The merchant ship sailed slowly across the calm ocean.
Its wooden hull was large and sturdy, built with medieval craftsmanship that had been tested by time. Its white sails swelled fully, catching the gentle sea breeze, carrying loads of spices, cloth, and metal to distant lands. On the deck, the crew moved leisurely—some spoke quietly, others checked ropes and crates with faces free of concern.
The sea that day was too calm.
Its surface was almost like a bluish-gray mirror, nearly without waves. Seabirds flew low, occasionally brushing the water with the tips of their wings before rising again. There were no signs of a storm. No dangerous currents. Even the wind blew with an almost lazy rhythm.
For experienced sailors, such calm was a blessing.
But for a small number of them… it felt odd.
Near the stern of the ship, several mercenaries stood guard. They were not ordinary crew members—their postures were straighter, their weapons well maintained, and their eyes far too alert to simply enjoy the voyage. They were hired for a high price for one simple task: ensure this ship reached its destination safely.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
One of them, a middle-aged man in a dark leather coat, leaned his spear against the railing. His gaze swept across the horizon without expression, as if searching for something unseen.
"Too quiet," he muttered softly.
His companion merely snorted. "You're overthinking. Calm seas mean an easy journey."
Maybe that was true.
For the next few hours, nothing changed. The sun moved slowly behind thin clouds. The hourglass was turned. The ship continued onward, steady and safe.
Then… the change came.
At first, it was almost unnoticeable.
The wind stopped.
The sails that had been stretched wide slowly slackened, falling limp as if they had lost their strength. Some of the crew frowned, looking up at the sky which now appeared darker than before. Gray clouds gathered without a sound, piling up too quickly to be considered natural.
The surface of the sea began to tremble faintly.
Not waves—but something deeper. Like the slow pulse of a colossal creature awakening beneath them.
"The wind…?" one sailor whispered in confusion.
Before anyone could answer, thunder rumbled in the distance.
The sky split with a pale flash of light. The clouds moved rapidly, swirling into a massive vortex right above the ship. The wind that had vanished returned with brutal force, slamming into the sails and mast mercilessly.
The storm appeared… far too suddenly.
Huge waves began to rise, crashing against the hull with a thunderous roar. Wood creaked loudly, ropes tightened, and shouted commands filled the air.
"Lower the sails!"
"Hold the rudder!"
"Don't panic!"
The mercenaries moved at once. Weapons were drawn not to fight a visible enemy, but to maintain balance amid the chaos. Seawater swept across the deck, cold and salty, making every step more difficult.
Yet behind all of this…
Something was wrong.
This storm didn't feel natural. The thunder did not strike at random—it had rhythm. The waves did not merely crash—they seemed to be pushing the ship in a specific direction.
Toward deeper waters.
The middle-aged mercenary gripped the railing, his eyes narrowing at the churning dark sea. In the flicker of lightning, he saw something move far beneath the surface.
The shadow passed beneath the ship again.
Long.
Dark.
Too large to be called a fish. Too deliberate to be just an ocean current.
One of the mercenaries felt his chest tighten for no apparent reason. Not a sharp fear, but a subtle pressure—an ancient instinct warning that they had wandered too far into territory humans were never meant to enter.
They had entered the domain of The Deep Ones.
Those beings were not merely sea legends told to frighten young sailors. They were inhabitants of the abyss—humanoid creatures whose bodies were a strange fusion of human and deep-sea fish. Their skin was rough and scaly, dimly glistening beneath the lightning, with gills opening at their necks and large eyes devoid of warmth.
There was one thing they favored.
Lost ships.
This merchant vessel… had become prey.
"This makes no sense…" the ship's captain grit his teeth as he clutched the helm. His hands trembled, not from the waves, but from the creeping realization. "We followed the right route. The wind direction is correct. The timing as well."
He glanced at the map tied beside the helm. There were no mistakes. No forbidden routes crossed.
Yet the sea around them said otherwise.
The waves grew higher, forming an invisible circle. The seawater rotated slowly, as if this ship was the center of something far greater. Lightning struck again, illuminating the ocean's surface—and this time, the shadow was no longer alone.
There were more.
Several silhouettes emerged from the depths, swimming around the ship with horrifying synchronization. Their bodies were slender yet powerful, webbed hands with sharp claws gripping the currents as if they were solid.
"Deep Ones…" a sailor whispered, his voice nearly breaking.
A heavy impact struck the underside of the ship.
THUD.
Wood groaned loudly, crates tumbled, and panicked screams erupted across the deck. Seawater burst through gaps in the planks, cold and salty, carrying an unnatural scent—the smell of an ancient sea, as if from thousands of years below.
"Prepare for battle!!" one of the mercenaries shouted.
There was no more doubt.
