Chapter 32

The land had slipped away, already becoming a distant presence. Worm had not overslept the departure. The upper deck was bustling with sailors adjusting the sails to catch the wind, and passengers like Worm could only pass the time modestly on the middle deck.

Once the ship caught the wind and left the port, the passengers who had been confined below finally emerged onto the upper deck, each finding their own way to pass the time. Worm joined them, enjoying the sea and the wind, but this pleasure could not last long.

Though he grumbled, Worm was fortunate. The sailing ship, propelled by the wind, constantly tilted and swayed. Among the passengers who had quickly grown accustomed to the land, some were vomiting over the side, polluting the sea. The sound of sewage clogged with vomit mixed with the sound of the waves.

"Poor souls."

Some were barely holding on, on the verge of collapse, spending their time with buckets. This would continue until they reached the port. Even an atheist would pray to the gods, Worm pitied them.

From the time the ship left the shore until it caught the wind, the sailors had been busy adjusting the sails with ropes and climbing the shrouds to support the hull and mast. Now that things had settled down, the deck was peaceful except for the passengers who were busy vomiting. On the crow's nest atop the mast, sailors were posted for lookout and sail operation. Worm decided to learn how to pass the time on the ship from the veterans and began observing the crew members who had escaped watch duty.

Some were napping in the gaps between barrels, others were carving something with knives, and so on. Among them, what caught Worm's attention were the crew members extending fishing lines from the upper deck and the poop deck. Among those engaged in line fishing, a familiar man was exuberantly excited.

"Sashef, did you catch something?"

"Yeah, not a big one, but a swordfish with a good bite."

Sashef, wiping sweat from his forehead, replied with a broad smile. The migratory fish they had caught with several people had a sharply developed upper jaw, similar to a marlin that Worm knew, but the upper jaw was particularly menacing.

"It looks delicious. But the jaw is quite sharp."

"The jaw of this fish is very sharp. Sometimes it can tear the throat or limbs, so you have to make sure to finish it off."

As Sashef said, the swordfish, with a harpoon deeply pierced into its gills, was bleeding profusely and had exhausted its resistance.

"Will you let me have some, Worm? Since it's not part of the provisions, I can give it to you cheap."

"I'd be happy to have it cheap."

For Worm, who had lived without sea fish, a fresh marlin-like fish was the best meal. Even if he was overcharged, he wanted to put it in his stomach.

"Let's clean it up. If we make too much of a mess, the deck officer will scold us."

"Let's take it to the cook."

"Let's remove the hook."

The other crew members who had helped with the fishing were washing away the blood that had flowed onto the upper deck and removing the hook from the swordfish. Worm had expected the hook to be made entirely of metal, but the removed hook, though metallic, did not have the typical luster of metal.

"Is it a lure, made of bone...?"

In response to Worm's question, a crew member answered.

"What a pity. The handle is made from a cow's horn. Some use sea bird feathers. Others carve bones to make them."

Worm examined the lure closely and understood. It seemed that making homemade lures was a popular pastime on the ship.

"The upper jaw of this swordfish can also be used for the handle. It's a fish with no waste."

The crew member boasted to Worm. The swordfish, tied with a rope, was then lowered to the lowest deck using a winch.

"The kitchen isn't upstairs, is it?"

"It would be too shaky to cook upstairs. The kitchen, called the galley, is on the lowest deck. It's surrounded by stone to prevent fire from spreading to the ship, and there's no shortage of water. The smoke is released through the hatches and dedicated vents on the deck."

Worm, who had received Sashef's explanation, looked at the hatches again. Among the marks of ropes and barrels, there were also soot stains, evidence of their ventilation function.

"You're good at explaining, Sashef."

Sashef, hearing Worm's honest words, replied with a serious face.

"Even if you praise me, I can only give you swordfish."

"That's fine."

While his eyes were drawn to the swordfish being lowered to the lowest deck, Worm muttered.

◆

The sea surface, illuminated by the twin moons, rippled. The man, assigned to lookout duty in the crow's nest, sighed at the monotonous scene.

The man was one of the crew members of a merchant ship belonging to the Liberian Commercial Federation. The sea area where the Major was currently navigating was different from the dangerous outer waters of the archipelago, with a long history of established routes and considered safe.

Large monsters were either hunted by warships or driven out of their territories by the sea dragons of the archipelago. If anything, there were only the sea goblins known as Sahagin and various unnamed predatory fish.

He took a swig of rum from a bottle in his pocket and swallowed it forcefully. The alcohol, as if heated, flowed down his esophagus into his stomach. He exhaled and resumed his watch, but suddenly felt a shadow pass over the sea.

"What...?"

The man leaned out of the crow's nest to observe, but there was no shadow, and the sea remained calm.

"Damn, did I drink too much?"

As the man, who had been staring at the rum bottle, was about to put it back in his pocket, the ship was jolted, and he was thrown to the floor.

"Did we run aground!? No, that's impossible."

They were in the open sea, not near the coast. It was a frequently traveled route with no known reefs. But in reality, the ship was violently shaking, and the impact was intensifying.

At that moment, the man's nostrils were filled with an unbearable stench. It was the smell of fish left in the sun for several days, a smell he recognized. Any sailor would know it.

"Can't be, such a thing..."

His growing suspicion was confirmed by the screams from the deck. Mixed with shouts, the alarm bell on the poop deck was ringing.

"Let go, ahhh, ahhh!?"

"We're being attacked, wake up, wake up!!"

The screams of his familiar comrades stuck in his ears. The man, finally managing to stand up, finally grasped the full extent of the attack.

"Damn it, of all things—"

The man took out a crossbow mounted on the crow's nest and tried to load it by stepping on the loading wheel, but his body was rapidly tilting. The shrouds supporting the main mast were breaking one after another. The ropes, cut by the recoil, were dancing wildly on the deck, entangling the crew. His comrades were already being massacred without much resistance.

Having lost more than half of the shrouds, the mast was tilting. The crossbow and rum bottle were thrown into the air, and the man, unable to withstand it, followed.

"Ahh, ahhh, ahhh!!"

The man, flailing his limbs, slowed down as he caught the ratlines, the steps leading to the crow's nest, but he could not avoid falling.

His limbs, caught halfway, were twisted, and he was slammed onto the deck, shattering his ribs over a wide area. The debris of the broken deck pierced his side, and the man, barely able to breathe, struggled to take shallow breaths, but it did not last long.

"Ahh, ahh, it's coming, it's coming..."

The source of the stench was there. The man, paralyzed by fear, tried to move his body but was severely injured and could barely move. All he could do was scratch the deck and scream.

One by one, the death cries ceased, and the sea returned to its calm. Thus, the crew of the Major disappeared from the sea without a trace.