In a reef-strewn stretch of open sea, three small islands sat amid jagged rocks, arranged in a tight triangular formation. On the central island—the largest of the three—a squad of dark-skinned, weapon-wielding men stood rigid under the scorching sun. Their leader, a bald brute with a scarred face, barked orders from the dock.

A three-masted ship had just anchored offshore. Its gangplank thudded down. A body flew out from the deck, crashing onto the plank and tumbling down. Then a figure leapt after it, landing squarely on the man’s back. She slid down his spine like a child on a slide, boots scraping wood, and landed lightly on the dock. Backlit by the sun, her face was shadowed—but her silhouette revealed a woman with a dangerously alluring figure.

Neatly cropped blue hair framed her face. A trace of smugness and excitement danced in her violet eyes. Winterly Lane stuck out her tongue playfully, then stomped hard on the bloodied man she’d just ridden down. The violent motion made her barely clothed chest sway. A few pirates swallowed hard. *If she were ordinary*, they thought, *we’d have taken her by now*. But everyone knew this woman was a certified lunatic. No one knew what rattled inside that pretty head.

After grinding her boot into the near-dead man’s ribs, Winterly finally "noticed" the assembled pirates. She turned with a light laugh, beaming at their stunned faces.

*"Am I being cruel?"* she chirped, tilting her head. *"Aww, but this guy~ broke my favorite cup! My precious treasure!"*

Memories flashed through their minds—countless fools tortured to death over petty excuses. No one cared. Pirates lived expecting death. Just not *this* humiliating. But they had no choice.

This blue-haired girl in scandalous clothes wasn’t someone you crossed.

Winterly Lane. Vice Captain of the Merfolk Pirates. Yet her nickname wasn’t "Mermaid." It was **Yaksha**. Born with preternatural agility, she was a natural assassin and warrior. A sword prodigy who wielded four distinct blade arts.

Beautiful outside. Cruel within. She killed for fun.

*"Hello? Cat got your tongues?"* She skipped toward a trembling pirate, tracing a circle on his bare chest with one finger. *"Shaking in this heat? Are you cold, sweetie?"*

*"N-no!"*

*"Giggles~ Answer my question properly."*

Her hand drifted to the hilt of her shortsword. Her smile stayed innocent.

*"Hey. Playtime’s over, sweetheart. We’ve got business."*

*"Tch. Fine. I’ll save the game for later."*

Winterly spun and knelt gracefully at the gangplank’s base. The pirates followed suit, dropping to one knee.

A figure emerged from the ship’s shadow. Sunlight glinted off his silhouette as he descended slowly. A giant—nearly 2.5 meters tall. Beside him, the petite Winterly looked like a child.

*"Welcome back, Captain..."*

*"Hmm. Winterly."*

He extended his right hand. Winterly sprang up, hugging the massive limb. His forearm was thicker than her waist. The bloodthirsty demon vanished. Now she was a purring kitten.

*"Careful, little Karl! The plank’s slippery-slippery!"*

*"Hmph. You wiped it clean for me, didn’t you?"*

Karl’s face was a map of scars, his jaw bristling with steel-gray stubble. Winterly rubbed her cheek against his arm, deliberately brushing her chest against his bicep.

*"Quiet now, Winterly."*

*"Mmmkay~"*

She retreated obediently.

*"Rise."*

*"Yes, sir!"*

*"Captain... urgent news. We didn’t know how to handle it."* The scar-faced leader kept his eyes down.

*"Speak."*

*"Namoo set sail days ago—500 men, five ships. They’ve vanished."*

*"Vanished? Defected? To Bahamas? Jason? Ruby? Gwynnson? Or that old scoundrel Dace?"*

Karl’s icy stare made the man’s forehead bead with sweat.

*"...It was the Ghost Ship!"*

*"Foolishness! Ghosts are sailor’s tales! Incompetents deserve—"*

*"Winterly. Silence."*

Her knife hand froze mid-draw. She slunk back behind Karl, sticking out her tongue.

*"Scar. Explain."*

*"Yes, sir!"*

Days earlier, Namoo and Scar had chased merchant ships reported in these waters. Namoo took five oar-driven warships. He never returned. Scar sent scouts...

*"They came back mad with terror?"*

*"Yes, Captain. The survivors babbled about demons... ghosts... devils. Couldn’t form a sentence. And... two ships were missing. The other three sat empty. No bodies. Even if dumped overboard, corpses float near the wreckage for days before fish or currents take them. So I believe... they were taken."*

*"Hmm. Legends say this sea holds only the giant Sea Serpent territory. Nothing supernatural... until now. Suspicious. Take me to the madmen."*

*"At once!"*

——

Meanwhile, at Pearl Harbor in the Fire Eagle Duchy.

