Beneath the apocalyptic fury of churning seas, humanity’s fragility lay utterly exposed.

Even the strongest among them—those exceptional specimens of their kind—could not escape annihilation.

The *Giant Wolf*-class warship: the kingdom’s mightiest vessel. Seventy-five meters long, crewed by over 470 souls. Equipped with the unique aerial unit ‘Jaegers,’ and shipboard priests capable of casting potent defensive blessings.

In past naval wars against the Vanelshire Empire, the kingdom had been forced to innovate. Imperial magic cannons were devastating. Yet the ruling priests—guardians of sacred arts—saw arcane magic as a threat to their authority. They suppressed spellcasters, tolerating only apolitical alchemists.

Thus, most gifted spellcasters fled to the Empire. Those remaining in the kingdom served priests as domestic magicians. All others sought refuge in the spellcaster’s sanctuary: the Vanelshire Empire.

This imbalance birthed the kingdom’s countermeasure: combining priestly blessings with alchemical explosives. Hence, the ‘Jaegers’ emerged—

Alchemically powered gliders dropping high-yield bombs directly onto imperial decks. After sowing chaos, they’d retreat to repeat the assault.

The Empire attempted to replicate this tactic. But lacking high-tier priests, their bombers were thwarted by protective wards. Aerial units also cost far more than warships. Instead, the Empire perfected its magical industry to counter the kingdom’s hybrid tactics.

A single ant could tip a balanced scale.

The Empire nurtured talent. The kingdom? Its priests hoarded resources in monasteries, burying capable minds who refused to flatter them. National decline became inevitable.

*‘So… if not for our covert efforts, the nation would’ve collapsed long ago… Lord Cabell was right. Those foolish priests will doom us all. The kingdom needs a new leader… ambitious, wise, merciful, brilliant… But why, knowing this, do you remain blindly loyal to that feeble Emperor? Why serve the Pontiff as his attack dog? I’ll never understand…’*

Clad in armor beneath a surcoat—the standard gear of the Storm Knights—a short black cape marked him as a captain. Only the Grandmaster wore a knee-length cape; battalion leaders like him bore waist-length ones. Rank was unmistakable.

‘Undying’ Alan: a middle-aged knight with fiery red hair. His brown eyes, thick brows, tightly pressed lips, and bushy beard carved a face of iron resolve. Sun-bronzed skin and corded muscles spoke of relentless training under harsh skies.

*‘Sir Alan! What do we do now?!’*

A sailor stumbled before him, eyes wide with terror like a wounded cub seeking its mother. Behind them, monstrous tentacles crushed the ship’s hull. Timber groaned under the strain. Sailors and knights alike scrambled in blind panic—a true vision of doom.

*‘Hah… against such a beast? What can one human do? No one saves anyone now. Save yourselves.’*

*‘S-save ourselves…?’*

*‘Exactly. Can’t you see I’m trying to save myself too? Step aside. And… good luck.’*

Ignoring the sailor frozen in shattered hope, Alan strode to the stern. The deck tilted thirty degrees upward. From beneath his cape, he drew a silver rod tipped with a chalice-shaped artifact.

*‘In the Apostle’s name, I call upon the Divine who walks this earth! Faithful warrior though I am, grant me strength to shatter these chains… Forge a sword of light to sever darkness’s grip… Relic of the Saints—reveal your true form this day!’*

Light coalesced from the void into the chalice. A celestial chorus swelled. Holy radiance engulfed Alan until his form vanished within the glow.

*‘A miracle!’*

*‘Sir Alan!’*

*‘We’re saved! We’re saved!’*

*‘God… sob…’*

All who witnessed the light knelt in worship. But reality struck like a child’s toy request denied by a stern parent.

The glow faded. Alan’s relic revealed its true shape—a lance of pure light. He swung it. The sacred artifact hummed in response, sprouting wings of radiance across his back. Like a fallen god, Alan—guardian of the kingdom’s angelic relic—leapt…

Then shot away as a blinding meteor, abandoning the crew to the sea monster’s mercy without hesitation.

