“It’s related to Demon summoning ritual, lady Letitia,” Garlan said, sitting over the barrel beside us. The crewmembers shepherded back and forth, cleaning the bloodstained wood of [Umbra] before portgulls could start assaulting the masts.

“When you summon a demon, it will remain under your control until you set it free or bind it to someone. The latter is called Essence Gourge. It’s the most common step of the summoning ritual, and unless the caster dies, mortals usually carry it immediately. Lykan lost his arm and hurt his leg almost fifty years ago, which means this boy was at least second generation Gourge.”

“Bind?” My lady held my sleeve.

“You tie it with an invisible rope and hang it over an unending cliff,” Garlan said.

“Yes, my lady. If the summoner is alive when the ritual is completed, they retain control over the summoned demon. In colloquial terms, bound. The bound demon has a globule of mana, Gourge, within itself that ties it down to the summoner. With just a thought and channelizing the mana into its body through the linked Gourge, the mage can slay it. The demon cannot kill its summoner since the Gourge would take it down instantly. It has to obey the orders unconditionally, or else it’ll die, losing its vacant immortality in vain. Vacant because they need human life force to sustain, unlike undead. The summoner then, if he doesn’t wish to preside over the demon, transfers the ownership by channelizing their Gourge linkage to someone else. One mistake in transfer, and the demon is free for eternity. Like the hell-hound disaster of the capital.”

“Our hound was a demon like this one?!” she asked in surprise. “It looked cute.”

I chucked, and Garlan patted my shoulder and rushed over to talk to Lykan. Perhaps about the ownership transfers. 

“You should have seen him eat some mortal heads,” I shrugged. 

“Is demon summoning similar to [Ice Wraith]?”

“No, Letitia,” I ruffled her head. “All summons don’t work the same way; hence the demon summoning is not magic, rather a sacrifice ceremonial. The Law of equivalent exchange governs the rituals too. The stronger the sacrifice, the more potent the demon, and the larger the number, the higher the demon’s capabilities. The demon hound was the lowest tier demon, and Ducan was the highest, perhaps ranked only next to the Crutarchinolophian Anarchilophis and Xquerania Texlopha.”

“Sure, and I’ll believe the water is red,” she rolled her eyes.

I laughed. “I’m not joking, my lady. Their difficult names are precisely for the reason to make their summoning all the more demanding. Ducan chose the name because he was thirsty for revenge against me, which adversely affected him. Once undead mutated enough, the energy of any realm is unable to sustain their balance, and thereby ports them to the demon realm to preserve the crumbling.”

“Will you mutate?” she asked, her eyes searching mine for answers. I averted my eyes, the gaze too pure for my taste.

“No, my lady. I have control over my urge for life force like most other un-living undead. But, yes, even I might be thrown into the demon realm should I ever lose myself. But then again, I have mastered the art of self-summoning, transmigration magic in other words, so it won’t be hard for me to port to a different realm. Albeit, if I seal myself, then I am a goner. I’ll introduce you to Xquerania in the future. She’s the most human-like demon you could ever come across.”

“She?” 

Oh well, that was a slip of the tongue.

“Who the hell is she?!” My lady’s gaze turned cold.

“She’s a demon, my lady.”

“And you are undead, my mongrel,” her lips twitched at the corners, but she didn’t lose her smile. “Have you been cheating behind my back again?”

“There’s nothing to cheat, but why would I, Letitia?” I sighed.

Lykan and Garlan walked toward us, their faces sour. My lady’s grip on my arm tightened until nails started digging into my wrists. Yes, a reminder to trim them.

“We anchor here until our comrades get here,” Lykan said, standing straighter than I had ever seen him despite the blood on his face. “Or would you prefer to spend four more days in the sea and visit our Halurath Isles?”

“We would respectfully decline the offer, Your Grace,” my lady said. “I have to submit the written petition to the Academy within a few days, so I can’t afford more time in the blues.”

“Too bad, lady Letitia,” he said and shook his head. “Convey my greetings to Joanes. I will try my best to free her from the clutches of the royal family.”

My lady curtsied as Lykan turned back to the crew.

“Clean the slates before Mycats take you. No lounging around, you warmongers! Got enough blood to last the journey, ey?!”

“Aye, Curino!” shouts resounded, buckets gathered, masts froze anew, rhythm started, all on the floorboard of the new ship. The crew members worked, including the ones who had surrendered, but I knew they would get killed once the ship was devoid of blood. The fewer people knew about this farce, the better, and Lykan wouldn’t let anything stop his prince from ascending the throne. Even if it meant killing women and children indiscriminately. Then again, there were hardly two women on board and no children, so it made the weight of his crimes far less suffocating. After all, he did have a guilty conscience, unlike the undead.

You see, I quite understood the prince, so I flushed down his offensive remarks about me. Even though he aided his prince out of fondness, his goal wasn’t much different from my own. Calling him a kindred spirit would be hoarse because spirits don’t really exist. And let’s not talk about kindred. Undead don’t have those.

The blood was cleared quickly, and all the new members of the crew were asked to stand by the rails of the cog–Lykan had said for a headcount. It didn’t long for mortals armed with swords to walk up to them, certainly for a headcount, but after chopping them. Swords descended on them at once, almost at the same time, and Reav took two men down with her enormous pike that was sharp on one side. It wasn’t a pike, in all honesty, but the sheer size of the weapon told otherwise. 

