The blond young man—Roy—let out a cold breath and swept the wet strands of hair from his eyes. Through the thick curtain of rain, he watched the man who had appeared out of nowhere like a ghost.

He was handsome, with the chestnut-brown hair so common in the Punora Federation and a pair of dark golden eyes almost identical to Roy’s. He wasn’t particularly tall, and he wore a somewhat old-fashioned, all-black suit. He looked like any minstrel you might see on the Federation’s streets, but he had none of those performers’ smugness or pretension. His elegance ran bone-deep.

Thunder rolled like waves, and lightning still flashed now and then, heralding the gods’ wrath. Those brief flashes brought not the slightest warmth. Instead, Roy’s heart sank lower with each one—and it was all because of the strange man standing before him.

The lightning couldn’t illuminate the man’s all-black suit, nor could it cast even the faint outline of his shadow on the polished marble.

The curved saber, which had tasted the blood of countless people, passed straight through his body and cut through empty air. Cold raindrops slipped through the hem of his coat and struck the hard ground, as if no elegant gentleman stood there at all—as if he were nothing more than an illusion formed by the refraction of light.

But Roy knew the man wasn’t an illusion.

There were many things in this world that couldn’t be explained by what scholars called science. The world itself was full of the absurd and the insane. Even Roy, during his long years as a pirate captain, had witnessed plenty of things beyond the laws of nature. Things like… the undead, who existed only in the myths of the holy books.

Holding the saber by its hilt in a reverse grip, Roy straightened his damp, disheveled hair and did his best to look polite.

'Forgive my rudeness, but I’d really like to know—what exactly are you?' Roy gathered his thoughts. Being faced with something he could see but not hit was hardly good news for a man who relied on force of arms.

'Me?'

The man smiled, bent slightly, and gave a flawless gentleman’s bow. Then he raised his head, amusement in his eyes, and explained, 'Put it in terms you can understand: you can think of me as something like a ghost or a spirit. But I prefer to be called the Devil. When I was alive, plenty of people called me that.'

'All right, all right, Mr. Devil. In that case, what’s keeping you from moving on? Maybe I can help.'

Roy showed not the slightest sign of surprise or panic. Instead, his expression relaxed as he slowly slid the saber back into its sheath, his left hand quietly settling against one side of it.

The faint sound of that little movement was swallowed by the downpour. The Devil seemed not to notice at all; his attention remained on Roy’s question. 'No, no. I didn’t become like this because of some unavoidable—'

He hadn’t even finished speaking when a brilliant golden light cut him off. As it grew brighter and brighter, the not-so-tall figure crumbled like dried sand, breaking into countless grains before falling into the drainage channel between the marble slabs. The rainwater swept them away.

The light dimmed and flowed back, until it vanished completely into the small, exquisite cross in Roy’s hand.

Roy stepped forward twice and watched the current carry the grains along, bit by bit, into the dark soil of the forest. Only then did he fit the cross back into the inconspicuous hollow in his saber’s sheath.

'This captain doesn’t have time to help every ghost in the world settle their unfinished business one by one. Getting purified by the Church’s cross is a pretty good way to move on, too. Right, Mr. Devil?'

His tried-and-true trick had worked again. Roy smiled smugly, but that smile lasted only until he turned around.

The Devil, who had already turned to ash and disappeared, had appeared once more. This time, he was sitting on the throne, his splendid tricorn hat resting on the arm beside him.

Seeing the astonished look on the captain’s face, the Devil gave a satisfied little smile. He looked every bit like a boy who hadn’t quite grown up.

The Devil reached for the tricorn hat and gently set it on his head. The very next moment, the scene before Roy changed.

The water that had been flowing through the drainage channel was gone. In its place was molten gold, streaming slowly backward through the channel until it all flowed beneath the throne.

Amid a dense chorus of cracking sounds, countless pieces of stone broke away from the throne and plunged into the boiling lava, raising bubbles as they fell. The crude throne, which looked like a botched attempt at making one, began to reveal its true form.

Brilliant jewels. Gilded patterns. In the blink of an eye, the throne had transformed into something splendid and utterly magnificent. Everything about it was drawing closer to the legend.

'Captain, I told you that you could call me the Devil. But I’m not the kind of tangled evil from the holy books, the sort that can be purified by a cross.'

With the tricorn hat on his head, the Devil transformed from a mild-mannered gentleman into the vicious pirate before Roy, reeking of blood and fire.

Roy gave a few dry laughs and vigorously patted the cross on his sheath. 'I knew it. No wonder that Church junk didn’t work. You really are something, Mr. Devil. If I’m not mistaken, you must be the legendary… Captain Edward?'

By now, the truth was obvious. Anyone could tell that the captain, who was still backing away, was trying to change the subject. But there wasn’t a crack in the sincerity on his face.

You had to admire Roy’s shamelessness. Even among pirates, few could slash someone and then carry on with such easy compliments and conversation.

'Kid, I have to admit: you might not be the best pirate to come to this island, but you’re definitely the most shameless.' The Devil shook his head and beckoned to the captain, who had secretly decided that staying alive mattered more than anything and was getting ready to run. Then Roy was struck by a sight that left him panicked.

His backward steps stopped abruptly. Every bone in his body began to shake violently, and his body moved against his will toward the throne, walking toward the kindly-faced Devil.

Before long, Roy stopped in front of the throne. The instant he regained control of his body, he seemed to lose all strength and dropped onto the wet ground.

'Damn it…' Roy swore without thinking. Then he glanced up at the Devil, who was right beside him, and muttered in a voice that was almost a groan.

'So, can we have a proper talk now, Captain Roy?'

The Devil studied Roy’s face, so delicate it hardly looked like a man’s, and couldn’t help but praise him. 'The Roy family really does have exceptional blood. After all, you’re…'

Roy didn’t catch what the Devil said after that. He looked up at the progenitor of all pirates, thought it over for a moment, then gave an awkward smile. 'You seem to know me pretty well.'

The Devil reached out, and the moonstone skull nestled against Roy’s chest immediately floated out, spinning as it landed in his palm. 'Of course I know you. How could I not know a pirate brat who’s been chasing me for three whole years? I know your background, everything you’ve been through over the past dozen years, and even the secret you’ve been keeping from your crew. I know it all.'

'Elizabeth Roy.'