"So these are all the guns your ship has?"
"That's right."
"And here I thought Roselle, as the Emperor of Intis, would've outfitted his own flagship with something better than this. Seems a little cheap, doesn't it?"
"You're forgetting something."
Antia glanced up at Silas. "The equipment on this ship is a hundred and fifty-two years old. Back then, cannons were still a relatively new invention. A ship armed with several of them had the best firepower available, period. Any other ship that encountered one would have had no choice but to turn and run."
Right. He had almost forgotten how much technology had advanced since then.
Silas nodded, walked a few steps along the railing, and asked, "Would you mind if I installed some newer cannons?"
"It makes no difference to me."
Antia waved the long sleeve of her right arm, trying to attract the attention of the black cat sprawled across the deck.
"As long as the basic concept of 'firing a cannon' exists, I can turn even the most ordinary cannon loaded with the crudest ammunition into a devastating weapon. There's no need to go through the trouble."
As a Sequence 2 Angel, she no longer needed equipment like that to bolster her combat abilities.
Her charms, however, did not seem nearly as effective on Luna.
The black cat simply sat there with its tail curled neatly around its front paws, its deep blue eyes fixed on the elegant black-haired beauty. It showed no interest whatsoever in coming any closer.
Antia tried several more times before finally giving up. She reached out and attempted to fold the distance between herself and the cat, but Luna seemed to sense the approaching danger. With one nimble leap, it darted straight into the shadow beneath Silas's feet.
"Make it come out," Antia said.
"You're an Angel. Stop picking on a cat."
Silas glanced at her but made no attempt to pull Luna from the shadow. Instead, he turned and headed into the cabin.
This was the first time he had properly inspected the Black King.
"I'm not picking on it. I only want to pet it." Antia followed him inside, clearly still unwilling to give up on the black cat. "Something that small and fluffy must feel wonderful to hold."
That obsession is probably exactly why Luna is so wary of you.
Silas kept the thought to himself as he looked around the cabin.
A closer inspection revealed the ship's aggressively heavy decor. An asymmetrical black candelabrum hung from the ceiling, and even the number of candles on each side was uneven.
The walls were covered in patterns that resembled the wild slashes of a blade. The floorboards were unusually broad, and every piece of furniture had sharp, severe lines.
Taken together, the interior left a single overwhelming impression.
Chaotic and oppressive.
"To be honest, I'm a little surprised," Silas said with a smile. "Roselle didn't decorate this place himself."
In Silas's mind, the emperor had always reminded him of that mysterious man from his old world who had tried to make his country great again, someone with a powerful fondness for gaudy gold.
Silas had half expected to step inside and find the place filled with gilded fixtures.
Yet somehow, the flamboyant emperor had left the ship in its original state instead of forcing the extravagant style of Intis onto it.
"Oh, he added plenty," Antia said coldly. "I threw it all out. For the past century, every time I thought about how he left me here to endure this loneliness, I became furious. So I took everything he left behind, a gold toilet, a padded silk armchair, hand-painted wallpaper, a self-portrait, and crushed every last piece of it, one at a time, before throwing it into the sea."
"Besides, none of it suited the ship. Everything was either garish or so shiny it hurt to look at. I couldn't stand any of it."
Understandable, but still a shame. They were antiques, after all. And some of them were made of gold...
Silas considered this silently, then suddenly remembered something.
"Where was his study?" he asked quickly. "Did he leave anything behind? Any writing? You didn't throw that out too, did you?"
From what Silas knew of Roselle, the man would never have left this ship behind solely out of generosity toward whoever came after him. There had to be another reason.
If Silas could find a journal Roselle had left aboard the ship, or some record explaining why he had created this Angel in the first place, he might finally solve the mystery.
Antia frowned as she thought it over.
"He should have had a captain's cabin. Yes, there was one..." Her expression gradually turned puzzled. "Strange. Why can't I remember where it was?"
Even though the ship served as the vessel for her spirit, and even though she had remained aboard it for more than a century, it was as though she had never noticed the room at all.
Something was definitely wrong.
Silas immediately went on alert.
He moved quickly through the cabin, checking every room one by one. The confused Angel followed behind him, half of her long skirt trailing across the floor with a faint rustle.
The lowest deck was used for storage, and there was nothing worth noting there.
The first level contained a dining hall, a meeting room, a lounge, crew quarters, and several other rooms. He searched them all without finding anything.
It was not until he reached the second level that he immediately noticed something strange about one particular room.
It faced directly toward the bow and offered an excellent view.
It had to be the captain's cabin.
What made Silas suspicious was the small table positioned just outside the room. Sitting on top of it was a chessboard, specifically the chess from the world he had crossed over from.
"Was this always here?" Silas asked Antia, referring to the arrangement outside the captain's cabin.
"...I don't remember."
She searched through her memories but found nothing. The realization clearly disturbed her.
The unease came from how deeply wrong the situation felt. She had suddenly discovered a blind spot she had never noticed in a place she had inhabited for more than a hundred years.
It was unsettling.
Silas approached the table and looked down at the chessboard. It clearly radiated a spiritual aura, but he sensed no hostility from it.
Beyond the table was Roselle's captain's cabin.
Should he simply open the door?
That seemed risky. It would be better to make some preparations first.
"Rrrip!"
Silas grabbed his own left hand and tore it off.
Under Antia's startled gaze, the stump healed almost instantly. Holding the severed arm in his other hand, Silas used Flesh Magic to make it grasp the handle and attempt to open the door.
The door did not move an inch.
Was it locked?
Silas recalled the severed hand, then crouched to inspect the keyhole. His black key could not possibly fit inside it.
"It won't open," Antia said suddenly, frowning. "There's a trace of his presence on it. Most likely some kind of restriction..."
"You can't open it either?" Silas asked.
Even if an Angel used all her strength, she still could not break through this door?
"There's a specific way to open it. Beyond that, I don't know," Antia said. "I can't destroy the door or the room sealed behind it."
Silas decided to leave it alone for now.
Roselle, huh? Of course you'd leave something like this waiting for me...
Fine. Once I get back, I'll bring your daughter up here and see if she knows how to deal with you.