Chapter Seven: More Sinister Than the Sea Witch

"Ah—"

At the very moment the wheel of light was pointed at her, a surge of overwhelming terror rose in the woman’s heart, as though she was once again confronting death itself. An exaggerated scream tore from her lips just as Mulan fired his gun.

Bang.

Beneath the fiery wheel of light, the muzzle and the trajectory sparked a barely perceptible red line; in nearly the same instant, the bullet pierced the thick glass of the control room and struck the strange woman outside squarely in the forehead.

Her scream was cut off abruptly. Mulan’s body trembled, his face ashen. That brief scream had felt like a dagger thrust into his ears; even now, a dull pain lingered, his head buzzing, his mind muddled as though it had been churned into paste, leaving him dazed and unable to focus.

For Mulan, opening the control room door and shooting the eerie woman was a series of swift reactions and mental calculations. Yet, for those outside, it was only a few heartbeats before something soul-shaking occurred.

But they were in no state to be shocked—when the scream rang out, everyone outside clutched their ears in agony. The boy and girl among them even fainted on the spot.

It was some time before a few of them recovered.

Those with quicker reflexes and more courage sprang into action. The elderly gentleman snatched up the pistol from the floor, and, with two young men, crept cautiously into the control room.

“Mr. Jonster, are you all right?”

“Are there any other attackers inside?” “What was that sound just now?”

“My ears are still ringing…”

Mulan tried to steady himself. If, at first, his venture into the control room was driven by both self-preservation and a curiosity for the mysterious, now he resolved that, should he ever encounter such things again, he would keep his distance unless absolutely necessary.

Soon, the attacker in the control room was securely bound, but clearly, she was not the main concern.

Once he had regained his composure, Mulan joined the others at the outer cargo hatch of the control room. Cautiously, they opened it, and a blast of wind and rain swept in from outside.

Thunder rolled.

Lightning illuminated the darkness; on the deck beyond, rain poured down in torrents, the water glinting with each flash.

“Be careful—stick close to the outer railings. If you’re swept into the sea, no one will be able to save you!” the elderly gentleman warned repeatedly.

Clenching their jaws, Mulan and the younger men ventured out.

Though Mulan now wished he could stay as far away as possible from such things, tonight he was determined to see what he had shot, and, more importantly, to finish the job if by some chance it still lived.

The storm was terrifying, but the wind on the control room deck was less fierce than expected; they managed to keep their footing. Circling around from the hatch, they soon reached the spot where the bullet had shattered the glass.

The woman’s corpse had not vanished. It lay quietly on the deck below the window. Yet, at the sight of her, none of them felt any relief—Mulan and the young men beside him shivered with dread.

“Her…her body…”

“Mr. Jonster…”

“Ugh…”

The young men, shivering from cold and fear, huddled together, some retching, unable to tell whether it was the corpse or Mulan’s actions that disgusted them more. Meanwhile, Mulan crouched and used his silver-handled cane to prod the body, inspecting the wounds.

After seeing so many corpses on the battlefield, Mulan had developed some immunity. But never before had he seen one as bizarre as this. As he examined the body, he explained his findings to the others.

“Other than the bullet wound to the forehead, which was mine, several piercing knife wounds were already present. Blood still oozes from them, yet the wounds themselves look half-rotted…”

“Mr. Jonster, her teeth!” someone exclaimed.

Mulan immediately used his cane to part the woman’s lips, revealing teeth that, though neatly arranged, were unnaturally sharp and sinister.

Thunder rumbled again, lightning laying everything bare. Mulan suddenly noticed something else. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and touched behind the corpse’s ear, feeling a rough, wrinkled texture.

“Mr. Jonster, is she…is she perhaps a sea siren?” someone asked, their eyes nervously darting toward the waves.

“A sea siren…I’m not sure,” Mulan replied, a chill running through him. His modern mind, shaped by a twenty-first-century soul, offered its own conjecture. He looked around at the vast sea, suppressing the unease within.

In truth, the eerie singing had not entirely vanished; a distant, sorrowful melody lingered, gradually fading as it drifted away over the water.

“Let’s drag the corpse inside, so it doesn’t get washed into the sea.”

…

Aboard the Princess of Nisherliel, a suspected murder had occurred; the crew in the control room had all vanished, and the captured attacker refused to speak…

Fortunately, not all the ship’s crew had disappeared—only those on night duty were missing. The captain and most of the crew remained and quickly took charge of the situation.

News of the incident soon spread throughout the ship. Rumors of a sea siren circulated rapidly, only to be quickly suppressed when the woman’s identity was discovered.

Again in the dining hall, Mulan sat at lunch—or rather, breakfast, having just risen and with little appetite. He forced himself to eat, though, knowing he needed the nourishment.

Since that night, he had noticed a change in himself: insomnia, and, when he did sleep, a relentless barrage of strange and terrifying nightmares that left him exhausted.

Thankfully, the simple act of eating helped soothe his nerves, and his appetite slowly returned.

“Mr. Jonster, your wine,” a female attendant announced, presenting a bottle of red. Mulan paused, looking curiously at the smiling server.

“I didn’t order any wine.”

“It’s a gift from the proprietor—not on your bill. Enjoy your meal!”

With a friendly gesture, she uncorked the bottle and poured him a glass, wishing him well before departing.

Neither Mulan nor his former self, Li Xiu, had ever cared for alcohol. Still, out of courtesy, he raised the glass toward the bar in acknowledgment, then merely touched the wine to his lips before setting it down.

After all, those refined nobles sipped their drinks in the tiniest increments.

“Sir Jonster, they’ve found out—they’ve identified the woman! I mean, the corpse!”

A young man rushed into the dining hall, quickly spotting Mulan and hurrying over, calling out as he came. Mulan set down his knife and fork, recognizing one of the young men who had joined him in examining the body.

“Who was she?”

Catching his breath, the young man reported, “She boarded at Dia Port—a tailor’s daughter. She had no companions and was staying in cabin 313 in the lower decks. Someone saw her the evening before it happened.”

“A tailor’s daughter? So she wasn’t really a sea siren?”

“Thank goodness—I was scared half to death before!”

“Yes, it’s a relief she wasn’t a siren.”

“What about the missing crew? Maybe they’re the culprits.”

The people around them discussed animatedly. Mulan frowned, but still thanked the youth.

“Thank you for letting me know.”

The young man seemed thrilled—though Mulan looked little older than himself, speaking with him was clearly an honor.

“No need. I’ll see what else I can find out and let you know if I hear anything!”

“Ah, all right.”

His enthusiasm was almost comical; he dashed off again, leaving Mulan both amused and troubled.

So, the victim wasn’t really a sea siren—or rather, she hadn’t yet become one.

Yes, Mulan believed this was no ordinary case of murder or disappearance. The brief confrontation and the changes in the girl’s body defied all logic.

In Mulan’s boldest speculation, that night had been some kind of transformation for the girl—or rather, her corpse. Whether she was turning into a sea siren, he didn’t know, but she was certainly becoming something ominous.

What had triggered this change was not solely the mysterious forces of the sea, but likely a significant human element as well.

Mulan gripped his knife and fork tightly, recalling the half-rotted, ragged wounds on the girl’s body.

“There are things on this ship more wicked than any sea siren!”

——

PS: My thanks to “Mr_Crow” for the Alliance Leader’s reward, and to everyone for your gifts and votes. After such a long time away, to quietly start a new book—and on such an obscure, unconventional topic—every bit of support means everything to me. Thank you, all!