, they would surely fester and worsen. It seemed that even the one who started it had paid a heavy price to escape.

“Damn it… It was the same last time.” O’Sullivan smiled bitterly as he ran his hand through his hair, shaking off a sticky mass—God only knew what kind of creature’s remains or secretions they were.

“I hope this can buy us some time against those damners…” O’Sullivan forced himself to stand up, throwing away the diamond crystal he still held. It was now full of cracks and its color was murky, looking completely like an ordinary stone. Looking at the sky, it seemed it was going to rain again.

At least it was good enough to wash off the mud.

Where was this place? Where had O’Sullivan thrown the entire temple?

Everything around was pitch black. Low, continuous rumbling sounds pounded against his ears—probably the result of immense water pressure being weakened by the magical barrier. Was it really the deep sea? Unable to tell direction, Morriel lit a magical flame. Although this might attract some dangerous marine creatures, it was still better than staying in complete darkness.

As the light appeared, suddenly a huge school of fish appeared before the highly alert Morriel—or rather, she had been surrounded by this school of fish all along. Thousands of small, palm-sized fish, startled by the light from the magical flame, reacted quickly. They moved collectively according to some unknown pattern, as if a giant net were filtering through Morriel’s body, and in an instant, not a single one was left.

Wow. It seemed the waters between the swamp and the deep sea were connected in an instant… It seemed joining the Shriek Church had brought quite a few benefits. Morriel looked around—everything was dark, with only the light around her illuminating the vast, dark seabed.

A grotesque and terrifying face glided by from not far away, almost starting Moriel on edge. It was the corpse of a Xyrik cultist, utterly unrecognizable in its original form. Its body was twisted beyond recognition, and blood seeped from every orifice in its deformed head. Clearly, it had died from immense water pressure—a consequence of failing to prepare protective spells in time. Even faith in Xyrik, let alone the Sea God, could not save it.

Thanks to protective spells, Moriel was temporarily safe from being crushed by the water pressure, but two other equally deadly threats in the deep waters loomed: extreme cold and lack of air. Without scuba skills, she couldn’t last long. Casting spells in such harsh conditions was also extremely difficult, so it was better to find a way to swim to the surface first. Where was Forty-Seven?

The water around Moriel suddenly became chaotic and turbulent again, as if a group of whales were frantically stirring it. A huge figure rose beneath Moriel. With its thrusters at full power, the water around Dragon Forty-Seven boiled as if in a pot. He gently grabbed Moriel, his sharp steel fingers wrapping around her waist as if holding a doll.

Forty-Seven pointed upward, considering the possible effects of the sudden change in water pressure.

Moriel nodded. “No problem.”

A massive wave burst forth, and the steel dragon soared into the sky. As soon as he emerged from the water, Forty-Seven let out a thunderous roar, “I must get that pretty boy!” His voice even momentarily drowned out the raging storm on the sea surface.

The gloomy sky rumbled with thunder, and occasional dragon-like lightning flashes appeared in the distance. The howling downpour seemed determined to drown the entire world, and indeed, it seemed the whole world was submerged. Beneath the steel dragon, the endless ocean roared in the storm, with towering waves rising like moving walls and crashing in unknown directions.

“Another damn space transfer! I hate this!” Forty-Seven was furious to have been dragged from the swamp to the stormy sea without even a chance to fight.

Moriel, clinging tightly to the dragon’s scales, noticed more than the annoyed Forty-Seven. “Stop complaining. Find a place to land. If we keep flying, we’ll definitely get struck by lightning… Huh? There seems to be a ship over there!”

Moriel’s eyesight was truly remarkable. That barely visible dark dot on the waves in the distance was indeed a ship—a ship that had miraculously not capsized despite the violent storms. Forty-Seven flapped his wings vigorously and flew toward the ship. However, landing accurately wasn’t easy. If he used his dragon’s body to land directly on the ship, there was a 100% chance of causing severe damage to the already heavily shaken vessel. Fortunately, the fierce storm came and went quickly. By the time Forty-Seven circled above the three-masted ship, the lightning had stopped raging in the sky, and the wind had almost ceased, though the light rain falling from the dark clouds continued unabated.

Strangely, there was no reaction on the ship; the deck was empty, with only the sails torn by the storm fluttering on the unbroken masts, as if all the sailors had been blown away by the gale, and no one came out when they returned to the ship.
“Although a lot of water has gotten in, there’s still plenty of blood in the cabin, yet not a single corpse.” After a quick search of the entire ship, 47 began fiddling with the crossbow on the deck. The bowstring, which required a crank to draw, was pulled back effortlessly by him before snapping with a “bang”: “The blood on the deck must have been washed away by the rain, but weapons are scattered everywhere. Maybe they ran into pirates?”
“Unlikely.” Moriel noticed stains on the deck and gunwales that weren’t blood—like mucus left by giant snails, which even such a fierce storm hadn’t washed away: “No storm could make all the corpses disappear. The ship itself isn’t badly damaged, and there are no signs of a boarding battle. Besides, pirates wouldn’t give up such a good ship so easily… It doesn’t even need repainting—just hoist a skull flag!”
“Whatever did it, whatever.” 47 stepped into the cabin and pointed at a bloodstain on the inner wall. The mark clearly wasn’t left by humans or human-like creatures—it resembled a huge fan-shaped leaf, with uncleaned blood clots that were murky and black, seemingly mixed with some other liquid, a sight that was horrifying.
“We should figure out where we are now and fly back to the swamp right away. Maybe we can still find that pretty boy—I must make him taste what it’s like to be in the sea!”
“I don’t think he’ll stay there waiting for you to return.” Moriel closed her eyes and opened them after a while: “This must be the waters where the Storm Ocean meets the Dragon’s Jaw Strait, already south of the Agus Empire… It’s quite far.”
“Alright, let me know where you decide to go. I’ll check if there’s anything valuable on the ship first…”
The waves crashed against the half-old hull, splashing tiny white sprays. The three-masted ship swayed gently on the sea, drifting slowly, and Moriel’s heart felt as unsettled as the ship. She couldn’t decide where to go now—any direction was possible… Kayro, where are you?
47 stuck his head out of the cabin, his iron face tense.
“Moriel, you’d better come take a look.”
Moriel picked up a purple dress in the corner of the cabin, now wrinkled beyond recognition. Despite being ravaged by the storm, its original owner’s meticulous care was still evident. The flower-shaped ties were neatly tied, with two small blue jade beads hanging at the ends. Moriel unfolded the dress and stroked it—its soft, slightly matte texture shocked her—she recognized this dress; Kayro had lent it to her to wear.
Could Kayro have been a passenger on this ship? Now she had accidentally boarded this ship herself—was it pure coincidence, or…
47 scanned the messy cabin for any other valuable clues: “Has Little Red Riding Hood met the Big Bad Wolf?”

