Pipe Captain strode slowly down the eerie stone corridor, the rustle of his clothes brushing against bone echoing through the passage. Greenland clutched his sniper rifle tightly as he followed, his face flushed with a hint of shyness.

*The Captain’s heading to the underground palace… A chance to be alone with him! Come on, Greenland!*

Ignoring Greenland’s internal daydreams about lavishing affection on him, Pipe occasionally inquired about corridor forks and trap locations. Greenland confirmed all mechanisms functioned smoothly—he regularly sent miniature puppet servants to inspect and repair them.

Pipe nodded in satisfaction, even ruffling Greenland’s hair.

*Surprisingly soft… silky to the touch.*

The gesture nearly made Greenland swoon. Though as a puppet he couldn’t faint, the thrill lingered. Through相处, Pipe had learned these NPCs’ quirks. Occasionally granting their deepest desires satisfied them—but it wasn’t enough. Perhaps due to Ma Xiaoming’s lingering personality within him… Pipe refused to rule solely through icy cruelty.

To face future heroes who might hunt him, Pipe needed growing power. And discretion… Yet recalling those deliberate probes, he doubted staying low-key was possible. His crew of cutthroats—this设定’s bitter fruit—craved treasure and torment. Silver Lock relished torture; Greenland enjoyed interrogating prisoners. Only Faglas lacked such urges. None were human; all were monsters.

Their loyalty hinged on Pipe Captain being a cold, mighty overlord. Maintaining that persona was essential. How exhausting. Once merely an office worker handling difficult clients, he now commanded bloodthirsty fiends. Though he’d become a monster himself, Ma Xiaoming’s conscience whispered otherwise.

Acting ruthless… incomprehensible. Yet this very coldness earned their reverence.

*Are they all masochists? No…* Each matched Pipe’s near-100-level strength. Only the Twin Stars differed—their strength lay in naval combat, manning the *Resurrection Goddess*’s cannons.

What separated NPCs from bosses? Resources. Pipe hoarded legendary artifacts in the underground palace. His设定 painted him as a brilliant, decisive, utterly evil overlord—greedier, crueler, more inhuman. His destined end? Hoarding treasure like a dragon until heroes slew him. Ma Xiaoming’s novels always ended thus.

But now *he* was the boss. That fate would not claim him. He’d out-desire them, out-cruel them—but outsmart them too. No careless mistakes. Controlling his subordinates was paramount.

To find a way home, he must play this role. Even if he stayed, survival demanded it.

Remembering Purames licking his boots made Pipe nauseous… if he had a stomach. He’d swallowed pride before bosses, but never *that*.

He wouldn’t apologize. Nor need to. His mind shifted toward Pipe’s extreme evil, yet Ma Xiaoming’s voice urged restraint. To balance both selves, he practiced warmth during private moments—without losing authority. Exhausting.

Greenish ghost-fire lamps dotted the walls at intervals. The wide corridor featured mythological reliefs.

*This should be the entrance… according to my设定.*

Soon, the corridor opened into a vast semicircular hall. Opposite the exit stood a forbidding gate. Beside it, a colossal figure rose from a crouch as Pipe approached.

A three-headed wolf, ten meters tall, silver-furred. Six crimson eyes locked onto Pipe. As he neared the gate, the beast lowered its chin to the floor, tongue lolling in submission.

"Cerberus… good boy. Open the gate for me."

His tone was flat.

*Whine… whine…*

Guardian of the underground palace’s entrance. Four layers lay within. Cerberus watched the gate…

Pipe glanced at his ring—the unique teleportation band allowing instant travel between Death Fjord’s dungeon and the *Ghost Ship Resurrection Goddess*. Others lacked this luxury. A pity. Distributing rings would boost efficiency… But now was the time to bond with subordinates. Shared journeys built loyalty. He’d minimize ring use.

Recalling the dungeon’s layout: Layer One was a trap-filled maze. Without Greenland, even Pipe would struggle through it.

Layer Two, crafted by the Twin Stars, housed vampire-raised ghouls and collected monsters. A level-50 zombie samurai served as its warden.

Layer Three stored mundane treasures—gold, jewels. Layer Four was Pipe’s sanctuary. None entered without his consent. Its guardians? The demon blade Slasher Juro and the Sea King Dragon, Bouncer.

————

The Devil’s Sea—a graveyard of reefs and whirlpools. Forbidden to humans. Unreachable places breed wild tales; no one could disprove them anyway.

"Hey… heard about the *Ghost Ship* haunting the Devil’s Sea?"

"Yeah! My brother saw it while trading cargo. Scared the piss out of him."

"But… no sightings for decades, right? The Kingdom’s bishops keep purging war-born undead. Still, the Devil’s Sea’s so remote… maybe it *is* an undead haven."

"Idiot! Planning another ‘antique hunt’? Real adventurers risk lives for treasure—not like your lazy schemes!"

"What? Adventurers so special? I’ve had cannonballs whistle past my face at sea. Didn’t flinch. You wanna test courage against a soldier?"

"Peace, friends… peace. But is that sea truly safe…?"

Amid the clamor, Faglas sat at the bar, sipping the recommended wine. The bartender hesitated—servants of nobles were notoriously petty. Yet this man seemed different.

"Mmm… excellent. Not quite vintage Bordeaux, but meticulously crafted. Handmade. The vintner compensated skillfully for underripe fruit…"

"I added moon sugar…"

An elderly man emerged from behind a curtain. Hunched and squinting, he studied Faglas, then fetched a jar from beneath the counter.

"You’re not local. I like you. Those oafs? They gulp wine like piss. No appreciation for a brewer’s soul… You’re a true connoisseur. Try this."

"Thank you."

