Chapter 295: Chapter 299: The Pastime of the Undead (Silver Alliance Bonus)

The captain often used some strange and obscure vocabulary, with meanings that were difficult to understand and constructed in a fanciful manner, but the crew of the Homeloss generally took it in stride.

After all, there was a pigeon on board with even more cryptic and incomprehensible language—and since the captain and the pigeon communicated smoothly, it was clear that the strange talk was not an issue with the captain.

It was a problem of the narrow understanding and lack of comprehension of ordinary mortals.

Anyway, anything they didn’t understand was categorically considered Subspace dialect.

Morris didn’t ask what “PTSD” meant and silently digested the information the captain had just divulged, while Duncan did not hide anything and shared his experience from the graveyard the night before.

He primarily wanted to hear the “professional” opinion.

Duncan’s narrative quickly drew the attention of a few people in the dining room, with Nina approaching first, followed by Sherry, Alice, and A-Dog, until finally even Fenna, who had been silently keeping to herself, couldn’t resist her curiosity and surreptitiously came near the long table to eavesdrop.

“Heretics…” Morris was the first to frown after listening to Duncan’s account, “Why would they be interested in corpses…”

“Shouldn’t Heretics be interested in corpses?” Duncan asked curiously.

“They are not Necromancers,” Morris shook his head, “Heretics follow The Saint, delving into the realms of demons and summoning knowledge. They have no interest in the physical bodies of this world—not only are they disinterested, but you could even say they are disdainful and disgusted, because they believe that the physical bodies of this world are weak and impure, while the Profound Demons and The Saint of the Mysterious Deep Sea are the ‘pure Holiness’ of the ‘original form’. How could such a group of heretics run into a graveyard to steal corpses?”

Listening to the old scholar’s explanation, Duncan’s brows also instinctively furrowed.

Heretics disdain the physical bodies of the world, following the “existence with pure Holiness in the Abstruse Domain”? They even believe that Profound Demons and The Saint possess this kind of “pure Holiness”?

Although he knew from the start that the heretics in this world were more cultish than the next, the Heretics’ zeal to challenge aesthetic limits was a bit too bizarre!

Duncan couldn’t help but look towards A-Dog at the side of the table—who had been dragged over by Sherry and was now lying on the floor, seriously looking at a vocabulary book with his grotesque skeletal head swaying back and forth.

Noticing the captain’s gaze, A-Dog abruptly raised his head, and his fearsome skeletal frame clattered loudly.

“Pureness? Holiness?” Duncan looked peculiarly at the Abyssal Hound, “Even the original form of life?”

A-Dog was taken aback: “…Huh? What?”

“It’s unimaginable,” Duncan shook his head, “the Heretics’ view of the world must be completely different from that of ordinary people.”

His comment was casual, but Sherry immediately reacted, “Who knows how their brains are wired, I’m not a Heretic.”

“No one said you were,” Duncan spoke indifferently.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t dare to comment on other things, but that female Heretic who ran away must be dead by now,” Sherry smacked her lips and added, “definitely the kind of dead where there’s no body left intact.”

Duncan hadn’t considered what might happen to the fleeing Heretic, but Sherry’s words gave him pause, “Why do you say that?”

“She was dragged into the Mysterious Deep Sea by her own Symbiotic Demon,” Sherry explained nonchalantly, “Heretics, sheesh, no matter how much they worship The Saint and bind themselves with Profound Demons, once they run into the true depths of the Mysterious Deep Sea, they are still treated as humans—the uncontrolled demons only recognize the scent, and they would tear her apart alive.”

“She would be torn apart by other Profound Demons?” Duncan muttered, then couldn’t help but recall an earlier event, “Wait, but I remember that you and A-Dog once escaped using a similar method—right in front of me, you both jumped into the rift leading to the Abstruse Domain.”

Reminded of those past glorious exploits, Sherry’s expression became somewhat odd, but she quickly waved it off, “That was different. When A-Dog helped me escape, it always desperately protected me. It would find ways to mask my scent, and if we couldn’t sneak past, it would fight the other Profound Demons—so each time we used this tactic to escape, it would get wounded.

“The situation with other Profound Demons is different—like the one you just mentioned, it wouldn’t protect its master. Right, A-Dog?”

