Chapter 185

Chapter 185

The night was like ink-soaked velvet, smothering the sea, with only the occasional phosphorescence at the ship's side dotting the wave crests with tiny silver specks. The *Old Shark* had slowed way down; most of the sails were stowed, leaving only a small portion to catch the sea breeze for a gentle push. The ship no longer tossed but glided across the water like a seabird skimming the surface.

Evan sat at the small wooden table in the cabin, ripping open an oil-paper packet of jerky—smoked beef he had bought before leaving the Twelfth Island. It was firm and chewy, mixed with the pungent kick of black pepper, just enough to cut the sea stink. He bit into a hard rye bread, his gaze drifting out the porthole: in the distance, there were no lighthouses, only the ink-black sea merging with the sky. Even the stars were mostly obscured by dark clouds, save for the phosphorescent trail dragging behind the ship, like a glowing tail guiding their course.

"The Empire's flag flies on the waves, the sailors' blood casts the deck—" A rough, hearty song suddenly rang out from the deck, reeking of rum and a sandpapery, weathered edge. It was the *Sea Frontier Army Song* of the Sala Empire.

Evan raised an eyebrow, pushed open the cabin door, and stepped onto the deck. He saw Captain Old Shark leaning by the helm, a tin flask of rum in his hand, an empty fish can at his feet. The song was rolling from his throat.

Moonlight happened to leak through a gap in the clouds, illuminating the scar on Old Shark's eye—a scar that ran from his brow bone to his jaw, which he claimed was left from a fight with pirates during his time in the Royal Fleet.

When he reached the chorus, he raised his hand and patted the helm, a gesture carrying a near-reverent solemnity, his voice rising even higher: "Even if the storm swallows the mast, our swords still point to the shore!"

"Didn't figure you for singing that navy song," Evan said, walking over and handing him a piece of jerky.

Old Shark took it, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed it with a crunch, and took a swig of rum before speaking: "Back in the Royal Fleet, we'd belt it out every morning at drill. I was just a third-class sailor then, always thinking about following the fleet to expand the territory. Turns out that 'expansion' was just torching folks' homes and planting your own flag."

He pointed to a vague island silhouette in the distance. "Same with this New Niliasia. Twenty years ago, the natives here were still singing their own fishing songs. Now? Even the kids gotta learn Sala and sing the Empire's military songs."

Evan didn't respond. He thought of the natives huddled on the docks of the Twelfth Island, of the newspaper headline "All Glory to Lillian," and suddenly felt that the song carried a certain irony in the empty night.

"I haven't sung this song in years." Old Shark handed him the tin flask. "Singing it on a night sail keeps your nerve up—and reminds me why I left the fleet in the first place." He paused, lowering his voice. "The Fourth Island ain't just about the Unicorn Python. There's also an Imperial Colonial Force active there lately, claiming they're 'putting down rebellious natives,' but really they're looking for a 'Sea Heart Stone' that can enhance supernatural power. If you run into them, try not to provoke them."

Evan took the flask and took a sip. The fiery burn of the rum warmed his throat.

Then, out of nowhere, the singing came, like honey-laced sea breeze suddenly drifting across the ink-black sea—sweet, soft, each note curling around the sails, drilling into one's ears, making your bones go soft.

Just as Evan was about to listen closely, he saw Old Shark's face turn pale—paler than when they had encountered the treacherous current. He nearly tripped scrambling over to a corner of the cabin, pulled out a roll of wax-impregnated coarse cloth, stuffed it into his ears in a few clumsy motions, then grabbed the copper whistle by the helm and blew it sharply: "Dee—dee—"

"Don't listen! It's a siren's enchanting song!" Old Shark's shout came through the cloth, muffled but urgent. He kicked open the latch securing the sail, and the canvas unfurled with a whoosh, catching the suddenly strengthening wind to push the ship forward. "Plug your ears! Sing as loud as you can!"

Evan snapped to attention. Siren songs could reel your soul right into the sea.

He fumbled for his linen scarf, tore it in half, and stuffed the pieces into his ears. But the song seemed to penetrate, still burrowing into his mind.

He saw Old Shark bellowing the military song at the top of his lungs, his voice ten times rougher than before, the veins on his neck popping. Evan joined in, randomly singing nursery rhymes he had learned back home, using the chaotic noise to resist the sweet enchantment.

Just then, Old Shark pointed sharply to the left front: "Look over there!" Evan followed his gaze. Moonlight happened to spill from a cloud gap, illuminating a small island made of coral reefs—the rocks were a pale pink, covered in glowing barnacles. And on the highest rock of that small island sat a figure. She had golden hair, like seaweed draped over her shoulders, shimmering with flowing light in the moonlight; her pearl-white skin was almost translucent in the darkness; her tail fin was a gradient of peacock blue, and the water droplets rolling off it fell like scattered diamonds. Most striking was her face, delicate as if carved from moonlight, with slightly upturned eyes carrying a bewitching beauty. Even though Evan had never been particularly interested in women, the moment he saw her, his mind went blank for half a second.

"Don't look into her eyes!" Old Shark's roar snapped Evan back to reality. He realized the siren was tilting her head, looking their way, her gaze like a hook. "She's trying to lure us ashore! The reef below is all hidden rocks—the ship will shatter if it gets close!"

Evan snapped back, grabbed a rope on the deck, and helped Old Shark adjust the sails. The canvas billowed full with the wind, the ship picking up speed like an arrow, charging away from the coral island.

He glanced back and saw the siren stop singing, her tail fin gently slapping the rock, her golden hair blowing in the wind. Her eyes followed the *Old Shark* until the ship sailed far away, and the peacock-blue figure became a tiny dot on the sea.

The song in his ears finally faded. Evan pulled the cloth from his ears, feeling his eardrums ringing.

Old Shark slumped by the helm, downing most of the rum flask before gasping, "The sirens in this area never show themselves willingly. Why would one block the ship today... It must be related to what's happening on the Fourth Island." Evan touched the hidden compartment in his pocket watch. The silver badge's vibration hadn't stopped. He stared toward the Fourth Island, the outline of that landmass growing clearer in the night, yet it inexplicably made him feel that what awaited him in that rainforest was far more dangerous than the Unicorn Python.