How many days have I been in this place? Four days, it seems. The sky is always overcast, but in my mind—if this skeletal frame even has brain fluid—I can still track the precise passage of time. My thoughts feel sharper than before… yet I feel no discomfort whatsoever.

A walking skeleton that can think. That can move. If the old me witnessed this absurdity, I’d have gone mad long ago…

Staring at my skull-face in the mirror, those hollow eye sockets holding twin crimson pinpricks of light—I feel no fear or disgust at this horror. These changes… seem beneficial so far, but I dare not lower my guard. Some hidden danger might be waiting.

Counting the days… in two more, Purames and the others will return. Then I’ll learn exactly which timeline I’ve crossed into. Death Fjord… the Resurrection Goddess… the ultimate BOSS… Devil’s Sea… powerful subordinates… all my own creations. But beyond these fragments, I never fleshed out the world. What lies beyond these shores?

I strain to recall Ma Xiaoming’s notes. This story was merely a draft—half-formed ideas I might have scrapped. My usual method: design an overpowered BOSS as the protagonist’s endgame goal, then let them crawl through suffering to victory. A proven formula that paid my bills monthly… yet it brought no joy. Churning out that repetitive trash made me ashamed of the money. But for a talentless hack like me… what did it matter? Ignore the trolls’ sneers, live miserably, and take comfort knowing millions live just as small. At least I wasn’t alone.

Then an accident changed everything. I woke up inside my own story—as the villain.

By my own tired tropes, this glorious BOSS would inevitably fall to some hero. The hero would wear divine gear, master ultimate skills, rally hope for love and justice… and in the final chapter, I’d utter a few lines, slip up at a critical moment, and die spouting that eternal cliché: *"How… could this happen?!"* before the credits rolled.

That ending? Unacceptable. Not while I wear this skull. First, I must understand this world. Am I still on Earth? Unlikely.

Second, I need to test my strength. In my novels, I always assigned levels. Ignoring rare underdog victories, high levels crush low ones. Back in my old life, I was barely level 1—a nobody.

But now? I’m Pipe Captain—the Undead Pirate King. I remember setting my own level at 100. Max level. Yet reality mocks absolutes. What if this world’s levels differ? My 100 might be their 10. A random thug could flick me dead. Or some nobody might wield a legendary artifact, hide their power, and play weak to devour the strong… Ah. Satan’s Hand—that author friend loved those tropes.

*Playing weak to devour the strong.* Simple: hide your strength, feign weakness, then strike when the enemy lowers their guard.

*"A clever tactic. I’ll borrow it. Against strong foes… I’ll start with weaker attacks to test them. But which of my attacks are ‘weak’? I must experiment."*

I glance at the ring on my finger. Pipe Captain activates it. A flash of white light—and I stand in a damp, dripping cave.

*"The Death Fjord’s Lone Mountain dungeon has an arena… doesn’t it?"*

As I ponder walking versus teleporting straight there, I whirl and slash my black curved blade at empty air ahead.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Steel rings through the cavern.

*"Hmph."*

Each strike drips with killing intent, black light devouring all brightness. Space itself twists slightly before snapping back.

A sigh echoes. The invisible foe materializes.

A translucent warrior spirit with Eastern features. A man’s face: firm jaw, thick sword-like brows, tiger eyes gleaming with resolve. His bare torso shows knotted muscle. Bamboo-and-iron bracers guard his forearms; a cloud-shaped iron pauldron shields his left shoulder. His longsword—sheathed now—hums darkly, resentful of blood unspilled. His tattered hakama and straw sandals speak of relentless training. He bows deeply, body bent at a perfect right angle.

*"Slasher Juro… I resurrected you not to ambush me."*

My tone is flat. Not angry.

*"Lord Pipe is the mightiest warrior I’ve ever known—the peak I strive toward. To miss testing my sword against you whenever we meet… would be a waste."*

*"Your obsession with the sword is your reason for existing. Hmph… I don’t mock you, Slasher Juro. Your mindset intrigues me. But remember: before absolute power, all flashy techniques are meaningless."*

I sheathe my blade.

Slasher Juro pauses, then nods. He clasps his hands—right fist over left palm—and strikes them together once: a warrior’s salute from his island homeland.

I accept the gesture and stride past him.

*"I head to the arena to test my skills. Care to watch?"*

My voice drifts back as I walk deeper into the cave. Slasher Juro blinks, then grins, scrambling after me with his katana.