Faglas examined the jar. The old man’s pride turned to shock, then delight.

Faglas didn’t open it immediately. He tossed the jar, caught it, shook it to listen, then tossed it again.

"This has aged into thick nectar…"

"Exactly. Brewed the year I was born. I’m sixty-eight now."

"Much obliged."

With practiced fingers, Faglas pierced the clay seal on the jar’s side. He poured a drop of the viscous liquid. A rich aroma flooded the room, silencing the tavern instantly.

A faint smile touched Faglas’s lips—the chef and mixologist in him satisfied.

"Prepare one hundred glasses."

"Y-yes, sir!"

The bartender swiftly arranged a hundred cups—fifty matching, fifty mismatched.

Faglas slipped behind the bar. Guided by scent, he found complementary spirits. His hands became a blur—part artistry, part controlled chaos—as he crafted a hundred unique cocktails.

"Yours, sir."

He handed a crystal-blue drink to the stunned old man.

"Ahh… oh…"

The man sniffed it. Though心疼 over the precious nectar, he recognized genius. He sipped.

Tears welled as he set down the glass.

"How did you know this brew?"

"Your walk suggested years in freezing climates. This warm region rarely has such烈酒. You must miss it."

"Thank you… truly. You’re a master."

Faglas shook the old man’s hand and returned the jar.

“Ahh… there’s still half left?”

“Yes. I dared not use too much, knowing how precious it must be to you.”

“Mmm. It’s my treasure. Like a child to me.”

“Then please accept these as payment for borrowing your space.”

Faglas handed the old man two exquisitely crafted gold coins—antique artifacts, perhaps.

“Ah… no need. Just tasting that wine has made me happy enough… Alright, alright, I’ll take them. Use the place as you wish…”

Faglas nodded gratefully, then turned to the tavern patrons now gathered around him.

“Friends, I’m a bartender from distant lands. Here are ninety-nine unique drinks… I seek information. Anyone who gives me a satisfying answer gets a free cup.”

“Hoo hoo!! Really?!”

“Fair enough…”

“Can’t we just buy one? That pink drink looks lovely.”

Amid the clamor, Faglas won their favor with polished speech, elegant manners, and godlike mixology skills. A brief scuffle—where he casually punched two burly thugs flying into the street—proved he was a formidable fighter too.

Soon, dozens savored his drinks while Faglas gathered crucial intel.

—

Aboard the *Resurrection Goddess*, Pipe sat in a wide chair on the deck, manipulating a surveillance puppet prepared by Greenland. Faglas’ reflection appeared in the mirror—equipped with his own scout and voice-transmission puppets, like a magical telephone. Beside Pipe, the Golden-Silver Twins clung to each other while Purames stood respectfully nearby. Greenland perched on the railing, cradling his beloved weapon.

“Faglas, well done… I’m very pleased with this intel. You’ll be rewarded upon your return.”

Relaxing in his plush chair, Pipe praised Faglas through the magic mirror.

“…Information about strong foes? Then what of this merfolk pirate crew?”

“Seemingly the strongest among the pirates in these waters.”

“And they’re considered powerful?”

Pipe’s calm question carried an icy edge that made Purames shiver. Golden Key tried to slip away but was yanked back by Silver Lock. Greenland watched eagerly from the railing.

“The true ruler of these seas is Captain Pipe… The mightiest will always be the Scythe of Death. Faglas, return now.”

“Yes, sir!”

“I’ll crush this Karl… a shameless insect. Leaving him alive would be… unpleasant.”

*Do such words match the image of a strong leader in their eyes?* Pipe rose, gazing at the vast sea beyond the mist.

*My old town never had oceans like this—endless. How many secrets lie beneath these churning waves?*

Watching the ever-shifting tides, Pipe—once Ma Xiaoming—murmured:

“…The ocean… How many treasures lie hidden? Like stars beyond counting. Only the strong deserve to claim them… don’t you agree?”

The crew nodded fervently. Purames dropped to his knees, flushed with passion.

“Command it, my lord! I’ll seize every treasure for you. Only someone like you deserves such wonders!”

“…Hahaha.” *(Neither confirming nor denying)* “Who knows what awaits us in the unknown seas? But conquering it all… sounds rather fun, doesn’t it?”

“…!!!”

Ignoring their stunned faces, Pipe descended into the cabin. *Sigh. Playing the leader gets easier, but the exhaustion grows heavier. Conquer the seas? Just idle talk. Impossible.*

*What even am I doing anymore?* Pipe pondered his next move.

*One step at a time. Let this Karl satisfy my crew’s thirst for battle. Pirates are wanted criminals—killing one is public service, right? A good deed?* He smirked. *Being a skeleton has perks: no hunger, no thirst, no fatigue.*

*Whatever. Call it a vacation. Things are fine for now. Just stay cautious…* He entered the captain’s quarters, shutting the door to study nautical charts. *If I’m playing captain, I’d better learn this properly. Knowledge means nothing without instinct.*

Meanwhile, Pipe never realized how his offhand words ignited his crew. They exchanged glances until Greenland finally blurted out:

“What he just said…”

Purames replayed Pipe’s vulnerable moment in his mind, a blush creeping across his face.

“That was Pipe Master’s ambition…”

Greenland scoffed.

“Revealing ambition to us means…”

Golden Key squirmed free of her sister’s wandering hands—only to be caught again.

“I think… I think… he was testing our loyalty!”

Silver Lock’s eyes gleamed. She gripped her sister tighter, fingers slipping under Golden Key’s clothes to tease sensitive spots.

“Then we must try harder, right… *sister*?”

Golden Key gasped, struggling weakly before melting into breathless surrender.

“Ah… stop it…”