Swords were drawn from their scabbards, spears leveled at the sea, bows pulled back with trembling hands. The mercenaries took formation, forming a defensive circle around the main mast. They knew—these enemies would not attack from a single direction.
A head emerged above the surface.
Its face faintly resembled a human, but its jaw was too wide and its eyes were black without whites. Water dripped from the scales covering its body as it gripped the ship's side with unnatural strength. Its lips moved, producing a sound that was not human speech—a wet murmur that made one's head throb just by hearing it.
Then another surfaced.
And another.
The ship was now surrounded.
The captain swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the ocean that now seemed alive.
"We… we're being pulled," he said softly, barely believing it.
The helm in his hands felt heavy—not just from the wind or waves, but as if unseen hands were gripping the underside of the ship, forcing it to turn in a certain direction. Every attempt to resist only made the wood creak louder, as though the vessel itself was screaming in pain.
The sea was no longer passive.
It was responding.
And then—
Something leapt out of the water.
Its body hung for a moment in the air, illuminated by lightning, before crashing onto the deck with a wet, heavy sound. Wood splintered beneath its weight. The figure stood hunched, seawater dripping from the dark scales covering most of its body.
A humanoid creature.
But clearly not human.
Its face resembled that of a human who had been pulled too far into the sea—bluish-gray skin, round black eyes without expression, and gills pulsing at the sides of its neck. Its arms were long, its fingers webbed, and in its grasp was a trident seemingly forged from sea-green metal, its surface covered in carvings of unknown symbols.
One creature… then two… then more.
Several Deep Ones leapt up onto the deck from various sides of the ship, moving nimbly despite their wet and slick bodies. Every landing was followed by the sound of wood groaning, as if the ship had never been built to withstand their presence.
"Contact on the deck!" shouted one of the mercenaries.
No second command was needed.
Swords swung, bows loosed, and spears were aimed toward the creatures. The first arrow lodged into the shoulder of one of the Deep Ones—but the creature merely let out a low grunt, almost like a wet laugh, before pulling the arrow out and throwing it back at the shooter.
The clash of metal and wood echoed amid the storm.
One mercenary attacked from the side, his sword slicing through the creature's scaly body. Dark, green-tinged blood splattered across the deck, releasing a pungent fishy smell. Yet the Deep One did not immediately fall—it instead retaliated with a swift trident thrust, nearly piercing the attacker's chest before he managed to retreat.
Screams erupted.
Not only from humans.
The Deep Ones produced strange sounds as they fought—rhythmic murmurs that sounded like prayers, or perhaps war chants, directed toward something far beneath the sea. The sound was not loud, yet piercing. Each vibration made the sailors' stomachs churn and their heads throb, as if their consciousness was being slowly dragged down into the same depths.
The ship's defenses began to crumble.
One mercenary fell, a trident stabbing into the planks just inches from his neck. Another sailor staggered back with a pale face, his steps unsteady, his breath ragged—not merely from exhaustion, but from the creeping realization that this resistance was futile.
In the midst of the encirclement, their resolve slowly collapsed.
They were no longer sure they could survive.
Then—something changed.
The air above the deck felt heavy for a moment, as if the very space itself was holding its breath. The murmurs of the Deep Ones faltered, their cadence breaking, no longer in unison. Several of them turned their heads at once toward a single point in the middle of the deck.
And there—
A figure appeared out of nowhere.
Not falling from the sky.
He simply was.
A young man stood among splintered wet wood and blood, wearing eastern noble garments soaked by seawater, yet still strangely neat. His black hair hung to his shoulders, dripping with salt water, while a pair of red eyes calmly surveyed his surroundings with a composure no one in such a situation should possess.
Jun Mizushino.
Before anyone could react, he took a single step forward.
His hand moved swiftly, wrapped in a flow of barely visible energy. One Deep One that had been too close was blasted backward as if struck by an invisible wall, its body sliding across the deck before plunging back into the sea with a loud splash.
Another followed.
Jun moved among them with light steps, every strike precise, every motion efficient. A trident swung toward him stopped mid-air, twisted, then slipped from its wielder's grasp before the wielder himself was thrown backward.
Within seconds, the deck that had moments earlier been dominated by the Deep Ones was now littered with scaly bodies lying motionless—or already reclaimed by the sea.
Silence settled over the ship.
Only the sound of rain and waves remained.
Jun let out a quiet sigh, then flicked his wet black hair, droplets scattering across the wooden boards. He glanced at the remains of the sea creatures with a calm expression.
"I might've been late," he said casually, as if he had simply arrived at a meeting that was nearly over.
He glanced briefly toward the still-turbulent sea. "I almost ended up stranded in the ocean."
The sailors stared at him wide-eyed.
//---//
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