Blood sprayed out to the blues beyond as shouts bridled with excitement erupted on both the decks. They pushed the bodies to the sea amidst the cheers of Lykan’s crew, and my lady moved her head outside the gunwale, bile rushing up to her mouth. She suppressed her urge to retch, holding her palm over her mouth, and I rubbed her back.

“That was a beautiful slaughter, my lady,” I grinned as I watched the heads tumble down to the rushing currents of the night through my [Devil eye]. Open, terrified eyes bore into my own; the heads were devoid of bodies trying to curse the existence of those that massacred them. Little did it help, nevertheless, since dead mortals never sold bread.

“I wish I could share the sentiment,” she said with difficulty and cleared the contents of her stomach. She was doing fine the last time she had seen slaughter, but the magnitude and stench was much worse here.

I wiped her mouth with my towel and rubbed her back again. “You will, my lady.”

More cleaning followed the massacre, and I saw a portgull perched on the top of the vessel’s mainmast, eyeing the disappearing blood vigilantly. It preened its black winds with the beak before raising its head for a cry, and an arrow from a crossbow sent it flying down the main deck of the vessel.

“Darn you, mycat!” Nuva cursed, restringing the taut string across the handle. It must have come undone since he hadn’t abandoned it like the five other crossbows that were pooled closer to the aftercastle of the new ship.

Silence followed the cleaning, murmurs faint in the dead of night, and my lady had disappeared to the captain's quarters, too exhausted after using up her mana. Both ships anchored side-by-side in the middle of the blues, the thrashing waves sending them apart every other second, bringing them closer the next. The blithe climbers had fixed the riggings of the mizzenmast and furled the sails of the mainmast before dropping the anchors. The mana lamps burned with flickering light, a symbol of some sort, I reasoned.

 The second vessel appeared in the distance, unfurled sails like a bright light against the dark backdrop of the night. The moon illuminated it once out of clouds, and the large ship was close enough to see the faint outlines of its humongous hull. Two masts, uninterrupted riggings, a ship built for war, even though it was smaller than this one. No doubt, it was as good as a fleet ship, and a couple of canons would make it eligible to fight naval battles on the modern seas. It appeared ferocious enough, even without gunpowder, the sea serpent gracing the bowsprit that spanned the top.

Did Lykan really intend to give us this ship?

I felt apprehensive, but he had been exceptionally accommodating toward my lady. Or, it was all an act. 

But I didn’t find anything suspicious, except for the Nuva at the door, talking to Garlan with a broad smile on his face. He even smacked Garlan’s tummy a couple of times, and Lykan waved his hand at me from atop the rump. 

Crew members wiped the main deck, some descending to the lower decks and fetching tidy hammocks, swords, bows, some unkempt clothes, a few shins, tools, and more than a few rations. Transferring the goods was taking a long time now that the frozen bridge between the two vessels had disappeared. The men and women tossed most of the unbreakable items to the next vessel, while the rest was transferred hand by hand when the ships reached close enough for the handover.

I climbed the stairs to the rump, avoiding the rushing sailors, and stood beside Lykan who was at the rail, watching Milan and Vule tend to Unglan, who hadn’t woken up. 

“We need ships, Rudolf,” he said, his expression forlorn. I wondered if he had hurt his head in the battle since he held himself high and mighty just yesterday and disgraced me for not being nobility. 

“I don’t have any, Your Highness,” I shrugged and pointed in the direction of the approaching warship. “You mean that one?”

“Yes,” Lykan said, leaning against the gunwale. “We will pay you regularly since your lady owns the ship. Right cost, formal ones meant for trade cogs. That is the most you will earn unless you sell it to the Arlikia fleet, which I presume, you won’t be doing either way.” He paused, his empty sleeve flailing beside him. “But, to solidify my prince’s hold over the kingdom, we need valor. Potency. Influence. Promise to the masses that we can protect them from the pirates of the east and ships of the west. Alliance with Kingdom Arlikia is out of the question, so we need to garner as much strength as we can before the news of the betrayal and instability reaches the mainlands. And that fleet ship, coupled with three others, will bolster, if not consolidate, our strength.”

“I am no one, Your Highness,” I said, pulling my cowl closer. “You should talk to my lady.”

“She acquiesced,” Lykan said and took a sip from his costrel that was dangling on his waist. “On the condition that I had your permission.”

“Well, you can take the ship for all I care, Your Highness,” I said, concealing my surprise. My lady always made monotonous decisions, so it was unusual for her to involve me in the decision-making. “As long as we earn some revenue for aiding you, we are good.”

“Allyship southward, Curino!” the man on the top of the mainmast shouted. “Serpent Spine! Hail to Prince Balar!”

“Hail to Prince Balar!”

“Hail to Prince Balar!”

Lykan patted my shoulder. “You need your lady for the papers. Trust me on this. I will make sure she is unharmed.”

“I’m not worried, Your Highness,” I laughed and removed his hand from my shoulder. “You should be concerned, instead. If anything happens to her, I will capsize all your ships and massacre Halurath Isles before dawn.”

He didn’t doubt the words, though anger was brewing behind his eyes as much as apprehension.