The colossal ship glided closer. In the fog, all was silent save for the waves.
“This time… what is it?” the pirate first mate asked weakly.
Captain Gerhard of the Windfeather only shook his head, just as puzzled.
Dylan frowned. “Couldn’t it be another ship from the archipelago that lost its way like us?”
“Impossible. The archipelago doesn’t have ships this big. I’ve never seen this style either… and more than that—it has no lights at all.”
The first mate glanced sidelong at Dylan—now revealed as a green-skinned demonkin without disguise—but said nothing more.
Only then did Dylan notice.
Magic crystal lamps weren’t cheap, but they were essential for ships. The Windfeather alone carried four.
And yet this massive, lavishly adorned vessel had none—not a glimmer shone through the fog.
Too quiet.A ship of this size would need at least a hundred crew. Even at this distance, it should not be so silent.
The survivors exchanged wary looks.
Meanwhile, Lin Jun was thinking: was there no legend in this world about ghost ships?
The scout kept casting [Echolocation LV6], but indeed, no living presence stirred aboard that giant ship. If that wasn’t a ghost ship, what was it?
Perhaps… no tales existed because anyone who saw it died before spreading the story?
The giant vessel stopped, looming close. The Blood Shark’s wreck lay between it and the Windfeather.
Even without touching them, its sheer size was overwhelming—its towering hull a wall of wood and bronze.
“What is it going to do?”
From the ship came a sound at last—not voices, but deep, grinding rumblings, the movement of heavy things.
Not one, but many.
Before their eyes, rows of square hatches lifted open. From the dark recesses slid out black muzzles—
Cannons!?
That made no sense!
This world didn’t even have muskets—how could it have cannons?
And weren’t ghost ships supposed to be relics of the past, clinging to immortality but with outdated tools?
Why did this one have higher technology than the living?
There was no time to react.
Dozens of cannons roared at once, deafening. The scout, with its sensitive hearing, went numb from the blast.
Fortunately, the Windfeather wasn’t the target.
The Blood Shark was.
Under the bombardment, the ship shattered like a child’s toy. Even its masts splintered into fragments.
When Dylan reached the rail and looked, all he saw were sinking ruins.
Whoever had survived there—no more remained.
The cannons retracted. Reloading?
Suddenly, mana surged at the Blood Shark’s wreck. The sea erupted, and a battered figure burst skyward—the mage!
This was Lin Jun’s first direct look at the powerful caster. Opening his panel, though, baffled him.
Not too strong, not too strange—just… ordinary.
A mere gold-rank, level 43. A typical fire-and-wind dual mage. No special attributes.
So how had he cast spells of such power?
The answer revealed itself instantly—because of the Mist!
Though ragged, the mage looked far fresher than Gerhard and the first mate.
Shaken by the ambush, he had no thought of restraint. He drew on the Mist’s mana, his staff blazing bright.
A sixth-tier spell—Great Tempest!
Lin Jun recognized it. A gold-rank mage in the Yellow Book Funhouse had once used it.
But that tempest was nothing compared to this.
In the Mist’s mana-rich environment, the spell’s power magnified, letting a gold-rank unleash diamond-level might.
Countless colossal wind blades howled forth, each strong enough to cleave one of Pujie’s stone pillars clean through.
They spun and crashed into the ghost ship’s hull, tearing wood apart, splintering decks.
Three layers of interior lay exposed: cannons, cannonballs, powder, clutter—but no living beings.
The mage froze, stunned—perhaps he’d thought people were behind it.
But as he stared, three giant ballistae extended from the prow.
“Above! Watch out!” Dylan shouted.
Too late.
The mage twisted midair, but a hooked bolt skewered him. His body plunged into the sea.
The chain hauled back. Lifeless, the mage’s corpse dangled from the ballista.
Worse—suddenly, with no sign, the ship was whole again.
All the tempest’s damage—gone.
As if nothing had happened.
Had the corpse not remained impaled, they’d have thought it a hallucination.
Lin Jun’s mind reeled. If the debris had reversed and reassembled, one could call it time magic. But this? Instantaneous, without mana fluctuations—what was it?
Too shameless.
If only this world had customer service—he’d report the ghost ship for cheating.
The hatches lifted again. This time, the cannons aimed at the Windfeather.
Despair.
“How did you survive last time?” the first mate rasped, knowing there was no escape.
“Back then it was only Water Ghosts…” Gerhard muttered, closing his eyes.
Both were too wounded to move.
Dylan was scarcely better off.
“Dylan, I’ll build you a cenotaph in the Mushroom Garden.
Got any last words? Like telling Bella ‘Papa loves you’?”
“After I die, will you really say that to her for me someday?”
Lin Jun thought a moment. “No.”
Dylan gave him a look that said, “I knew it.”
“Then I’ll keep struggling a bit longer…”
As the cannons thundered, Dylan grabbed the scout and leapt from the rail!
Compared to the Blood Shark, the Windfeather was a bit larger—but against dozens of cannons, size meant nothing.
Moments later, it too was shattered, drifting wreckage upon the sea.
Not a soul alive.
The ghost ship lingered briefly, then slowly sailed on, vanishing into the fog.
…
…
Plop—
A mushroom cap bobbed above the water.
It drifted to the wreckage.
A tentacle snagged a plank, dragging Dylan’s unconscious, waterlogged body onto it.
Scout Pujie stood beside him, stomping his swollen belly hard—its strength of 52 soon forced Dylan to spew seawater violently.
The wreck held for now. Searching, the scout found a small boat still intact among the Blood Shark’s remains.
It rowed to the plank, hauled Dylan aboard. One trip left Lin Jun drained.
Not the body—his heart.
The Mist defied comprehension. First the panel-less Water Ghosts, then cannons, then impossible regeneration.
What was this world, really?
He didn’t row. Where would he even row to? He let the boat drift.
If Water Ghosts or the ghost ship came again, it would be the end.
But nothing came.
Drifting long, the fog lightened. A faint glow rose at the horizon—the morning sun.
Just as the boat slipped free of the Mist, a crisp voice rang through the fungal network:
“Keep going!”