When she said this, Fran felt the slightly surprised gaze from the nun before her, then continued explaining.
"It's just that for him, death was perhaps the best release. Continuing to cling to life would only torment him with memories and fear for the rest of his days."
In fact, if Fran were willing, she could have forcibly kept Count Ferdinand alive. Green capsules to stabilize the mind, revitalizing agents to support the body, and some post-treatment care could have made a full recovery.
As this doctor had said before, even death needed her permission by her side.
"Ahem. Although not entirely his own will, this Count did indeed cook and eat his wife and attempted to violate his own biological daughter."
"I see."
From Fran's description, Haida had gained some understanding of the situation.
Cooking and eating a beloved partner and possessing a daughter—both were undoubtedly unforgivable grave crimes. But she also said "not entirely his own will," indicating the Count was probably influenced by something, ultimately becoming twisted and despicable.
If he still had a conscience, his own actions would torture him incessantly. And if he had completely fallen, then such a person... also had no need to continue existing.
In that sense, "peaceful rest" was indeed the only suitable medicine for him.
"Hmm... There's also a rather unlucky folklorist who was once forced to eat his teacher during a shipwreck."
When talking about Davis, Fran felt a flicker of interest.
This folklorist's luck seemed somewhere between misfortune and luck, hard to define clearly.
To say he was lucky—he was exploited without any bottom line by his mentor, working for seven years without pay, later almost dying exploring undersea ruins. On the return trip, he coincidentally encountered an ocean storm.
Coming to the Count's manor, he just happened to encounter the dangerous incident of an out-of-control relic... Such a guy didn't seem to have much to do with luck.
But looking from another angle, none of the above disasters managed to kill him. Wasn't that a kind of "luck" in itself?
"Eating humans during a shipwreck? In Secret-Hunter records, such events are not uncommon."
Haida also had some understanding of this.
In times when sailing technology was underdeveloped, sailors often had to resort to desecrating corpses to survive. In such desperate situations, survivors had to cling to life by any means necessary, and this might have been the only way to live.
Seeing her pondering this quite seriously, Fran spoke with a trace of amusement.
"Haida, if the Leviathan were to shipwreck, I could take my leg off for you as emergency rations, you know? Hands might be needed for surgery, better saved for last."
Hearing this, Haida couldn't help but narrow her gray-brown eyes, staring at the doctor gently stroking her calf. Today she was wearing winter-style velvet stockings, entirely black, looking soft and warm.
Clearly, this strange, humorous proposal left Haida somewhat at a loss.
"...Dr. Fran, please don't make such terrifying jokes."
"Alright, just saying."
Fran complied quite obediently.
In fact, she carried ample supplies in her medical kit; there was no way they'd fall into such a situation. But if it really happened, this doctor wouldn't mind executing her proposed plan.
After all, limb loss wasn't a big deal for her; she could just go back to the clinic and install a spare...
"Oh, Haida. Where's Vivian?"
Just then, Fran suddenly remembered she seemed to be on the ship too.
But sometimes that kid had a very low presence, making her easy to forget. That was probably part of being a Confidential Division agent...
"She's a bit seasick. After vomiting on the deck for a while, she went back to her room to sleep."
As she spoke, Haida extended her hand, raising her index finger.
Then the raven named "Munin" gently flapped its wings, extending its claws to land steadily on it.
Munin nuzzled Haida's hand, appearing quiet and well-behaved.
Corvids possessed a special intelligence, and birds bearing the [Calling Bird] secret art gained even more spiritual awareness on that basis. Therefore, this little fellow clearly understood one thing... neither of the two people before him was someone he could afford to offend.
"She handed the raven to me to look after before resting. She should still be asleep for a while."
"Caw."
The little raven let out a timely caw, a touch of perfectly fitting contempt flickering in its bright black eyes.
"Seasick?"
Fran slightly raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in her amber eyes.
"That's a simple little symptom; just a dimenhydrinate tablet would solve it... Of course, I can also provide a little extra help."