*‘Impossible… No… impossible!’*

*‘He wasn’t saving us… He was escaping…’*

*‘How could he…’*

Alan pierced the thick fog without pause. Green wraiths blocked his path—half-rotted specters floating torso-up, hollow eyesockets staring, rusted chains and blades raised.

*‘Martial Art—Chain Thrust!’*

A sonic boom tore through the fog. Alan’s meteor shredded every wraith. He surged onward, bursting through the mist into sunlight-dappled blue seas. Glancing back at the fog-shrouded hellscape, he shook his head and steered the relic eastward.

*‘…Fighting that monster to the death holds less value than reporting its existence. Though the fools in power will likely bicker and ignore it. Not my concern. I am but a weapon…’*

—

***THUD!***

Purames’s fist slammed the table. Her beautiful face twisted with fury. Teeth ground audibly as she glared down at Lil V and Hill Rock kneeling before her. Del Sira stood nearby, expression calm but sweat beading on her brow.

*‘Playing while a crucial enemy slipped away in the chaos… Hill Rock, how should I punish you?’*

Her voice softened unnaturally. She leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, fingers interlaced. A serene smile played on her lips—as if asking what to cook for dinner.

Hill Rock knew this calm masked volcanic rage. Her knees turned to jelly, legs writhing like squid tentacles on the deck. She slumped, still trying to grin through sheer terror. Today might be her last. Purames was the Pipe Captain’s trusted first mate—a ruler with absolute authority to execute failures.

*‘Big sister! Hill Rock got careless chasing fun! As her elder sister, I—’*

Purames raised a hand, silencing Lil V.

*‘You mean you failed to discipline your sister? Are you blaming yourself… or me, for failing to teach you all properly?’*

Lil V fell silent. Among sirens, kinship transcended blood. Rank was decided by strength. Purames—a high-tier Siren—outran them all in power and rarity. She was the Pipe Captain’s chosen deputy.

*‘Sis, that’s not what I meant! Let me chase him down! Or kill him!’*

*‘Chase? Kill? Do you even know who he is? Where he is? His power to annihilate wraiths in one strike marks him as elite among humans. Had I known, I’d have fought him myself. But now? We know nothing of his abilities. And Hill Rock—you glutton! Why devour every leader-class monster?! How do I extract intel from bones?! And those petty grunts you brought back? Pathetic!’*

Fury surged. Scales rippled across Purames’s cheeks. Her eyes bulged. A terrifying pressure filled the air—even Del Sira flinched.

Gold and Silver Twins dropped to their knees. Not by choice, but by primal instinct before overwhelming power.

*‘Hmph!’*

Hill Rock had melted into a trembling puddle on the deck.

Then—instantly—the pressure vanished.

Purames’s half-scaled visage snapped back to flawless beauty: demure, holy, elegant.

*‘Captain! Ahem… Captain! This subordinate failed to dispatch an honor guard for your return. Punish my disrespect!’*

She knelt on one knee. From the shadows emerged a figure radiating death. Darkness clung to him like tangible shadow. A crimson captain’s coat. A curved blade blacker than midnight at his waist. An ornate flintlock pistol gleaming like art on his belt. A tricorn hat amplifying his authority. Where flesh should be—only a skull. Its hollow eyes held two pinpricks of crimson light.

*Clack. Clack.*

Polished boots struck the deck.

*‘Welcome back, Captain!’*

Every soul on deck dropped to one knee, hands pressed to chests in salute. The scene radiated imperial grandeur. Behind this figure trailed a man and a woman. The woman cradled a sniper rifle, her leather armor giving her a striking androgynous beauty—who else but Greenland? The other was a burly middle-aged man in nobleman’s formalwear, radiating gentlemanly grace. None other than Faglas.

