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Chapter 90: The Calm
🕑 Added 2025-12-12 11:00:12 +0000 UTC“You turned his head into a magical artefact?!” Amber gagged.
“Well, originally, I wanted to turn it into a chamberpot, but then I figured I don’t want that bastard’s face staring in the direction of my ass anymore,” Deyara said, holding up the shrivelled (but still animated) head of Maelric Halsworn.
Amber looked at her with undisguised horror and disgust.
The woman rolled her eyes. “Relax, I was joking. Besides, this is probably more tasteful as a bedside ornament. Every time I look into his eyes and see them screaming, it makes me feel all warm and cuddly on the inside.”
The group had moved from the open decks to the corvette's inner war room. This time, Kalisa had joined them, having finished her inspection of Marchosias’s wounds.
“How is it?” Eri asked, concerned. “The injuries were severe, last I saw.”
Kalisa waved off his concern. “Don’t worry, your dog is a tough one! Archons don’t die that easily. Granted, they usually have their Hellgates assisting with their regeneration, but even then, their unique biology still allows them to absorb magical energy from their surroundings and recuperate from their wounds.”
“Worry not, my lord, I have suffered far worse from my time in these waters.” Marchosias’s rumbling voice entered through one of the portholes from outside the ship, causing some in the group to jump. “Many warships I have sunk, and thought some may wound me, no cannons or tools of war shall ever fell the mighty Marquis of Hell.”
“Your confidence is unearned, considering you would have died on that beach days ago were it not for my intervention,” Andrealphus cawed arrogantly, still in its parrot form. It flew within the room to land on Eri’s shoulders, glaring triumphantly at the dragon, who in turn was staring daggers at it through the porthole.
The dragon outside growled, sending deep vibrations across the vessel. A low and infernal heat made itself known, causing some of the younger expedition members to stiffen. “Lowly peacock. You dare disrespect a senior? Worse, you dare lay your talons on my master?”
Andrealphus chuckled. “Playing the faithful hound? What childishness. Who are you to call yourself senior, anyway? I assure you, while Hell ill-favours my nature over yours, our master certainly doesn’t.”
“Insolence! I was the first to show loyalty!”
“Hah! What pride does that give? I am the one who is more useful by far! Look at his arm, see how he trusts me to be his literal left hand!” Andrealphus deliberately lifted its wings, causing them to sparkle alongside Eri’s crystal left arm.
Marchosias looked taken aback. For a moment, a look of genuine hurt passed over its eyes. “Master, surely that’s not true? I have bled for you tirelessly over the last years. Please do not abandon me!”
“Eri, you wretched ass, look what you’ve done! You’re making your demon dog cry!” Julie cried out in outrage.
“I haven’t even said anything!” Eri complained. He smacked Andrealphus across the head, causing the crystal bird to squawk angrily. “Andrealphus, stop provoking others. Marchosias, you are a demon noble! You shouldn’t be so sensitive!”
“B-but, the peacock called me a bad dog…” The dragon whined.
“Don’t worry, you are the bestest dog! I’ll adopt you if Eri doesn’t treat you right!” Julie cried in distress. She was already reaching out the porthole, trying to pet and comfort the demon.
“Julie, stop trying to steal my Archon!”
Their nonsensical banter lasted a bit longer. A while later, Andrealphus sat on a nearby perch, grumpily snacking on some lean pieces of spiced meat Eri had sliced. Outside, Marchosias hummed happily as Julie and Peythra patted its head on the deck as it munched on a giant roast Eri had saved for their reunion in his spatial pouch, savouring the flavours long forgotten, as well as the affection of the others.
During that time, Kalisa, Deyara, and Amber had been discussing it over the head of Maelric and how best to use it.
“Our ship is exotic enough to be mistaken as a creation from the Duskcrowns at a glance, given its alien appearance,” Amber hummed warily. “Once we fly the flag of House Halsworn, we should be able to pass ourselves off as an envoy, at least among the lesser corsairs. The problem is that the ghoul’s paranoid. Once we sail close to his flagship, I’m betting that he’ll send an on-board inspection to any ship claiming to be from the Duskcrowns. Whether we pass that or not will depend on how well your… toy can be made to lie.”
Eri flinched away when Deyara held the severed head high and placed it heavily on the table.
It was an uncomfortable thing to look at. Every orifice on the hairless head was sealed shut — not sealed as in ‘sown up with thread and needles’, but as in literally sealed over with a growth of pinkish flesh. There was no discernible eye, ear, nose, or mouth. It was as if the entire head was just a misshapen lump of flesh.
