The sounds of multiple boots clashing with the wooden deck above meant that it was morning already.
Harley had already finished compiling all of the information from the knight captain beside him.
There are eight ranks of creatures from his own world. Each creature has what is called a sigil, a symbol marking their being and also determining their rank.
At the lowest level were Imps, creatures strengthened by a single sigil. They are as strong as humans, dangerous only in numbers, and easily slain by trained humans. Above them stood Fiends, marked by two sigils, capable of crude coordination and enough strength to overwhelm settlements or cause a rampage in a city. The third rank, Hunters, bearing three sigils, marked the true awakening of monsters; from this level onward, creatures, just like humans chosen by the Oracle, manifest stories—fragments of identity and history—and with them, the ability to wield supernatural powers.
Then there are reapers, demons, grimreapers and archdemons. Harley personally hadn't learned too much about these as a reporter.
Then there were calamities...
Only the wardens that wield the wonders are able to battle these entities and win.
And there haven't been one, there have been eight so far. Eight wonders, and eight calamities in recorded history. Nine came in these 19 years of Harley's life which he was happy about, until he came to this trial.
'But it's impossible for creatures above Fiend rank to appear in a first story trial like this. Unless the 0% survival rate was actually because of an insanely strong creature.' Harley thought, relaxing his back on the bars behind him.
He was by no means scared, but he felt uncomfortable not knowing what he was going to face.
As if reading his thoughts, a feminine, mechanical voice resounded in his ears, making him raise his head.
{You are getting close to the third scenario. The second scenario hasn't been completed. Proximity to the third scenario is increasing, hints for the main objective would be given}
At that, the sturdy piece of paper appeared in front of him, but it was still black and white in his eyes.
The ink moved across the paper, painting new words.
[Hint 1:
Kill not the gods who were.
End the god who would be.
Hint:
Three are endings that refuse to die.
One is a beginning that must not live.
Power matures.
Meaning curdles.
The cleanest story is the one never told.]
Harley stared at the paper dumbfounded, looking at the words over and and over again.
"A riddle? What is this?" He whispered, frowning, then it hit him.
'There might be one more Godsworn, not three?' He glanced at the captain by his side, and then back at the paper.
'Firsr I have to escape this place.' he dismissed the paper, recollecting everything he knew so far.
...
'That's about all I know. And then the artifacts.' Harley pulled out the locket from within his shoe, looking at it with a frown.
'Verses are commands to activate a function of an artifact.' He thought, remembering the first verse of the locket.
"Show me what I wanted." He spoke, opening the locket.
To his surprise, nothing happened. The mirror inside the locket remained blank, and nothing reflected on it.
"How did you even get an artifact inside here?" Eman mumbled; the surprise was evident in his tone.
"Well, they didn't take me seriously as a threat. I probably can't defeat any of them in a fight. And the captain can literally summon a ten-foot beast to eat me if I misbehave." Harley looked around the locket and frowned, wondering if there was something else he was missing.
"You should know by now that the cages don't let essence work. It basically sucks it out of you. So you're powerless while inside." Eman sighed, continuing in a slow tone.
"You may not have felt it. I'm even wondering if you're a sorcerer at all, like jesters are supposed to be." The captain sounded confused, genuinely confused, making Harley feel less of himself.
'Well, now I know why all the other people in the village looked at me weird.' He sighed, relaxing for a bit.
Clack!
The basement doors opened, letting light come into the dark space below. Harley squinted. There, he saw the same two pirates that dragged him down here yesterday.
One of them had a cut on his lower lip that seemed bent, having a bald head and a hunched back. The other one was more quiet, having little hair on his head and actually perfect skin.
"Hehe, ready, Jester." The bald one chuckled, fiddling with a bunch of keys before unlocking his cell and dragging him out into daylight again.
They threw him on the ground, walking away immediately.
Many of the pirates, rather than sit and watch, were off doing their business. They seemed to be bringing barrels from the basement and putting them close to the side edges of the ship.
Shack!
Harley's eyes widened as he felt something swing by his ear. He shifted, turning around to see one of the same knives that were thrown at him the previous day.
"Don't be distracted, boy."
A thick, commanding voice came from above him, and he looked up to see Ragnar wearing a white coat. The woman who was usually beside him was not, and Ragnar raised a brow.
"Are you worried about my partner?" He smirked, lifting a metallic cup to his mouth.
"I threw her overboard. Along with a good member of ours. Just found out that they have been having an affair back home. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Loyalty is very rare." The captain shook his head, staring at the wooden floor.
Harley, despite feeling weak, stood up to his feet.
"I'm sorry about that, sir. But I have something to— argh!" Two heavy hands pulled Harley to his knees instantly.
He couldn't resist; both hands were strong, like meat and bones weighing him down.
"Who told you to stand, vermin?" The bald-headed pirate asked, pressing his hard fingers into Harley's shoulder.
"ARGHHHH!" Harley could feel a crack in his bone. This sent a surge of pain through his body, and tears formed in his eyes.
"Let him be. I'm bored. I would like to play with him more." Ragnar smiled, tapping Harley's head.
Then his smile faded.
"Tie his legs together. I have a harder challenge for him."