As she spoke, she picked up her medical kit and slowly walked toward Vivian's room.
...
Waves surged, tides ebbed and flowed.
The sun traveled from one end of the horizon to the other, then turned into crimson afterglow, sinking into the twilight of dusk.
Looking at the black waves of the Abyssal Sea under the night sky, most people would feel genuine loneliness and fear. The deep sea was boundless; even the massive ship seemed as small as a grain of sand. Sinking into it probably wouldn't even raise a splash.
But smelling the slightly salty sea breeze, Bartley only felt a sense of familiarity, even intimacy.
(T/N: Just realised his name wasn't Butler—the guy that tested Haida so she could become a Supervisor—but Bartley)
After all, he was born in that chaotic nation bordering the Abyssal Sea.
Bartley took out his two saw cleavers and placed them on a whetstone to sharpen. Many office workers spoke of Gormouth with a hint of fear, thinking it wasn't very safe.
But returning to his hometown this time, he only felt excitement.
This meant he could once again tear open the bodies of heretical spawn, sever their heads... For a seasoned hunter, there was nothing more beautiful than the hunt.
To some extent, Bartley and Black Banyan were similar.
They might not be as obsessive, but they were indeed sufficiently bellicose. It was a nearly frenzied tendency, capable of destroying enemies without restraint and without any pity for their own lives. And the driving force behind it... was called "hatred."
"Speaking of Black Banyan... that old guy's luck is really something else. No, should call him little thing now."
When he saw that old acquaintance again in Norlington, Bartley thought it was Black Banyan's child. Thought to himself, Jonsen you old rascal, playing it big, having a kid without even getting married quietly?
It wasn't until Black Banyan spoke with that same arrogant tone as always that he realized something was off...
"But, for him, this should be a good thing. At least, he won't die of old age before me."
"Hah."
Bartley let out a somewhat self-mocking low laugh.
Although he still wasn't quite used to Black Banyan's current appearance, it was better than watching him die of old age in bed. And now the Death Banyan had completely merged with his body; from another perspective... he was much stronger than before.
Too bad he came too urgently this time, only met him once, didn't get a chance to spar.
Unlike Haida, who simply applied for a quarterly transfer, Bartley also had a long-term assignment from the General Affairs Division on this trip.
Namely, "pursue the Nightmare Guest."
For ordinary fugitives, the Secret-Hunters Cult generally wouldn't specially dispatch director-level hunters; that would be too much manpower expenditure. The reason this was different was because of the Nightmare Guest's provocative behavior.
Causing trouble at the Mirror of Enlightenment Club once wasn't enough; they had to go to the Mandala Tavern and do it again, showing a lack of respect for the Secret-Hunters.
Scrape—
With the final sharpening complete, Bartley placed one of his saw cleavers, restored to sharpness, on the wooden rack.
Just as he was about to pick up the other one, a steward's voice came from outside the door, delivering dinner.
"Sir, your dinner."
"The door's unlocked, bring it in." Bartley called him in.
Soon, the steward entered carrying a tray. The Leviathan's dinner was smoked ham stew, fish rolls with fried shrimp, and some fruits and vegetables.
"Hey, couldn't eat stuff like this at sea years back."
After setting down the tray and cutlery, the steward left the room. Bartley looked at the still-warm dishes, feeling a bit emotional.
Suddenly, his peripheral vision swept past the weapon rack beside him, finding it empty. Unnoticed, his other, not-yet-sharpened saw cleaver had disappeared.
"Oh? When was it taken? Quite a bold little thief..."
Bartley narrowed his eyes, his mood momentarily complex.
Although this cleaver was a relic, it wasn't valuable. Why steal from me? How dare he?
But he didn't dwell on it, just picked up the other saw cleaver and slowly walked out of his room, beginning to track the steward who had just left.
Fine, consider it temporary overtime. At least tonight won't be boring.
——
If the Leviathan were a medium or small steamship, Detreka wouldn't have acted.
But coincidentally, it was a large vessel, with enough ordinary sailors and stewards for her to blend in, and enough space to hide. In this situation... she had confidence she could even steal a hunter's weapon.
A disciple of the Six-Eyed Crow, to await the opportunity for recognition and promotion, must steal a Secret-Hunter's personal item.
This was also the earthly manifestation of the enmity between the two deities...
Now that hunter's personal item was in her hands, she was mostly successful. Now all she needed to do was find a way to keep her gains.
Thinking this, Detreka's mood became wonderful.
Just then, she saw a doctor in a white coat standing by the corridor. On that exquisite, pale face, a pair of amber eyes gazed at the distant stars, seemingly deep in thought, thus appearing completely defenseless.
Judging by attire, probably a doctor from Norlington, likely wealthy. Since my touch is hot today, why not pull another job...
——
As a cult disciple who had reached the Second Step, Detreka could be called an Acolyte. Of course, in the Six-Eyed Crow cult, she would be called a "Snatcher."
For a Snatcher, stealing from Secret-Hunters was the fastest way to gain spirituality. Of course... also the most dangerous way. These hunting hounds of the god-hunting god were sharp and persistent; if you left a trace, they would pursue relentlessly, like an ulcerated bone.
Detreka gently pulled down the brim of the ship steward's cap, hiding her gaze in the shadow, calmly observing the completely defenseless target before her.
Neat, exquisite physician's coat, young, lovely face, and a somewhat pale complexion... Undoubtedly, she should be a medical professional from Norlington. Seemed from a good family, with income enough to maintain respectability.
For Detreka, this kind of seemingly inexperienced woman was the easiest target.
She approached slowly with natural composure, each step matching the rhythm of waves hitting the ship, silent.
In the moment of passing closely, Detreka reached into the pocket of Fran's doctor's coat.
Her skill, honed over years, was perfected to a high degree. In the blink of an eye, she extracted a wallet-like object from the pocket.
The whole process was incredibly smooth, ending in an instant.
Having succeeded, she continued walking without changing expression. For a complete theft, obtaining the stolen goods was only the first step; leaving the scene intact was the true success.
Detreka maintained her original pace, hoping not to alert the person behind to any abnormality. Soon, she passed a corner in the ship's corridor and entered an unmanned storage room.
Her original clothes were placed here. Now, just changing out of the steward's uniform could allow her to re-disguise as a "passenger" and escape.
Even though today's two thefts went smoothly, Detreka didn't dare relax in the slightest.
A skilled thief could succeed countless times, but failing just once could mean falling into the abyss...
Before changing, she quickly checked the gains from earlier.
It was a very familiar wallet, made of fine linen thread and stitched leather, with six black eye-shaped gems inlaid in the center.
This is... my wallet?
Detreka looked at the wallet in her hand. After a moment's confusion and bewilderment, an eerie chill rose from the depths of her heart.
That doctor had taken the wallet from her person before she even acted, then placed it in her pocket waiting for her to take it? That seemed the only possibility... But how was that possible?
When did she act? Why didn't I notice at all?
Along with the panic came a strong sense of defeat. Ordinary theft failure wouldn't faze Detreka, as it was inherently high-risk and prone to accidents... But the current situation was completely different.
"She took my wallet without me noticing, then... predicted which pocket I'd steal from and 'returned' it?"
And what special meaning did that person have for going through such trouble, or was it just to... humiliate me?
Detreka tried hard to steady her breathing, attempting to calm her disordered heart.
To achieve this, she was either a director of the Secret-Hunters' Confidential Division or a fellow disciple from her own cult. And this fellow disciple's rank far exceeded hers. Perhaps even a High Priest...
The climate over the Abyssal Sea was bizarre and strange. Setting sail from Norlington's ice-free port, one could still see falling snow, but midway through the voyage, there was no feeling of winter.
But now, Detreka had once again found that bone-piercing, icy winter chill.
+++
T/N: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter and want to support my work, I have a Patreon!
[email protected]/PeakTL