Whoosh!
The fierce wind howled and torrential rain poured down in sheets. The three-masted sailing ship rose and fell between wave after wave of towering crests, like a toy tossed and caught, caught and tossed again by the hands of some giant.
The deep crimson in Alger Wilson's eyes faded, and he found himself still standing on the deck, no different from before.
Right after that, he watched the strangely shaped glass bottle in his palm shatter with a crack. The frost and snow inside melted into water and merged with the raindrops.
In just two or three seconds, this ancient relic had completely lost every trace that it had ever existed.
A hexagonal, crystalline flake of snow materialized in the palm of Alger's hand, then quickly faded until it vanished, as though it had retracted into his flesh and blood.
Alger nodded almost imperceptibly, as though pondering something, and remained silent for a full five minutes.
He turned around and walked toward the cabin entrance. Just as he was about to step inside, he ran into a man wearing the same lightning-embroidered robe coming out.
The man with soft yellow hair stopped in his tracks, looked at Alger, extended his right hand, and pressed his fist to his chest:
"May the Storm be with you."
"May the Storm be with you." Alger's rugged, chiseled face betrayed not a trace of unnecessary emotion as he likewise pressed his right fist against his left chest.
After exchanging greetings, Alger entered the cabin and walked down the corridor toward the captain's quarters in the distance.
Along the way, he didn't run into a single sailor or crew member. The place was as silent as the inside of a tomb.
The door to the captain's quarters stood open. A thick, soft dark-brown carpet stretched before his eyes. On either side were bookshelves and a wine cabinet, the yellowish covers of the books and the dark-red bottles of wine gleaming with a strange luster under the candlelight.
On the desk where the candle sat, there was a bottle of ink, a quill pen, a black metal telescope, and a brass sextant.
Behind the desk, a middle-aged man with a pale face, wearing a skull-adorned captain's hat, watched Alger approach step by step and snarled through gritted teeth in fury:
"I won't yield!"
"I believe you can." Alger spoke as calmly as if remarking that the weather was rather poor today.
"You—" The middle-aged man froze, apparently not having expected such a response.
Just then, Alger's body tensed slightly and he suddenly lunged forward, closing the distance between them to nothing more than the width of the desk in a single instant.
Crack!
His shoulder tensed, his right hand shot out and seized the middle-aged man by the throat.
Without giving the other a chance to react, illusory fish scales surfaced across the back of his hand as his five fingers clamped down with frenzied force.
Snap!
With that crisp snap, the middle-aged man's eyes went wide with shock as his entire body was lifted off the ground.
His legs thrashed violently, but soon he went still. His gaze grew unfocused, his pupils dilating, and the crotch of his trousers gradually darkened as a foul stench wafted from it.
Alger hoisted the middle-aged man up, hunched his back, and took heavy steps toward the nearby wall.
Bang! He rammed the middle-aged man into it like a shield, his arm bulging with monstrous strength.
The wooden wall shattered on impact. Violent wind and rain, laced with the briny tang of seawater, surged into the cabin.
Alger twisted his waist and flung the middle-aged man out of the cabin, sending him crashing into mountainous waves that rose one after another.
The sky was dark, the wind howled, and the overwhelming force of nature buried everything.
Alger produced a white handkerchief and meticulously wiped his right palm, then tossed it into the sea as well.
He stepped back a few paces and patiently waited for his companion to enter.
"What happened?" In less than ten seconds, the man with the soft yellow hair burst in.
"The 'captain' escaped." Alger panted, answering with vexation. "He actually still had some of his supernatural power!"
"Damn it!" the yellow-haired man cursed under his breath.
He walked to the breach and squinted into the distance, but apart from the wind, rain, and waves, nothing was visible.
"Forget it. He was just a bonus." The yellow-haired man waved his hand. "Finding a ghost ship from the Tudor era — we'll only be rewarded for that."
Even for a blessed child of the sea, he wouldn't dare plunge into the water in weather like this.
"And if this storm keeps up, the 'captain' won't last long either." Alger nodded, then noticed the breach in the wooden wall beginning to writhe and regenerate at a speed visible to the naked eye.
He stared at it for a long moment, then instinctively turned his head toward the helm and the sails.
Even separated by layers of wooden planks, he could clearly sense what was happening there.
No first mate, no second mate, no crew, no sailors — not a single living soul!
It was completely empty. The helm and the sails were adjusting themselves in eerie fashion.
The image of that figure shrouded in ashen mist — "The Fool" — surfaced in his mind once more. Alger let out a sudden sigh.
He turned to face the raging storm outside, and in a tone caught between anticipation and dread, like a man talking in his sleep:
"A new era has begun……"
…………
Capital of the Loen Kingdom, Backlund. Queens Borough.
Audrey Hall pinched her own cheek, unable to believe what had just happened.
On the dressing table before her, the ancient copper mirror lay shattered into pieces.
Her gaze drifted downward, and Audrey saw a flow of "crimson" across the back of her hand, like a "tattoo" of stars.
The "crimson" gradually dimmed, finally sinking beneath her skin and vanishing entirely.
Only then did Audrey finally confirm she wasn't dreaming.
Her eyes shimmered with light, the corners of her mouth curling upward bit by bit, and she couldn't help but stand, bending to lift her skirt.
She bowed to the air, then moved with light steps, her body turning as she broke into the currently most popular court dance — the "Ancient Elf Dance."
Her figure twirled gracefully, her face radiant with a brilliant smile.
Knock knock knock! The bedroom door was suddenly rapped upon.
"Who is it?" Audrey froze instantly, arranging herself into an elegant posture.
"Miss, may I come in? It's time for you to prepare." Her personal maid asked from outside the door.
Audrey tilted her head toward the mirror on the dressing table, quickly retracting her smile until only a faint trace remained.
She glanced left and right, and only after confirming there was nothing amiss with her appearance did she speak gently:
"Come in."
The handle turned, and her personal maid, Annie, pushed the door open.
"Oh, it's broken…" Annie's eyes immediately fell upon the fate of the ancient copper mirror.
Audrey blinked, then said at a slow, deliberate pace:
"Well, yes, um, Sussie came in earlier, you know how it is — it's always causing trouble!"
Sussie was a golden retriever of not particularly pure bloodline, a gift her father, Count Hall, had received when purchasing foxhounds. But Audrey adored her.
"You really ought to discipline that dog properly." Annie deftly gathered the shards of the copper mirror, mindful of not hurting her mistress.
Having finished tidying up, she looked at Audrey and asked with a smile: