But Elias could understand.
Men, no matter their age, always loved to slowly pull out their trump cards when pushed into a corner, as long as circumstances allowed.
Just to project an aura of effortless control, they had to carry out their grand display to the absolute limit, even if it risked blowing up in their faces.
Since the big boss was about to start his performance, Elias was more than happy to sit back and relax.
He silently shrunk back a few steps.
“Listen.”
Elias tilted his head and lowered his voice to ask Bloodsong for information.
“What's the story behind that anchor?”
Bloodsong frowned slightly as Elias suddenly leaned in.
The Resurrectionist quietly took half a step to the side, creating some distance between them.
Elias's eye twitched.
What was that supposed to mean?
They had all rolled through this bloody storm multiple times now; their bodies were covered in either fish guts or dead men's blood.
And now you're acting like a germaphobe?
Who are you trying to fool with that 'pure and unstained' act?
“It's complicated.”
Bloodsong replied, his eyes fixed on Old Crowley's movements.
“It would take too long to explain.”
“But just watch.”
His voice carried a palpable sense of relief.
“In short, we won't have to risk our lives fighting that mountain of rotting flesh ourselves.”
Meanwhile, the two continued to whisper.
Up ahead.
Old Crowley casually tossed the black iron shipwreck anchor into the puddle in front of him.
There was no crisp metallic clatter against the ground as expected.
Instead.
It happened the instant the anchor touched the puddle.
A dull, thunderous boom exploded!
It wasn't the sound of a heavy object hitting the ground at all.
It was the despairing wail of a massive ship splintering to pieces as it crashed into deep-sea reefs on a stormy night!
Elias felt a sharp stab of pain in his eardrums.
In the distance, the Prayer Eater suddenly froze.
It was as if someone had pressed the pause button.
Immediately after, the surrounding environment began to undergo a bizarre transformation.
The water beneath the monster's feet defied gravity, flowing upward.
The howling sea wind also shifted direction, forming an invisible vortex around the rusty anchor.
From the void, the sound of dragging chains echoed.
Countless invisible chains, unseen by the naked eye.
They shot out from the puddles on the ground, the thick fog, and the shadows of the shipping containers!
They wrapped around the Prayer Eater's limbs.
They constricted its twisted spine.
They bound the ravenous mouth of concentric teeth on its chest and abdomen.
The eight human faces that were still mindlessly opening and closing were also throttled by the invisible chains, their features warped.
“Roar!!!”
The Prayer Eater unleashed a terrified, furious shriek.
It sensed a fatal threat.
The massive mouth on its chest and abdomen gnashed frantically, its pale, sharp teeth grinding against each other.
It tried to use its all-devouring stomach to swallow the spiritual chains binding it.
But this time, its usually invincible teeth hit a literal wall of iron.
It couldn't bite through them.
The chains seemed to exist outside the material world, yet they firmly restricted its every move.
“It can't swallow them.”
Old Ed's voice rang in Elias's mind, laced with deep awe.
“What that shipwreck anchor produces is neither ordinary physical restraint nor a simple energy barrier.”
“It is an outcome.”
The old ghost took a deep breath.
“The moment that anchor touched the ground, the monster was already judged as sinking.”
A sinking ship cannot escape.
It cannot fly into the sky.
It cannot continue its voyage.
Its only destiny is downward.
It must plunge into an endless, bottomless abyss.
“Doesn't that make this thing invincible?”
“No, no, no.”
Old Ed replied.
“A containment object of this caliber must have its limitations.”
“Otherwise, it wouldn't be in this guy's hands.”
Indeed.
Edmond's words made perfect sense.
Elias only had to think about why he was running around with a pendulum to understand.
At this moment, Crowley's gaze had completely changed.
His triangular eyes, usually brimming with shrewd calculation, had shed all traces of mercantile greed and slickness.
Gone was his usual deadbeat demeanor.
In its place.
Was a cold, ancient, and unquestionable presence.
It was as if he were the sole sovereign of this sea, an executioner wielding absolute power over life and death.
The majesty of a sea arbiter was laid bare at this very moment.
Only now did he truly live up to the formidable reputation of a Storm Judge.
The old man looked at the struggling Prayer Eater.
His lips parted slightly.
His voice wasn't loud, yet it echoed like a tolling death knell.
“I sentence you to sink.”
The words carried the weight of absolute law.
The moment the words left his mouth.
The previously stalled storm surged back.
But this time, it was not a world-shattering ice-crystal tornado.
Instead, it was an incredibly thin line of wind.
The wind line was so gentle, it resembled a wisp of smoke rising from the old man's pipe.
But it silently swept across the Prayer Eater's chest.
It met absolutely no resistance.
The wind line sliced cleanly along the central axis of the giant mouth.
Crack.
The first layer of pale gears of teeth snapped.
Crack.
The second layer of thick, bony gums fractured.
Squelch.
The deep flesh of the third layer completely disintegrated.
The deformed flesh, which could have easily withstood a direct artillery bombardment, was as fragile as wet parchment before this line of wind.
