It was by far the longest dream Roy could remember.

It was like a ribbon of black silk, drawn past his eyes by an unseen hand. Now and then, a faint flash of lightning streaked across the distant sky, followed by soft thunder close by his ear. But each soon vanished, leaving only a long, tranquil silence.

The sweet darkness of the dream filled him with peace, as if he’d returned to those days when he slept in his mother’s arms. But this wasn’t eternal sleep. When a breeze swept in from the beach, stirring the white sand and brushing his soft lashes, he finally woke.

His hazy pupils soon came into focus, and his languid expression gave way to a sharp, dangerous alertness. The first thing Roy saw wasn’t a tangle of overlapping branches, nor the Devil’s eternally gentle yet deeply unsettling face. It was a clear blue sky.

Oddly shaped white clouds drifted lazily overhead. Warm sunlight fell into his dark golden eyes, but didn’t dazzle him.

Roy struggled to sit up, gazing in bewilderment at the peaceful sea glittering before him and feeling the dry warmth of the white sand. It was as if a lifetime had passed—as though the towering waves that had nearly capsized the Mermaid, and the torrential rain that had poured down around him, had all been nothing but a hallucination.

But a few things in front of him soon dispelled that sense of unreality. Bracing himself against the white sand, Roy got to his feet and took a few steps forward. Warm waves, crowned with foam, brushed gently over his ankles, but he barely noticed. His gaze remained fixed on the sea, on the charred shadows barely visible beneath its surface.

The next moment, his lips parted slightly. A sense of absurdity surged through him as he finally realized what those things floating on the sea were.

They were shattered planks, the charred keels of ships burned until they were almost indistinguishable from ash. They were all…

the wreckage of the Orlan Empire’s First Fleet.

“Oh my God…”

Roy’s mind shook so violently that he didn’t even notice his own voice had changed. He simply gazed at the horrific scene before him as if admiring some wondrous spectacle.

He had no idea what had happened while he was unconscious. He only knew that another irresistible force had descended—perhaps a once-in-a-century storm had stirred up a massive whirlpool in the already unstable sea

But if that was the case, how could he explain those charred marks?

There was no explanation. Roy could only attribute it to the Devil’s doing. He’d weathered countless storms and seen all manner of legendary monsters, but never anything capable of bringing about a disaster like this.

“Good thing I had Richie and the others stay far away. Otherwise, the Mermaid might be among the wreckage now too.”

Roy patted his chest in relief, only to find his hand meeting a soft obstruction about three inches away from it. Puzzled, he looked down to see what was wrong.

Then Roy realized that what he saw was the biggest problem of all. The ground he used to be able to see straight through his chest was gone, replaced by a slight rise beneath a piece of coarse linen. His hand had been stopped by the white cloth, stretched taut over it.

“I…” Roy blinked, a faint bewilderment still lingering in his eyes.

It was true that among the five legendary pirates in the world, he was the most skilled at close-quarters combat. Years of clashing blades had forged him a strong, well-proportioned physique—but he didn’t have much visible muscle, let alone a chest. And even if he did, it couldn’t possibly be this… impressive.

Once he noticed the changes to his body, all sorts of strange sensations came rushing in. The voice he’d barely noticed before was especially jarring. Only then did Roy realize that ever since he’d woken up, his deep, magnetic voice had vanished without a trace. In its place was a clear, sweet voice like those of noble young ladies.

It was a terrifying change—far more terrifying, even, than having his real name exposed to the crew.

“Hey… No way, right?”

Roy’s voice, trembling beyond his control, carried far into the distance with the retreating waves.

After a brief examination of himself, Roy sank onto the soft white sand, dazed, staring at his arms. They were far fairer and more delicate than before.

He—no, she—had confirmed a truth that was incredibly hard to accept: what the Devil had meant by a “curse,” and what those last words she’d heard before drifting into unconsciousness meant.

“So ‘make your name a reality’… ‘make Elizabeth real’… means turning me into a woman? Damn you.”

Now that she’d figured it out, Roy murmured under her breath and scooped up a pebble beside her, hurling it at the sea with all her strength. It kicked up a small spray. But the instant the pebble hit the water, a faint rumble seemed to ride the damp sea breeze toward her. Startled, she hurriedly glanced around, suddenly feeling guilty. She was afraid the Devil was still nearby and had heard her cursing him.

Suddenly, Roy’s eyes lit up as she thought of a possibility. She sprang to her feet, the fear gone from her eyes, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted toward the seemingly endless sea, “Mr. Devil, could you change the curse? How am I supposed to show my face like this?”

There was no answer. That was only natural.

Roy let out a disappointed sigh. Then she remembered the rumble she’d heard moments ago. It seemed to have come from somewhere on the island’s western side. Thinking it over, she decided it didn’t sound like the Devil showing off his power. It was more likely the Mermaid had struck a reef while returning. She brushed the white sand off herself and jogged in that direction.

Not long after she left, a faint, amused laugh echoed through the air. It was soon drowned out by the spray of the waves, making it hard to tell whether anyone had really laughed at all.

Roy soon found the source of the rumble.

It wasn’t the sound of the Mermaid striking a reef on her return. It was the crack of half a broken ship’s keel slamming into the rocky western shore.

The hard outer hull around the keel was so badly shattered it could barely hold together. Countless splintered spikes of wood jutted from the openings, all of them reeking of smoke and ash.

Judging by the size of the keel, Roy recognized the ship. It was the Tyrant, the flagship that had commanded the entire fleet—the very ship she’d seen in the water mirror. Yet this war machine, this fortress at sea that symbolized the might of the Orlan Empire, had been reduced to a pitiful wreck.

Roy followed the shattered wreckage, searching for the body of a sailor. No one could possibly have survived such a horrific disaster, but surely there would be some corpses beside a massive warship that had once carried nearly a thousand people.

To Roy’s disappointment—and unease—there wasn’t a single body near the half of the Tyrant that had washed ashore, just as she’d seen from a distance. That, too, was probably the Devil’s doing.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and once again felt grateful for her good fortune. To have survived at the hands of a pirate who seemed like a charming gentleman but was ruthless beneath the surface was luck she wouldn’t have found in several lifetimes.

Forget it. I’d better go back and wait for Richie and the others to come get me.

Roy thought in silence, lowered her head, and turned to head back toward the eastern shore, where pirate ships could dock more easily. But she’d barely taken two steps when she nearly tripped over some unknown object and fell flat on her face.

When she looked up in indignation, she forgot where she’d been going and what she’d meant to do.

It was a young man in the Orlan Empire’s naval uniform. His short hair was silver-white, though it looked especially dull in the shade, beyond the sunlight’s reach. His dark uniform was wrinkled from soaking in seawater, and the epaulet marking his rank had been washed away. But his sharply defined features and the expensive pistol at his waist proved he was no ordinary sailor.

Most importantly, his chest was slowly rising and falling. His breathing was faint, but… at least he was still alive.

“There’s actually a survivor.” Roy crouched down and listened to the young man’s faint breathing for a while. Then the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

“A high-ranking naval officer, though I don’t know his rank. The Orlan Empire will surely pay some ransom for him. If I weren’t afraid of coming away empty-handed, I wouldn’t have let you live. Anyway… lucky you.”