“That’s ‘Death’s Messenger’,” A-Dog raised his head, responding to Sherry while cautiously glancing at Duncan, “Ordinary Profound Demons indeed do not actively protect their masters. They lack ‘hearts’ and only cooperate with the Heretics due to the constraints of a symbiotic contract. As soon as they run into the Mysterious Deep Sea, they would immediately go out of control, and that Heretic is doomed.”

“So that’s how it is,” Duncan rubbed his chin, murmuring thoughtfully, “No wonder that guy looked so reluctant when being dragged in…”

At that moment, Fenna, who had stayed silent by the side, seemed unable to hold back any longer. She moved a little closer to the long table, “Those heretics… besides trying to take you out of the graveyard, did they do anything else?”

Duncan looked up at Fenna, who quickly added, “It’s probably professional habit, but I’m very concerned about the objectives of those heretics. As Mr. Morris just mentioned, normal annihilation cultists are not interested in the flesh and blood of the secular world, which makes those who appeared in the graveyard all the more suspicious.”

“You saying that reminds me,” Duncan stroked his chin, thoughtfully adding, “the body I occupied started to exhibit a very bizarre ‘disintegration’ shortly after leaving the coffin. The skin and muscles crumbled away like dry earth, and those heretics seemed to have anticipated this…”

Fenna slightly furrowed her brows, pondering for a long time before suddenly realizing something, “So, the key is the body you were occupying at the time.”

“You mean…”

“The annihilation cultists aren’t interested in the flesh and blood of the secular world—but what if it wasn’t ‘a body of flesh and blood from the secular world’?” Fenna looked up earnestly at Duncan’s eyes, “It might not have been ‘a body of flesh and blood’ at all.”

Listening to Fenna’s analysis, Duncan mused, “Oh… then this is getting interesting.”

…

After a long absence, the Sea Mist finally returned to its home port.

Enshrouded by ice floes, turbulent currents, and fog, the iron battleship with its high bow was moored steadily at the end of the jetty. Undead sailors were bustling in the chilling wind and thin mist, some checking the condition of the ship, while others tallied the cargo or directed the shore cranes to lift heavy containers from the hold to the dock.

The Sea Mist had sailed back from the warm waters of the central sea regions. Although it didn’t bring back a triumphant victory this time, it did bring back gifts and specialty products from afar—the fine wine and souvenirs given by the Plunder authorities to “Sea Mist Venture Capital,” as well as the captain’s personally funded purchase of tobacco, cloth, and crafts. These trinkets were precious to the isolated and cold secret island.

Undead, though having departed from the world of the living, still possessed distinct personalities and emotions. They too needed a quality of life, entertainment, and indulgences. In some regards, they even needed these things more than the living.

For their souls always felt cold and empty, they particularly needed the warmth of civilization to fill those voids.

First mate Aiden stood at the edge of the deck, meticulously stuffing some of Plunder’s fine tobacco into an old-fashioned short-stemmed pipe and lighting it with a lighter. He took a deep, satisfying puff.

Then he held his breath and exerted some effort.

A misty haze of smoke swirled out from the collar, cuffs, and pocket seams of his sailor’s uniform, engulfing his upper body in a cloud of white smoke.

Aiden turned his neck, looked at the smoke enveloping him, and then pulled open his collar to peek inside.

Smoke continued to curl out from the bullet hole in his chest.

“Warm tobacco can fill the voids in the soul—but bodily voids are another matter, right?”

A hoarse, deep voice suddenly came from behind. Aiden turned and saw a pale-skinned, emaciated old man standing at the edge of the deck, clothed in a priest’s robe. One side of his skull was caved in, and the corresponding half of his body had a damp quality as if soaked in seawater.

That was the Sea Mist’s shipboard priest, Will.

After the old priest muttered these words, he brought a flask to his lips and took a swallow.

The dribbling liquor streamed out from the cracked side of his face due to the depressed skull.

Aiden looked at the old priest for a moment, then suddenly blurted out, “Want me to teach you a trick? You could make that bottle last for days…”

“Tricks don’t work,” the old priest shook his head, “It’s mainly disgusting, and it gets sour after the third time.”

Aiden shrugged, picked up his pipe, and took another deep draw before holding his breath once more, becoming enshrouded in smoke.

“Actually, being undead isn’t so bad. I couldn’t do this when I was alive.”

“…It’s nice to be broad-minded,” the old priest couldn’t help remarking.

(Thanks to the agitated White Silver Moe, today is a double update~)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated on Novlove.com