Pipe Captain strode silently to the seat Purames had just vacated. He sank deep into the chair, fingers interlaced, one leg draped over the other. His posture mirrored Purames’s earlier stance—but his aura of authority dwarfed it utterly.

"Rise," he commanded, his deep, resonant voice making hearts tremble. Bodies obeyed before minds could react.

"Hill Rock..." His gaze sharpened. "Why do you remain kneeling? I gave the order to stand."

Hill Rock still hung limp, utterly dissolved into octopus-girl mode.

"Captain... I... I... I daren’t..."

"Daren’t? What frightens you so? A formidable foe? Speak. With me here, no matter their strength—I’ll tear them to shreds."

The crew’s spirits surged at his fierce declaration. Purames stepped forward, face flushed with devotion, and knelt again before Pipe Captain.

"My lord, we were just discussing Hill Rock’s punishment when you returned. We leave her judgment—and my own, as commander—to your wisdom."

"And me too," Lil V added quickly. "I request punishment as well."

"...Explain what happened. Purames."

Purames recounted everything since Pipe’s departure: the enemy fleet entering Devil’s Sea, Elan slaughtering a hundred Undead spirits before escaping.

"I see. So the invaders in the fjord were fully eradicated?"

"Yes, Captain. Eleven warships. Roughly five thousand troops."

"Any high-value captives? Commanders? Strong fighters?"

"My apologies, sir. Their commander fell fighting. We only secured seven hundred ordinary prisoners."

"During my intelligence-gathering in the human world, I learned secrets aren’t always held by the strong. Hand all seven hundred to Monpetit. Extract whatever he can."

"Understood! I’ll see to it immediately."

"As for the escapee—we’ll identify him after interrogating prisoners. Purames, build a dossier archive. Compile profiles of all capable individuals. Distribute their appearances and abilities to our core forces: Bone Troops, Undead Skeletons, Merfolk auxiliaries, Siren retainers. If frontline troops can’t intercept a powerful enemy, they must report to officers like you at once. I won’t tolerate repeats of today’s incident."

*(He’s furious. Will Hill Rock be executed? How can I save her?)* Purames’s thoughts raced.

Pipe noticed the crew still kneeling.

"More to report?"

"Your... your verdict on Hill Rock’s punishment, my lord," Lil V pressed, knowing leniency now might invite harsher judgment later.

*Punish her? Tricky. She committed no real crime... yet her comrades demand it. A light penalty, then.*

Pipe’s thoughtful silence made sweat bead on every brow.

"Hill Rock and her sisters guard the fjord’s safety. The invaders were annihilated—that’s merit. As your ruler, I honor merit. But allowing an enemy to escape? That’s negligence. Hill Rock—do you grasp your failure?"

"I... I understand completely," she whispered, head nearly buried in her shoulders, tears welling.

"Your punishment: assist Faglas in appraising ingredients." *(gnawing raw garlic)* "I brought many human-world items back. Understanding them is vital to my plans. Go."

"Wait, Captain!" Purames interjected. "Is this... too lenient?"

"She earned merit by crushing the enemy. Do you question my judgment, Purames?"

"N-no! Your mercy moves me... and shames me all the more."

"Then prove your loyalty through greater effort."

"Yes, SIR!" The crew roared in unison.

Inside, Pipe screamed silently: *Being a leader is exhausting.*

---

In a clinic at Purple Rose Harbor, Sally scanned the street through her face-wrap. Certain no one followed, she slipped inside.

"Welcome, madam. Medicine or consultation?" the clerk asked.

"My heart aches. I need a remedy."

"Heartache? Upper chest? Lower?"

"The center."

"Ah... dire indeed. I’ve no herbs left for that."

"What now?"

"Luckily, a new physician specializes in such cases. I’ll take you to him."

"Deeply grateful."

Sally pressed a gold coin into his palm—a shield bearing a tree emblem. The clerk nodded, ushering her behind a curtain.

In the room’s shadowed corner, an eyeball-and-claws spider demon watched every move.