The grin on Deyara’s face was wide, baring teeth. “Don’t worry, it’s obedient. We can make it do as we wish. Once I pretty it up a little, no one would notice.”
“We are going to have Maelric’s head assume the role of ship captain?” Bori said sceptically, backing away from the table.
“I won’t really call this head Maelric’s anymore.” Deyara patted the lump of flesh affectionately. “Maelric is quite gone. Or rather, the ‘ego’ that makes him ‘Maelric’ no longer exists. What remains is simply a mind strained far beyond the realm of sapient thought. Too afraid to even think, so to speak.”
“If you think that explanation helps make this any less fucked-up, then you are quite wrong,” Amber shot back. Her hands kept twitching for her weapon, but she refrained. Fear was no excuse to pull a gun on an ally.
And Deyara was an ally, for all her unsettling habits and terrifying fleshweaving magic. Having lived with her for years, Eri already had a handle on her personality.
The woman was not deranged; she just liked teasing. But this was still a joke too far for someone not yet used to her brand of grim humour.
“Don’t be too hasty to reject a gift you don’t understand,” Deyara chided lightly. “What I have here is something even Kings and lesser Gods begged for during the Age of Creation. I’m surprised someone of your experience would be so close-minded. You are no stranger to the more putrid forms of arcana in our world, given your tools.”
Deyara looked pointedly at Amber’s sword. The woman grimaced, but accepted her point. “Fine. Sorry. Back to our point. If we can get this… head to act as our puppet, then even the bloodline tests should not be beyond our ability to trick.”
“We will need to get him a body,” Eri said. “Can I trust you and Kalisa to prepare him?”
“We’ll get it done,” the Foxkin said cheerfully. “I look forward to finally working with our esteemed elven friends.”
Deyara sighed, but didn’t protest.
“The other problem is Oleander. More specifically, in how we’re going to defeat him when we encounter him,” Joarris said.
“A confrontation is to be avoided if possible. Assuming we are allowed onto his flagship, we need not necessarily meet him face-to-face,” Dulcina said. “There will likely be a place for us to offload our cargo and then leave.”
“Except we aren’t leaving. We are trying to find Elen, as well as free any prisoners affiliated with the Coalition,” Eri said carefully. “A fight seems inevitable.”
The important part, however, was that the fighting took place within the ship, and not out in the open waters. A naval battle would see them utterly destroyed, either by the vast pirate fleet or by Oleander’s superior flagship.
A surprising boarding action was much safer for the expedition, even if it meant confronting a Pirate Lord possessing an Emerald Core. At the very least, it gave them a fighting chance.
There was, however, another problem.
“Since no one is asking the obvious question, I’ll bite,” Bori said. “Assuming we somehow miraculously board the flagship without incident and manage to successfully find Elen and any other survivors, how in the world are we getting out in one piece?”
It was highly unlikely their jailbreak attempt would go unnoticed. Even if they evaded direct combat with the Pirate Lord, escape was difficult. The flagship, as well as the surrounding pirate fleet, would go on high alert. Where previously it might be possible to trick and lie their way in, getting out with escaped prisoners was another matter entirely.
“Our corvette definitely can’t fight its way out. Maybe we can attempt a trade with Lord Oleander for Elen while still assuming the guise of the Duskcrowns?” Dulcina tried.
“Trade what? We have nothing to give to that ghoul,” Alvine said. “Unless you are suggesting one of us stay behind.”
“Further interaction with him risks our disguise being blown as well. Although that point is probably moot, since I honestly can’t see a way for us to save the prisoner and escape without triggering conflict,” Amber shrugged.
“That leaves us with one option, then,” Eri exhaled. “After we lie our way onto the dreadnought, we kill Oleander and take over his flagship.”
A heavy silence followed Eri’s declaration.
“Eri, there’s only about a dozen of us,” Dulcina said. “We don’t have the manpower to control an entire dreadnought, much less successfully overtake one.”
“Except this isn’t a regular dreadnought. It has no living crew; It’s an undead vessel controlled by Oleander’s necromancy,” Eri said. “The Pirate Lord’s magic binds the corpse to his will, but for a ship that big, the vast power source keeping the vessel animated should come from somewhere else.”