*"Faglas-san... that curved blade of Pipe-san’s—it’s a demon relic, isn’t it?"*

*"Indeed. As world-traveling adventurers, we often find artifacts in places beyond mortal imagination. That blade was recovered from an undersea ruin. It turns slain foes into Undead."*

Julia nodded, recalling how Pipe had cleaved pirates with single strokes. Humans could train to reach the Saintly realm—like the Duchy’s Five Sword Saints, or the Empire’s 170-year-old Saint Magus.

*"How powerful are such beings, truly?"*

*"I wouldn’t know. Forgive my ignorance, Faglas-sama."*

*"No matter. Such figures are revered. Not easily seen by commoners."*

*"True... though they say the Holy Priests can resurrect the dead."*

*"...! Remarkable. Wouldn’t that make the Kingdom invincible? Send armies to war, then revive the fallen."*

*"Not so simple. Resurrection demands rare sacrificial resources... and drains the caster’s life force. Holy Priests won’t waste it on ordinary souls."*

*"Ah. Good."*

*"I mean... it’s only just. Perhaps the gods warn us not to squander life lightly."*

*"Faglas-sama, you’re quite the philosopher."*

Under Pipe’s orders, Faglas escorted Julia home. His polished manners charmed her, unlocking vital secrets. The Fire Eagle Duchy was a feudal patchwork—petty nobles bickered while paying tribute to the Duke. Weak compared to the centralized Empire or constitutional Kingdom, it existed only as a buffer state. Maps and charts were forbidden to commoners. Faglas’s true goal? Stealing the Silver Plate family’s nautical charts.

He declined Julia’s invitation to stay, taking the promised chart copies. *"Call on me if you need anything,"* he’d said. She agreed readily—nobles welcomed powerful adventurers. One tip could elevate a family.

Faglas had erased Julia’s trauma from Pipe’s brutality. No noble had ever been so courteous: immaculate appearance, witty yet dignified speech, and those subtly predatory eyes that had already breached her defenses. She’d even forgotten how he’d peeled a man’s face off.

*"Humans truly are foolish beasts."*

Faglas walked toward the harbor, chart in hand. He glanced back, imagining the Fire God Cannon reducing the port to ashes.

*"Time to hunt for treasures too. The Captain will adore this. Plundering a nation’s wealth... thrilling. Every country must have *one* worthy jewel... heh heh heh..."*

He adjusted his collar and slipped into a dockside tavern, smile sharp as a blade.

——

*"I sense a thread of evil here, Faramir..."*

*"I feel it too. This sea is cursed."*

A twin-masted exploration vessel drifted into the Devil’s Sea—north of where Pipe and Faglas had wiped out the pirates. Two figures in gold-embroidered white robes chanted over gleaming ritual tools.

*"Brother, the tea’s ready! Faramir-nii, want a bowl?"*

A girl with chestnut hair and a youthful face—seventeen or eighteen—beamed. A stout, bearded dwarf squeezed past her, his round belly and wild beard making him look comically out of place.

His bushy orange-red beard nearly scraped the floor.

"Little Margery’s turned the kitchen into a bomb site. You two lords better come eat something."

"Ahaha, Old Man Spoon! Faramir and I are right behind you."

"Let’s go, Wells..."

The two golden-haired hunks trudged reluctantly into the cabin to sample the soup from the exploded kitchen.

"Faramir, your thoughts?"

"Faint but persistent—that evil aura lingers. It signals a powerful dark creature nearby... A Siren? Or a Ghost Ship? Hard to tell..."

"Either way... wow, this soup’s amazing. Another bowl, please. Anyway, since you sensed that, Faramir, we should report it. Counts toward our adventurer apprentice final exam... mission complete."

"Hmm, I agree, Wells. We’re not full adventurers yet. Even with a discovery, standard rules forbid naming it after us... No need to rush. After graduation and certification..."

"Hehe, knew you wouldn’t quit. But old-timers say cursed spots mean ancient monsters or evil beings. That implies a hoard of treasure..."

"Maybe it’s crude, but isn’t slaying beasts for loot the adventurer’s thrill? Soldiers die young, pirates earn scorn, merchants... ugh, reeking of coin. Adventurers win fame and fortune. Plus—"

"You two! Eat properly or leave!"

"Got it, got it! Haha... Margery, your final exam’s soon. Need backup?"

"Absolutely! Without Faramir and big brother, I’d panic. With the top apprentices helping, that strict examiner will approve me easily!"

"...Ah, youth. Back in my day—"

They ignored Old Man Spoon’s rambling and strode out, leaving the dwarf fuming. His beard trembled as he scrubbed dishes. He sighed, mourning his failed adventurer dreams—now just a ship’s cook.

Still, serving legendary adventurers brought its own pride.