Chapter 198

Chapter 198

She walked over to a spot near the round table and stopped, able to keep a clear eye on Lillian while also keeping an eye on the deck’s surroundings. Her silver knight armor gleamed coldly in the sunlight, a stark contrast to Lillian’s pink fluffy dress—one hard, one soft, clearly showing her protective stance.

Lillian didn’t push it, taking a gentle sip of her black tea, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. She picked up a madeleine cake and nibbled it slowly, occasionally chatting with the maids about stuff like how many grapes were planted at the estate on the Eleventh Island and whether there would be fresh grape juice to drink.

The sea breeze blew gently, making her skirt sway, and the aroma of tea and sweets intertwined, making the deck feel especially laid-back.

Unlike this easygoing scene, Evan hadn’t stopped moving since he set foot on the sailboat.

He was always cautious, and even though Captain Hock had guaranteed the ship was safe, he still insisted on checking the whole ship his own way.

Evan first walked along the deck’s edge, carefully checking the railing to make sure every post was sturdy and secure, with no signs of being loose. Then he headed to the sail control area, where the crew were methodically adjusting the ropes with practiced skill. Evan stood there watching for a moment and didn’t find anything unusual.

Next, he went below to the cabin.

The cabin was split into several sections, including rest areas for Lillian and the maids, crew quarters, a storage hold, and a kitchen.

Evan first went into Lillian’s rest room. The room wasn’t big but was neatly arranged, with a soft carpet, a single bed, and a vanity. It was well-ventilated and didn’t smell musty.

He swept every corner of the room using a faint spiritual energy from his fingertips, confirming there were no hidden traps or weird spiritual fluctuations before he left, satisfied.

Next was the storage hold. Lillian’s suitcases were neatly stacked in a corner, along with the ship’s supplies of fresh water, grain, and other provisions.

Evan checked the storage conditions one by one, making sure the water barrels were sealed tight, the grain wasn’t damp or moldy, and spare oars, ropes, and other tools were all there—enough to last the trip to the Eleventh Island.

The kitchen area was clean and tidy, with the cook getting lunch ready. The ingredients were fresh, and the utensils were arranged orderly. Evan took a quick look and then turned toward the helm.

In the helm, Captain Hock was gripping the wheel, his gaze fixed intently on the sea ahead. Seeing Evan enter, he smiled and nodded. “Young man, you’re quite thorough.”

“It’s always better to be cautious,” Evan replied, his eyes scanning the compass, nautical charts, and other equipment in the helm. “The ship’s in good shape.”

“Of course. This is Mr. Gray’s personal vessel for transporting family, and I take extra care in maintaining it,” Captain Hock said with a hint of pride. “I’ve been sailing this route for over a decade—I know it like the back of my hand. I’ll get the young lady to her destination safely.”

Evan nodded slightly, asked no further questions, and left the helm.

When he returned to the deck, Lillian was still leisurely enjoying her snacks, with Laura standing guard nearby. Evan didn’t disturb them but walked to the stern, where a few sailors were mending fishing nets—apparently planning to catch some fish during the voyage to supplement their meals.

“Hey, brother, take a break?” A sailor with dark skin and a thick beard noticed Evan and handed him a wooden stool with a smile. This sailor looked to be in his fifties, his forehead etched with wrinkles from years of sea and wind, his hands rough with thick knuckles—clearly an experienced old hand.

Evan didn’t refuse. He thanked the man, sat down, and accepted a jug of water handed to him.

“Judging by your clothes, you’re not a crew member or the young lady’s servant. You’re a guard hired by Mr. Gray, right?” the old sailor asked casually.

“Something like that,” Evan replied, taking a sip of water. The warm liquid flowed down his throat, dispelling the chill of the sea breeze. “This is my first time on this route. I’d like to learn more about it.”

“This route is relatively safe,” the old sailor said, setting down the fishing net and wiping his hands. “From the Twelfth Island to the Eleventh, it’s not a long voyage—just about half a day. The key is that the Imperial Navy patrols here from time to time. No matter how bold the pirates are, they wouldn’t dare cause trouble under the navy’s nose.”

“How often do the Imperial Navy patrols come by?” Evan pressed further, knowing that pirates were a major threat at sea, and the navy’s presence greatly enhanced safety.

“Pretty often—basically every two or three days, you’ll see a navy patrol ship pass by,” the old sailor said. “Plus, this route is one of the main shipping lanes for trade between the plantation islands and the mainland. There are plenty of merchant ships, so with numbers on our side, pirates are even less likely to approach. I’ve been sailing this line for over a decade and haven’t encountered a single pirate attack. You can rest easy.”

Hearing this, Evan’s concerns eased somewhat. He looked out at the distant sea, the blue water stretching endlessly, calm as a giant sapphire. “If it’s so safe, why did the employer specifically hire two Sequence 8 Supernaturals to escort us?” Evan asked casually, voicing a lingering doubt in his mind.

The old sailor’s smile faded slightly, and his tone grew more serious. “Safe is relative. There are no pirates on this route, but there’s something more troublesome—the Dead Sea.”

“The Dead Sea?” Evan raised an eyebrow. He’d never heard that name before.

“Yes, the Dead Sea,” the old sailor nodded, pointing toward a distant part of the sea. “It’s not far ahead—a special stretch of water. The sea there is darker than the surrounding area, with a faint black mist hanging over it year-round. The weirdest thing is that skeletons sometimes pop up out of nowhere.”

“Skeletons? Undead?” Evan’s expression turned alert.

“Probably,” the old sailor said with a hint of awe. “No one knows where those skeletons come from, and they appear completely unpredictably. Sometimes they don’t show up for a month, other times you can run into two or three waves in a single day. But don’t worry too much—they’re not very strong. They just swing bone clubs around, and they’re slow.”

“If they’re not strong, why are they a problem?” Evan pressed.

“The problem is their unpredictability,” the old sailor explained. “You never know when they’ll appear or how many. Even if a single skeleton isn’t tough, if dozens or hundreds swarm the ship, it’s a real headache. And they don’t feel pain or fear—they won’t stop until their bones are shattered.”