Morrill tossed aside her long dress. “Let’s go to the captain’s cabin and check the log to see where this ship is heading!”
The captain’s cabin was in disarray, but fortunately, the log was locked in a desk by the porthole and remained intact.
“Pearl Islands?” Morrill mused as she closed the log. “What would she be doing there? It’s a haven for pirates.”
“No matter where Little Red Riding Hood is going, she’s now disappeared along with the rest of the crew…” Si Qishi said, looking at the old man in pajamas nailed firmly to the wooden bed by a spear covered in seaweed—this was the only body they had found. “If we can’t find her soon, she might not be able to go anywhere.”
Morrill didn’t seem particularly anxious; instead, she appeared somewhat relaxed. “It’s much easier with a clue. Kairo will be fine for now. Since Lady Mist has chosen her, she will naturally protect her… at least until the lady achieves her goal.”
“Well then, let’s head to Pearl Islands—maybe we can catch that ship.” Si Qishi glanced out the porthole.
Outside, a similar three-masted sailing ship was cutting through the waves, getting closer.
After confirming that there were only Morrill and Si Qishi aboard, the captain of the other ship brought a few sailors aboard the attacked vessel.
“Hello, I’m Simon Havalian, captain of the Red Wine Queen. You can just call me Simon.” The middle-aged man who introduced himself as Simon took off his hat and bowed. He had neatly trimmed black beard and was dressed neatly, looking more like a noble than a captain. “Respected mage, could you tell me what exactly happened on the poor Fantasy?”
What a smooth talker. Morrill noticed that he deliberately ignored her gender and emphasized her status as a mage—a tactic that usually pleased female mages. “Captain Simon, you have far more sailing experience than I do. I suppose you don’t think I’m the culprit behind all this?”
“No, no, you’re joking.” Simon quickly clarified. “I was presumptuous, but not in a rude way… I just wanted to use a mage’s wise insight to confirm my judgment. And since the Fantasy has suffered such misfortune, I must adjust my plans to avoid those horrible shark-men. You must have heard of them—these damned sea predators are the second biggest threat to us who make a living at sea, after storms… Just look, the storm just now cost me three sailors…”
What a smooth talker. Morrill suddenly thought Captain Simon might be useful.
“I know a bit of basic magic,” Morrill said, half-truthfully. “Actually, I was here to find a friend to take this ship to Pearl Islands for personal reasons. When I caught up, I found this situation. Maybe I can use my magic on this ship to determine what happened to my friend and track down the attackers. Do you mind?”

Simon raised his hand sincerely. “Of course not! I’m honored to have your help. Oh, I hope your friend is safe! I won’t disturb you any longer! Come, let’s get off the ship and not bother the mage—by the way, if it’s convenient, I hope you’d join me for dinner…”
As they rowed away, the sea elf first mate raised his doubts. “The Fantasy must have been attacked by shark-men. There’s no need for that female mage to confirm that. Besides pirates, fugitives, and kidnapped slaves, who else would board a ship like the Fantasy to the Pearl Islands? With her mysterious demeanor, who knows what’s going on… Do we really need to get close to her?”
Simon put on his hat and adjusted its brim. “Her motives don’t matter. What matters is that she’s clearly a good mage… possibly even a high-ranking mage who escaped from Agus. Did you notice the steel warriors beside her? By the gods, I’ve never seen such exquisitely crafted armor! Maybe she can help us solve our big problems…”
To some extent, he was right.
Morrill’s eyes grew deep and unfathomable, her vacant gaze fixed ahead as everything that had happened on the ship appeared once again…
A starless night. Half-human, half-fish monsters emerged from the sea with their spiny heads, silently climbing aboard using their sticky webbed feet. Their wet bodies were covered in dark green scales, and their tails dragged across the deck with a rustling sound… followed by screams and slaughter.
The shark-men not only seized the survivors but also left no corpses behind… Morrill could guess what they intended to do with both the living and the dead. But a mist still shrouded the ship, preventing Morrill from finding Kayro at all. She had no idea whether she had been captured or hidden, not even whether she was still on the ship.
By the time the spell ended, it was already dark. Remembering Captain Simon’s invitation, Morrill actually felt a bit hungry.
Dine, then have him take me and Forty-Seven to the Pearl Islands… Not a bad idea.