The challenge today was awfully similar. He had to do his tricks with both of his legs tied together while hanging from a pillar. He hung over flames, using a single hand to juggle two knives and dodging randomly thrown knives.
Harley was taken down after what seemed like forever, but the sun was still up, so it wasn't a lot of time. He was covered in sweat; this time, only his fingers and palm got cut.
The pirates began to untie his feet, and he looked down at the captain again from where he was hanging.
Harley's chest heaved as the ropes finally fell away from his ankles and he crashed on the ground. His legs trembled beneath him, barely holding his weight, but he forced himself upright. The salt-streaked deck swayed gently underfoot. Every muscle screamed, every shallow breath tasted of smoke smoke and blood.
Definitely tastes like blood.
He dropped to one knee before the words even left his mouth.
"Mighty Ragnar," Harley began, voice hoarse but carrying, loud enough for the nearest pirates to pause and turn. "Drake-tamer, mighty warrior. Captain of the black sails." He pressed his forehead almost to the planks, palms flat in supplication. "I have witnessed true power now. Not tricks, real, bone-deep dominion. You command men who would die for a glance from you. You command a beast that could swallow kill men. I… I am nothing beside that."
A ripple of coarse laughter moved through the crew, but it died quickly when Ragnar did not join in.
Harley pressed on, words tumbling faster. "I beg you—take me as your slave. Not even a proper servant. A dog at your heel will do. Let me carry your cup, polish your boots, scrub the blood from your decks. Anything. I swear with my prophetess' name, I will never raise a hand against you. Never speak against you. I have seen what happens to those who forget their place." He swallowed, throat raw. "I will not forget."
Silence stretched. The only sounds were the creak of rigging, the slap of canvas in the wind, and the low hiss of the brazier flames still smoldering beneath the pillar where he had performed.
A few of the pirates dragging the sails ignored him, some sneered and walked towards him with knives in there hands.
"He's very smart for a jester. He knows the captain is the real deal."
"Yeah, but he's still a jester."
Ragnar tilted his head, studying the jester the way one might study an interesting but ultimately harmless insect. After a long moment, he exhaled through his nose, amused.
"Get up, jester."
Harley scrambled to his feet so quickly he nearly fell again.
The captain gestured lazily with the metallic cup. "You may stay on deck. No more basement for now." He raised his voice so the crew could hear. "The boy's no threat. Look at him. Skinny as a gutted fish, hands shaking like a virgin on her wedding night. Even if he found a knife, he'd probably cut himself before he reached me."
More laughter and murmurs this time. To the pirates, he was nothing but a toy now.
Harley's knees nearly buckled with relief. He dropped again, this time pressing both palms and forehead fully to the deck in a deep, theatrical bow.
"Thank you, great captain. Thank you, Lord Ragnar. I will prove my loyalty every hour of every day. I will never betray you. Never."
Ragnar snorted softly, already turning away. "See that you don't, little jester. I grow bored of broken toys very quickly."
Harley stayed bowed until the white coat disappeared behind the quarterdeck stairs. Only then did he allow himself to exhale.
He had bought time. A chance to watch, to listen, to wait for the locket to remember what it was supposed to do. Or for some crack in the cage of essence-suppression to appear.
He rose slowly, keeping his head lowered, eyes darting across the deck. Barrels still lined the railings. Crew moved with purpose now—fewer idlers, more activity. Something was changing.
And then he felt it.
The ship shuddered as if climbing on something.
Harley glanced toward the horizon. The water, which had been the restless gray-green of late morning, was darkening.
The color was bleeding upward from below, like ink spreading through cloth. It was black. Deeper than oil.
It was then that Harley noticed what the ink was.
"It's fish!" He frowned, looking closely to see that the fish were pitch black.
"BLACK RAZOR FISH GROUP ON SHORE!! READY THE BARRELS! IT'S A BLACK TIDE!" One of the pirates manning the ropes shouted, grabbing a barrel and popping it open before pouring its contents into the sea.
The pirates went in to the basement and in and in, bringing out more and more barrels.
"What are you doing? Go grab a barrel." A familiar voice came to Harley.
He looked back, seeing Jin walking past him.
"ARGH!" One of the pirates fell into the water. Instantly, his skin was being fed on by thousands of fish, making the waters red before his screams died down.
"No way, they are eating him as if he was just an ordinary human." He mumbled in surprise, knowing that it could have been him that went over.
He ran into the basement, grabbing a barrel. To his surprise, he couldn't lift any of them.
"What the hell is in this thing?" He wondered, trying again.
"Harley? What are you doing?" Eman's voice came to him, and he shook his head, seeing more pirates come in.
One of them facepalmed, lifting the barrel off the ground and carrying it up to the surface.
Jin walked in, carried another one on his shoulder, and ran up to the deck, and Harley followed.
Jin popped a lid, revealing a lot of grey sand within the barrel, and he lifted it, pouring it into the water.
"What the hell is that?" Harley asked, looking at the grey sand.
"It's desert ash. It repels the black Razor fish, suppressing their essence to a minor level, making them lose their strength and fall asleep." Jin explained, glancing at Harley with a raised brow.
Soon, the black Razor fish that surrounded the ship were nowhere to be found anymore, and the pirates cheered.
Harley took a handful of desert ash and put it inside a small pouch in his trousers, his cold eyes scanning the entire ship.