Seraphim took my hand and pulled me up from the blood-soaked deck. He looked at me with that same elegant, sculpted face. There was no shock in his golden eyes—only a faint, amused pity. Or perhaps, curiosity.
"Are you quite alright?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk. "I clearly saw you perish against that wood."
He leaned in closer, his smile widening into something all-knowing.
"..."
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my face remained stoic. Constraint Active.
"Don't worry," Seraphim whispered, placing a gloved finger gently against my lips to silence me. "Everyone has their secrets, Lucian. So do I."
I stared at him, then slowly reached up and removed his finger from my mouth.
"I trust you won't go blabbering this to Mr. Azarias," I replied coldly, dusting off my ruined suit.
"You know very well I won't," he chuckled, straightening his cuffs. "I like you. You are... entertaining."
Weirdo.
I looked away, scanning the aftermath of the battle. The deck was a slaughterhouse. Bodies of the crew were scattered like broken dolls, limbs missing, faces frozen in terror. The ship itself was a wreck, the railing completely gone on the starboard side.
But something was missing.
"Why didn't it drop an Ether Crystal?" I asked, frowning. "A Tier 4 monster should have left something behind."
Seraphim followed my gaze to the empty spot where the Leviathan had vanished.
"Oh, that," he said dismissively. "It didn't drop a crystal because I didn't kill it. I simply rewound its fate back to 'Unknown.' It never existed in this timeline, therefore, it could not leave a corpse."
"..."
"Too bad," I muttered, feeling a pang of genuine disappointment. "We could have sold that for a fortune."
"Always the pragmatist," Seraphim laughed.
We walked through the wreckage with an unsettling calmness. Around us, sailors were weeping or vomiting, but we moved like two ghosts untouched by the horror.
The Captain approached us. He was pale, sweating profusely. His left sleeve was pinned to his shoulder—his arm had been eaten.
"Sir..." The Captain looked at Seraphim, then at me, his eyes wide with awe and fear. "Thank you. Thank you so much for your help. If not for you..."
Seraphim nodded, cutting him off before he could start worshipping us. I remained silent.
It's not like I saved them, I thought bitterly. Hell, I died and resurrected. I'm the one who needs saving.
That thought gnawed at me. Do I resurrect every time? Is there a limit? And that message in the Cenotaph... the glitched text. Was that High Nepshi? A language of the Gods that my low intelligence stat couldn't comprehend yet?
"We are going to make an emergency stop," the Captain stammered, clutching his stump. "We need supplies and repairs. We can't reach the Archipelago like this."
"Where are we stopping?" I asked.
"The coastal town of Bransy. We will be docked there for... perhaps three or four days."
"Three or four days?" I raised an eyebrow. "Why so long?"
Seraphim nudged me with his elbow. "Why the hurry, Lucian? You don't have a date waiting for you, do you?"
I shot him a glare.
"Haha, relax. I was joking," Seraphim winked. "Bransy is a charming little place. Terrible weather, excellent seafood."
"Fine," I sighed. "Just get us there."
"Please, take some rest," the Captain bowed, then hurried away to tend to his wounds.
We retreated to the few cabins that hadn't been destroyed. As I opened my door, Seraphim lingered in the hallway, staring at me intently.
"What?" I asked, annoyed. "Is there something on my face?"
"No," Seraphim hummed, his golden eyes narrowing. "Just your fate. It's becoming... peculiar. The threads are tangling."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"It will be interesting, for sure," he smiled—a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Being with you is never boring."
Weird.
I slammed the door shut and collapsed onto the bed.
My body was physically healed, but my mind was exhausted.
Bransy.
I stared at the wooden ceiling. I hope they have a Mercenary Guild there. I need to take a quest. I need to test these new powers—the Law Manipulation, the Vacuum—without Seraphim watching over my shoulder.
I needed to win with my own hands. I couldn't rely on a time-traveling pretty boy forever.
The gentle rocking of the broken ship eventually lulled me into a dreamless sleep.
[Somewhere in the alleys of Bransy]
The fog in Bransy was thick, tasting of coal smoke and stale ocean water.
In a dark, narrow alleyway behind a tavern, a figure stood over a body.
She was a vision of elegance amidst the filth. She wore a detailed black mourning gown, lace hugging her curves, with a small veil covering the upper half of her face. Below the veil, her lips were painted a deep crimson. Her hair, cascading down her back in loose waves, was a striking, unnatural shade of dusty pink.
At her feet lay an old man. He smelled of cheap gin. His stomach had been sliced open, intestines spilling out like wet sausages onto the cobblestones.
"It was a really interesting night, darling," the woman whispered, her voice sounding like honey dripping on a razor blade. "But I have work to do."
The old man gurgled, reaching a trembling hand toward her ankle.
The woman sighed. "Men. Always so needy."
She raised a gloved hand.
The air in the alleyway suddenly turned heavy, smelling of sickly sweet perfume and rotting flowers. The shadows around them warped, turning a pulsating, fleshy pink.
"[Digest]."
There was no explosion. No scream.
The old man simply... melted.
His skin, his bones, his clothes—everything dissolved into a puddle of pink biological sludge. The woman inhaled deeply, and the sludge evaporated, drawn into her skin like mist.
Her pink eyes glowed brightly behind the black veil.
"That was boring," she pouted, licking her lips. "Low-quality nutrients. I need something stronger. Something... purer."
She turned and walked into the fog, her heels clicking rhythmically on the stone.