“Captain, you don’t have to—” Ethan started, then stopped himself and chose the version that landed better. “You really don’t have to be so formal. I’m only on the Jellyfish because you were kind enough to pull me out of the sea.”
It wasn’t even a lie. John had saved him first.
Coming from the man who’d just saved the entire ship, it hit like a blessing. The captain looked half ready to kneel.
They traded gratitude back and forth until the air felt warmer and the distance between them shrank. By the time Ethan steered the conversation where he wanted it, John was already nodding along.
That was the trick with words: you didn’t force a door. You made the other person hold it open for you.
Ethan gestured toward the subject the captain had asked about. “If you need something simple for your report… one of the leaders was probably a low-tier Hunter.”
“And the other?” John asked.
“Pre-Awakened,” Ethan said. “Maybe he’d only just manifested an ability.”
Pure invention—carefully shaped.
John rubbed at his temple, trying to reconstruct details through the fog of pain and terror. Ethan didn’t let the memory settle.
“Thinking back,” he added quickly, “the Hunter had some… unsettling tricks. Could’ve even been an Abyss Scion.”
John stiffened at that phrase.
Ethan kept his tone steady. “But if he was, he’d only just stepped over the line. Otherwise, even if I lit the storage room’s liquor on fire, there’s no way I could’ve beaten both of them alone.”
It was the kind of story normal people could believe: a candle knocked over during a living-sacrifice rite, rum and whale oil catching, an “evil ritual” exploding on its own.
Anything Ethan couldn’t explain? He pinned it on the rite—something only Abyss-tainted lunatics could understand.
And on top of that, he quietly lowered their strength until his victory sounded like a string of lucky accidents instead of a miracle.
John’s face went pale. The moment Ethan mentioned the rite’s “explosion,” the captain’s mind backed away from the memory like a hand from a hot stove.
He’d been the one strapped down for the sacrifice, after all.
“I understand,” John said hoarsely. “I’ll report it to the sea constable and the company.”
He looked at Ethan with solemn sincerity. “Thank you again, Mr. Rhine. You’re a good man. May the Seven Gods watch over you.”
Ethan returned the blessing with practiced ease, then pressed while the momentum was on his side.
“One more thing,” he said mildly. “It’s hot. Keeping bodies onboard too long… it isn’t good for your crew.”
The ship’s doctor agreed instantly. Plague didn’t care who’d been hero or pirate.
The first mate stepped in too, voice low. “Captain, the pirates wrecked the storeroom, sure—but the cargo’s intact. The company won’t blame us. And our injuries are enough paperwork for reimbursement. We don’t need to haul corpses to prove anything.”
No one wanted to eat meals in the same room as charred bodies.
So it happened quickly.
Two burned Veiled. Seven ordinary pirates.
The sailors heaved them over the rail and watched the sea swallow them without ceremony.
Ethan let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Tamper with the story. Erase the evidence. Pray it was enough.
A black cat padded up beside him and sat as if she owned the deck.
“You might’ve just missed something you can’t even imagine,” Thea said through the contract link, her voice a purr against his thoughts.
Ethan didn’t move his lips. “Meaning?”
She seemed to consider it. “If you’d told the truth, the Church of the Seven Gods would’ve noticed you. That kind of attention can turn into… a future.”
Ethan lowered his gaze. He understood exactly what she meant.
“I don’t need it,” he replied.
Thea didn’t look surprised. By now she’d accepted that this human rarely played by anyone else’s rules.
Night held steady overhead, a black bowl with a handful of stars.
The Jellyfish cut through the water, engines hissing.
Ethan’s mind snagged on a detail he hadn’t asked yet.
He looked up at the first mate, who was directing cleanup in the wrecked storage room. “If there were pirates… where’s their ship?”
The first mate blinked. “I saw it when they boarded. But after we got control back… it was gone. Vanished into the fog.”
Ethan’s brow tightened.
By Player 0344’s count, there had been nine pirates total—seven crew, two captains. Ethan had killed nine.
No survivors. No one left to sail anything away.
So who moved the ship?
His heart stuttered—once, twice—hard enough to hurt.
“When you saw it,” he asked, keeping his voice flat, “did you see anyone else aboard?”
The first mate spread his hands helplessly. “There should’ve been. Fog was too thick to make out anything.”
Fog. A pirate ship appearing out of nowhere. Veiled among the raiders. Then the ship disappearing like it had never existed.
Ethan tried to pull the pieces into a shape that made sense, but exhaustion cut in at the knees.
The Jellyfish ran at full speed all night. When the east finally paled, Ethan’s mind shut down with it.
He fought to stay awake. Lost anyway.
***
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t staring at a ship’s ceiling.
Above him was pale yellow plaster, clean and smooth, carved with delicate patterns along the edges.
Sunlight spilled through a window to his left. White curtains lifted and fell with the breeze, revealing a courtyard full of green trees and tasteful stonework.
Land.
He inhaled. Flowers—and underneath them, the sharp, medicinal bite of herbs.
A clinic, then.
His clothes had been changed. Bandages wrapped his wounds neatly.
He had just enough time to hope the bill wouldn’t be murder before a warm, solid voice came from the doorway:
“Ah. You’re finally awake?”