With the giant mouth completely sliced open.
The deepest secrets of the Prayer Eater's abdominal cavity were finally exposed to the open air.
It was a dark red heart.
Its surface was webbed with thick blood vessels and crude suture marks.
This was the central core, forcibly stitched together and nurtured by devouring the spirituality and flesh of nine Missionaries.
Old Crowley remained expressionless.
He raised his right hand and clenched it into a tight fist in mid-air.
Clatter!
With his gesture, the segment of silver chain wrapped around the shipwreck anchor suddenly tautened to its limit.
It emitted a sharp, strained screech.
Snap!
A sickening tear echoed.
The dark red heart, along with countless blood vessels, was dragged out of the monster's body by the invisible chains.
The Prayer Eater's mountain-like body instantly froze.
Beneath its neck were the eight human faces that had been praying with closed eyes.
At this moment, they simultaneously snapped their eyes open.
Their eyeballs bulged outward, and their mouths gaped wide.
They seemed to want to continue praying.
They seemed to want to beg.
Or perhaps they wanted to unleash the most venomous curse.
But Old Crowley gave them no chance to make a sound.
Gazing at the heart suspended in mid-air, he merely uttered the final word of this trial.
“Return to port.”
The command was given.
The Prayer Eater's massive body did not explode, nor did flesh and blood fly everywhere.
Instead, it began a terrifying internal collapse.
It was like a shipwreck instantly flooded with seawater.
It imploded violently inward under immense water pressure!
Protruding bones, grayish-green scales, shattered teeth, tattered black robes, and even frozen rotten flesh.
All of it was crushed, folded, and compressed under this irresistible force of rules!
The sounds of splintering bone and crushing flesh intertwined.
It took only a few short seconds.
It was a massive monster, nearly three meters tall.
Yet it was forcibly compressed into a pitch-black, high-density lump of flesh no larger than an adult's fist.
The silver chain on the shipwreck anchor whipped deftly through the air.
Like a frog's tongue snapping up a fly.
It dragged the concentrated lump of black rotten flesh directly into the dense shadow beneath the anchor.
It vanished completely.
Not a single drop of blood remained outside.
The entire process was complete.
It was clean.
It was swift.
And it was incredibly efficient.
The battle was over.
Old Crowley walked forward slowly.
Bending down, he picked up the palm-sized black iron anchor and slipped it back into the inner pocket of his coat.
The night wind blew, carrying only the residual stench in the air.
It was as if the world-shattering battle from moments ago had been nothing more than an illusion.
After a long silence.
Elias finally snapped out of his profound shock.
Stepping out from behind the cover, he stared blankly at the captain, who had reverted to his usual deadbeat self.
“Is that it? It's over?”
Old Crowley turned his head, about to say something.
“Cough... Cough, cough!”
The old man suddenly doubled over, coughing violently.
Along with the coughing, a stream of liquid spilled from the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin and onto the wooden planks of the pier.
Elias's pupils contracted instantly.
He had initially assumed the old man was coughing up blood from internal injuries.
But on closer inspection.
It wasn't red blood.
Instead, it was clear, cold seawater that gave off a pungent, salty stench.
It was as if the old man's lungs held an entire ocean instead of air.
Sure enough, the use of such rule-based items came with a heavy price.
In this world, you paid exactly for what you received.
It was only fair.
Old Crowley rested his hands on his knees, taking a full half-minute to recover.
Only then did he straighten his back, casually wiping the remaining water from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve.
He fished out a match from his pocket and relit his pipe.
He took a deep drag, as if the smoke could suppress the abnormalities within his body.
Just when everyone thought tonight's sudden crisis had finally reached its conclusion.
Bloodsong, standing on the outermost edge, suddenly froze.
He snapped his head toward the dark sea in the distance.
His hand reached for the spare quiver at his waist once again.
Sensing Bloodsong's reaction, Elias also turned his head. Pushing his 【Moon Vision】 to its absolute limit, he peered out toward the sea.
His gaze pierced through the mist.
Elias's breathing stopped instantly.
The water beneath the pier was churning relentlessly.
But what came next was even more despairing.
It wasn't just this coastal area they were in.
In the deep, dark distance as far as the eye could see.
A scalp-tingling, dense splashing sound was echoing!
Countless inhuman silhouettes radiating cold malice were densely popping up from beneath the surface.
They resembled a school of fish smelling blood.
They were closing in on the shores of Hastings Port on an unprecedented scale.
“What the actual...”
Elias stared at the skin-crawling sight.
“Is this ever going to end?!”
Did they just kick a hornets' nest of a seafood market?!
He gripped his revolver, which had only three bullets left.
His complaint drew a raspy chuckle from Old Crowley, who was smoking nearby.
The old man turned his head to look at the despair-inducing wave of monsters on the sea.
There wasn't a trace of panic on his face; instead, he exuded an easy composure born of habit.
“Kid.”
“Can't take even this much?”
“This display isn't even a third of the intensity of a real Dead Tide.”
The old man turned back, giving Elias a playful, teasing look.
“What?”
“Tired already?”
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