By design, Slasher Juro is a level-90 NPC—the strongest melee fighter after Purames, Faglas, and myself. Though not in my pirate crew, he obeys my orders out of gratitude for his "sword-enlightenment environment." (Translation: he can challenge me anytime on this island.)

He’s not a human ghost. He’s a blade spirit—the soul of that cursed katana. The sword is his true body.

Lost in these thoughts, I enter a vast, circular cavern. The ceiling soars a hundred meters high. Fine sand covers the floor—a natural arena. The Death’s Scythe pirates use it for training. Secluded. Spacious.

At the arena’s edge lies a deep pool. I focus, emitting a Death Lord’s aura. Azure light flickers within my hollow bones.

The still water bubbles. The cavern trembles. Bubbles surge violently—something rockets upward from the depths.

With a splash, a colossal head breaches the surface. Scaled. The size of a truck. A serpentine neck flanked by bony, fin-like protrusions. Two long, curved horns crown its skull—a dragon.

A Sea King Dragon. A mythic guardian of underwater tombs. Flightless, but peerless in aquatic might.

***ROOOAR!***

It plants flipper-like forelimbs on the shore.

I reach into my Bottomless Snuff Bottle—a hand dipping into another dimension—and pull out a tiny golden fish. I dangle it before the dragon.

Its serpentine eyes lock onto the fish. The golden glint fills its gaze as the fish wriggles on my bony finger.

The dragon’s form collapses like melting ice, dissolving into the pool. Where it stood now crouches a violet-haired girl. Scale armor barely covers her chest and hips. Scale greaves guard her limbs. She lifts her head—golden eyes deep as wells.

*"Pipe-saaan~~~ I want it~~ I want it~~"*

Her childish voice vibrates the air. Even my skull itches to frown. That phrasing… dangerously suggestive.

To avoid being crushed into bone dust, I toss the fish. The girl pounces like a puppy catching a stick, snatching it midair. She skips to my feet, swallows it whole, then purrs in satisfaction. Crouching, she rubs the horns on her head against my leg bones.

The dragon-girl accepts my bony "head pats" like an obedient hound, content at my feet.

*"Lord Pipe… no, Sire! Is that truly a dragon? It seems… rather like—"*

*"Ah. My pet, Bouncer. Feed her goldfish, and she’ll tolerate anything. I can’t hurt her. She won’t hurt me. So… we keep each other."*

*"Guh… a pet…"*

Slasher Juro’s spirit stomach churns—if he had one. This defies his understanding. He’s lived on this island for years, yet never knew of Pipe Captain’s dragon companion. And that dragon’s mere presence had frozen him in place.

That was a being who could easily crush me... yet now, Captain Pipe was toying with it like a puppy. Simply unbelievable.

"Alright... Bouncer. You've eaten enough, and cuddled enough. Time to help me out... I'll just try a few cuts on you. If it hurts, say so..."

"Hmm~ hmm~"

Bouncer... I originally designed it as the hero's mount. The hero would tame it, defeat Captain Pipe, and ride it to escape the exploding Devil's Island... heh heh heh. But the hero's whereabouts are still unknown. If I accidentally find them, I must eliminate them.

Besides, Bouncer is terribly troublesome... Dragons are immensely powerful; mind control and domination spells are useless. I'm not confident about emotional manipulation... Bouncer is young now, but once it matures, it'll grow clever. How to control it? I must find a way... In my story, dragons' strength is undeniable. With one as my enforcer... killing me won't be easy anytime soon.

"I'm slashing now..."

Pipe raised his black curved blade, focused his energy, and swung down hard. That thunderous strike sparked against Bouncer's arm... incredibly tough!

"Hmm... ordinary slashes show nothing..."

"Soul-Devouring Slash... activate..."

Even that ghostly-wailing slash only sparked. My experiment seemed off. Bouncer's defense was undeniable. My attacks targeted mortals or living races—magic-physical blends like transformation and curses. Victims either turned undead or weakened and died from curses.

Sigh, whatever... I'll test them all. Wasting that golden little fish is rare. I must get my worth...

"Soul-Seizing Slash... activate..."

"Bone-Eroding Curse..."

"Heart-Piercing..."

"Fear..."

"Chain Nether Ghost Wheel Slash..."

...

He practiced for ages, cycling through every move. Over there... Bouncer had fallen asleep. One hand draped over a boulder, the other hugging it.

"Sigh... I just smoothly used all my skills. Utterly useless... I need a real fight soon... only then will I know my true strength here."

Thinking this, he walked out... leaving sleeping Bouncer and cross-legged meditating Slasher Juro. Picturing the Resurrection Goddess's location, Captain Pipe teleported back to the ship.