At the same time, ripples fanned across the water near the freighter like silver fish-scales, and in a few breaths the sky inked over, a storm coiling to strike.

“What’s going on?! The sky flipped in a blink—what is this?!”

“Mm. Should be her. Gotta say, our luck’s… not bad.”

“Arghhh, that’s the kind of ‘luck’ I never want in my whole life!” Huang Engong’s voice cracked like a frayed rope; he’d put to sea a dozen times, waves biting and beasts striking, yet never felt a noose tighten like this. First that maniac Ling Yehan, then the deadliest thing in the ocean—if only this luck worked at a casino. Damn.

“Roger! Quit dragging your feet. Go warn everyone—alert state, now!”

“Huh? Boss, why so sudden… wait, did something happen?! I’m on it!” Roger dropped his mop and sprinted into the ship, footsteps drumming like rain.

“Damn it. I always thought that thing was just a smokescreen—how could a monster that strong really haunt the sea? I didn’t think…” Huang Engong paced like a caged tiger, panic catching in his throat like sand; panic didn’t help, but it still rose like floodwater.

“Ling—Boss Ling, you got this…?”

“Not much. Maybe… thirty percent.”

“That’s it for us, then… I’ll go tell the boys to write their last words.” Huang Engong’s eyes dulled like a lantern blown out.

“Hey! Who’re you looking down on (｀Δ´)ゞ? Thirty percent’s a lot!” Round it up, it’s basically a hundred!

“Thirty… isn’t that just zero? Heh, heh…”

Ling Yehan rubbed his brow, helpless, then looked at him with a steady light. “You’re ninth-rank. Stop dragging yourself through the mud. Trust yourself. You’re strong.”

“Strong my ass! A kid in his teens stomped me flat—what use is a watered-down ninth rank? His aura alone crushed me like a wave!” Huang Engong tore at his hair; he couldn’t picture fighting the Gloomsea Wraith when her killing intent alone made his knees soft. Sure, he feared the madman Ling Yehan, but he still believed he could run from him; on the sea, how do you fight a sea wraith? You can’t even run.

“Ergou, a man’s gotta keep faith in himself. If you give up thrashing, no one can pull you to shore.” Ling Yehan’s gaze was calm as winter water; he turned and walked toward the bow.

“My name is Huang Engong… Wait—Boss Ling, what do you mean? You want to go all-in against that thing?”

Ling Yehan didn’t answer; his eyes held the whirlpool heaving not far off, like a pupil tightening.

“You’re insane! You’re strong, yeah, but she’s not even your weight class! Her pressure leaves you blocks behind. That little hobby of yours—those nasty ‘punishment games’—fine, use that on a bottom-feeder ninth-rank like me. But you want to play games with that monster? In front of her, you’re a baby brother!”

“…I can’t help it. I’ve got OCD. You know this.”

Huang Ergou’s mouth twitched. “I really didn’t.”

Suddenly, the whole ship jolted like a tree struck by lightning; the dim sky split and dumped sheets of rain, and a hard wind planed the waves into knives. The freighter turned into a leaf-boat, ready to flip and vanish into the deep any moment.

She was angry.

“Bad news, boss! At our stern—something’s attacking! We’ve got a breach!”

“What?! I’ll head there now. You warn the others—be ready to abandon ship!” Huang Engong shot Ling Yehan a look. “And… make sure you bring that kid.”

Ling Yehan didn’t move. He kept his eyes on the breathing whirlpool. By long practice in tempting fate, he knew the Gloomsea Wraith lurked inside that spiral. You’re watching me, aren’t you? Yeah…

Distant screams cleaved his idle daydream. Water lances erupted from the abyss and punched clean through the hull, and the ship that had still rode steady heeled almost at once like a felled ox. From the deep came a wave of mana like a mountain of iron, pressing the freighter flat, pressing even Ling Yehan’s lungs into stone.

A pressure that heavy—only a god could weigh like that. Do I really have a shot? For the first time, Ling Yehan doubted his thirty percent.

Save people first.

He set his left palm on the deck, gentle as laying frost on a leaf. [Frostglaze]. The ravaged boards sheened with a clear layer of ice, and the flooding stopped like a wound clenched shut. But the sudden heel had pitched sailors into the sea like dice from a cup—and stranger still, once they splashed down, none surfaced again.

They could all swim; you don’t just drown like stones. Something under the skin of the sea was tugging them under on purpose.

On the other side, Huang Engong noticed Ling Yehan move; he flared his domain like a bulwark against the ocean’s pressure, teeth bared, while barking orders to stabilize and turn back. No more forward. Forward is hell’s mouth.

…

All at once, Ling Yehan felt a mind clamp on his own like a cold hand. He didn’t hesitate; he dove straight into the whirlpool, a shadow into a well. If he didn’t stop her now, the sea would rear up like a black wall and drown the freighter whole.

“…Ugh.” The seawater stabbed his eyes like needles; it stung, and he blinked out the salt. In the water, aside from a clean chill, his body felt fine—no drag like chains, no strange snares.

Odd. Then where did those sailors go? Emotion first—unease pricked like thorns. He scanned the blue gloom. Unlike the gale and hammering rain above, the undersea was hushed as a temple at night, and the quiet nudged the heart toward peace like a mother’s hand.

There was no one around—hardly even sea-creatures, the water empty as a fallen hall. No—someone was there. Not far ahead, a blue-haired, gold-eyed mermaid girl watched him, her face smooth as still water. That mental lock from before was hers without a doubt; if so, this girl had to be the one they called the Gloomsea Wraith.

Well then… credit where it’s due—humans are gifted at making up lies. The legend painted the Gloomsea Wraith as hideous but terrifyingly gifted; born in the deep, she envied beauty and turned on the world, and no one could stop her because she was too strong.

So then the kind, kind-hearted Ling Yehan, patron saint of lost causes, after learning the truth, vowed to stop the cycle. Before coming, he’d studied every line he could find—beauty in the heart is the true beauty, faces are just passing masks, all that moral tea.

He’d done his homework for this. From the start, he meant to win with words, not clash head-on. But after seeing the Wraith’s true face, he only wanted to tell the rumor-mongers one thing: line up and let me smack you. (╯‵□′）╯︵┴─┴