“But that's the extent of her usefulness.”
Crowley’s voice echoed in his mind.
Elias glanced sideways at the old sea dog, his eyes filled with disdain.
“What? Toss her aside after using her?”
Crowley didn't deny the assertion that Ophelia was a “pollution detector.”
“Kid, you're still too young.”
“It's true that ordinary people can sense the negative spirituality drifting from the resonance tower.”
“But that doesn't mean her fragile, mortal body can withstand this kind of blessing from the deep sea.”
The old captain tapped his pipe against the wooden railing, making a dull thud.
“If she stays on the deck, it won't take even ten minutes before her brain is completely ruined by those maddening thoughts.”
With that, Crowley turned his head to look at the female reporter huddled by the door.
A hypocritically warm smile spread across the old man's face.
“Miss Moore, you should head back to the captain's cabin and get some rest.”
Ophelia didn't even have the strength to argue at this point.
She could only nod weakly.
Then, she saw the old captain turn around and shoot a look at Bloodsong nearby.
Bloodsong understood immediately.
He stepped forward and supported the limp Ophelia.
Ophelia was completely drained of the energy needed to express her fear of this demon disguised as a human.
Although her body tried its best to resist and stay away from this seemingly human monster, as a mortal, her struggles were utterly meaningless.
Supported by Bloodsong, she was led step-by-step back to the captain's cabin.
During this time, Ophelia's mind uncontrollably began to piece together a grand and logically sound conspiracy theory.
After all, as a veteran reporter for the Landon Post, imagination and connecting the dots were her core skills.
“Mr. Wayne and the old captain... they're both subordinates of this demon!”
Ophelia screamed frantically in her mind.
She had even figured out their division of labor.
Mr. Wayne was responsible for finding fresh, plump “food” like her on the train.
Meanwhile, the old captain was in charge of continuously tricking people onto the demon's dining table.
She had been targeted from the moment she got on the train.
As for Sophia, that seemingly elegant lady?
Ha.
She was definitely just an accomplice meant to lower her guard.
Beneath her beautiful exterior lay nothing but an exquisite tablecloth used by the demon to decorate his dining room.
“Ryan... my little brother, did he ‘disappear’ like this too?”
At that thought, Ophelia closed her eyes in despair.
Tears, mixed with the cold mist of the deck, slid down her cheeks.
All the details she had previously overlooked now became supporting evidence for this horror story.
Perhaps when that old man on the tavern's second floor told her they were going to the lighthouse, he was already maliciously deceiving her.
The goal was to make her voluntarily travel to this sea of death.
She had once read a widely circulated legend in those cheap occult magazines back in Landon.
It was said that a demon must obtain a human's consent to enter their room.
By analogy, did these monsters also need her to voluntarily enter their territory before they could legally devour her?
“Rules... is this the demon's contract rules?”
Ophelia closed her eyes in despair, sinking into a bottomless abyss.
She felt herself being guided onto the sofa in the captain's cabin.
The sofa creaked with a dull groan, as if mocking her naivety.
She could only curl up helplessly, waiting for her impending doom.
In her mind, everything that had happened today had become a prerequisite for the demon's feast.
Even the bizarre experiences at the Wayland Shipping office had seamlessly fit into her incredibly airtight, self-consistent logic loop.
This was a grand hunt targeted at her, involving several supernatural factions.
However, Ophelia waited for a long time.
She had already mentally reviewed all kinds of seasonings and cooking methods.
Yet, the expected pain and tearing of flesh never came.
On the contrary, the only sound in the air was the click of a lock sliding into place.
The door to the captain's cabin had been shut.
She opened her eyes cautiously, her long eyelashes trembling under the dim gaslight, only to find that the demon was already gone.
The empty cabin held nothing but the faint creaking of wooden planks and the sound of water outside.
Her racing heart finally calmed down.
What was even stranger was that, ever since she entered the cabin, she had been so busy directing her own horror story and imagining the terrifying form of the demon beside her that she hadn't noticed at all that her previous nausea—the feeling that she was about to vomit her very soul out—had completely vanished.
Only then did she slowly realize.
This captain's cabin was no slaughterhouse or dining table.
It was more like a safe house that kept whatever filthy things were outside at bay.
As her oxygen-deprived brain gradually cooled down, reason reclaimed the high ground of her intellect.
Ophelia felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her for her series of “victim-complex delusions.”
This was a textbook case of social death.
If she really thought about it, on the train, she had been the one to ask Mr. Wayne for help first.
He hadn't actively lured her at all.
And thinking about it further, that demon gentleman disguised as a human had merely kindly helped her inside.
He hadn't done anything weird to her.
“So... did I misunderstand something?”
Ophelia buried her face in the sofa cushions, so ashamed she wished she could find a crack in the deck to crawl into.
“Or is it that even among demons, there are good ones?”
While Ophelia lay on the sofa, spiraling into a new round of conflict and self-doubt, the schooner supply ship slowly docked.
On the deck, Elias sat on an empty rum barrel.
He bent down, took off his decent-looking boots, and put the Wind-Chaser Boots back on.
Back in Hastings Port, due to the Spy's Derby Hat's “exclusivity,” it couldn't synchronize its appearance while another containment object was active.
Thus, he had to temporarily store the Wind-Chaser Boots in the Gluttonous Stomach.
After all, if a decent gentleman claiming to be from Landon wore a pair of bizarre, old boots every day, there was a high probability his identity would be exposed.
But now, the ship had docked, and ahead lay unknown dangers and the madmen of the Mist Veil Society. Survival was the only thing that mattered.
“What?”
Crowley watched from the side, a mocking smile appearing on his face.
“Putting on your containment object already?”
“Planning to use those boots to run away when you can't win the fight in a bit?”
Elias didn't let the ribbing get to him, quickly tying the laces of the Wind-Chaser Boots.
He stood up and flexed his ankles, feeling the light spirituality gathering beneath his soles.
“Of course. And don't forget, Whitebeard,”
“I still have the pendulum you want the most.”
“For the sake of your precious plan, you'd better protect me well.”
The old captain snorted.
“You're still...”
Crowley was only halfway through his sentence when suddenly, without any warning, Elias’s 【Malice Perception】 began to sound a frantic alarm!
At the exact moment he heard the sound of water breaking against the side of the ship, the proud-looking old man who had been standing before him suddenly vanished.
He was so fast that he even left a sharp sonic boom in the air.
Elias immediately went on high alert, quickly scanning his surroundings and drawing both his gun and blade.
The wet deck was completely empty. Aside from puddles of water and a broken half-section of the wooden railing, there was no sign of Crowley anywhere.
Seeing this, Elias hurriedly turned his head and shouted to the first mate standing far off at the bow.
“Malcolm!”
“We're under attack!”
“Your captain is gone!”
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