“In other words, it may be independent of the captain’s condition. It might still operate even after we kill him,” Joarris realised. “We just need to take out Oleander and assume control of the ship with the same magic he uses. Those ‘hounds’ he has are likely bound to his will as well. If he falls, the entire active force defending the dreadnought might go inert.”
“Should, maybes, and might,” Alvine tsked. “That’s a lot of assumptions.”
“How are we going to control the ship? Oleander’s necromancy is not known to any of us,” Raharim asked.
Eri grimaced. “Deyara, any chance you could do it?”
“Seize control? Unlikely,” Deyara bluntly answered. “Elven magic works only on living or recently deceased flesh. Maybe I can get a turret working or two, but it’s more likely the corpse-ship will either start sinking to the bottom of the ocean the moment we kill the necromancy or float around completely unresponsive.”
“In the case of the latter, it still leaves us in a good defensive position. The pirates will either have to board the undead vessel to get to us or bombard it for days on end until they fully destroy the dreadnought,” Lauren pointed out.
“All of this works on the assumption we can kill Oleander,” Bori said. “He’s an Emerald Core with a ship full of monsters. We have one Sapphire and three Ruby Cores, plus a dozen or so Chosens in the Metal Tiers. I’m not saying it's impossible, but odds are even if we succeed, a lot of people on our side are dying.”
“We will draft a plan of attack, then. A lightning strike aimed at taking out the captain as quickly as possible to minimise our casualties,” Lauren said. “Deyara and Peythra have unique abilities that greatly help in a one-on-one confrontation. Commander Amber will face off against the Pirate Lord. With the elven twin’s magic, she is sure to succeed this time.”
“Sheesh, no pressure at all,” the imperial officer complained. “This is a shit plan. Is this really the best we've got?”
No one else could think of anything to say.
“Fuck me. It’s like I’m back in the 24th Crusade again,” Amber grumbled. She took a long and nervous drag of her pipe before snuffing out the flames. “Well, guess there’s not much to be done. We will finalise the plan over the next day. If any one of you here has any unfinished business, I recommend getting it done soon if you can. Odds are we won’t be alive much longer.”
“I never thought I would see the day someone gives a worse motivational speech than Eri,” Bori complained. “How did you become an Imperial Officer?”
“With great reluctance and a bunch of bullshit luck,” Amber sighed. “It’s getting late. Let’s call it a night and continue tomorrow morning. If anyone is up for getting laid one last time before we all die, I’ll be in my room.”
With those final words, the commander gave them a disgruntled wave before retreating to the cabins below.
“Guess I’ll start writing my last will,” Bori huffed. “Not that I have much to give.”
“Do you think her offer was genuine, or was she making a joke?” Alvine asked curiously.
“I won’t bother trying. The Calamity Fox has already left with her,” Deyara said. “Knowing the beast’s proclivities, she won’t be a pretty sight in the morning. The woman is right about one thing — the odds of someone dying are high. Everyone should prepare themselves in whatever way they can.”
Eri’s guilt worsened, but Dulcina placed a hand on his shoulder. “We are Chosens. We know the risks.”
“It’s not too late,” he tried. “We can still pass by an island and drop all of you off. No one else needs to follow me.”
“Do not belittle us, little brother. We chose to be here with you.” Dulcina squeezed his shoulder. “We will not abandon you now.”
The war council broke off after that. Despite Dulcina’s words, the mood was grim. A palpable weight had settled upon everyone.
The risk of death was always on a Chosen’s mind. Their occupation, as well as the tireless need to slay demons to fulfil the yearly Goddess Tithe, meant no one was unfamiliar with death.
But this time was different. They were actively moving towards a near-unwinnable scenario. Though they spoke of plans and drafted a possible means to victory, no one was deluded enough to think success was anywhere near guaranteed.
It was quite unlike the previous conflicts that the expedition had embarked upon. Whether it was clearing a demon-infested mine, tackling a minor pirate fleet, or fighting against sea monsters of the west, the advantage was always in their favour.
But that was not the case this time. An uneasy and fearful anticipation had settled on everyone, even as they pretended otherwise.
The days died one by one until the final hours approached. They all had their own ways of coping. And perhaps that was why, when a hesitant knocking came to Eri’s door in the middle of the final night, he chose to open it rather than pretend to be asleep.
Dulcina stood in an empty hall, dressed only in a nightgown, looking at him with a purposeful gaze.
“May I come in?” she asked softly.
“... Of course,” Eri exhaled shakily, stepping away from the entrance. “No one should be alone tonight.”
The Heiress stepped in and closed the door behind her.
