Mikaela brought both hands to her mouth, still holding the wrinkled photograph with trembling fingers. Her green eyes, usually serene, widened excessively, reflecting a mix of horror and dismay that she rarely allowed to show.
Beside her, Troy clenched his jaw tightly. The warrior who had just minutes ago split a Kraken in two now seemed uneasy, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as if the ground had become unstable.
Joshua took a few seconds to process the scene. When the pieces fell into place, he lifted his gaze to the two siblings and asked in a low but direct voice:
—"Confidential information"? That's what you said earlier, right?
Both Mikaela and Troy let out an almost identical sigh, as if they had been holding their breath since the moment they found the puppeteer's corpse.
—Yes… —they answered in unison.
Mikaela closed her eyes for a moment, resigned.
—I suppose there's no point in keeping it from you any longer —she said softly, though her tone carried a clear weight—. At first, we thought it was a dispute between noble families. That some rival house of the Washingtons had hired mercenaries posing as archaeologists to lure you into the Dark Forest. That's why we remained silent.
Troy crossed his arms over his broad chest, his gaze hardening.
—There was a very strict confidentiality agreement with one of our key witnesses in the Hunters' Association. But apparently, that "witness" was nothing more than an accomplice of these bastards.
—By Prismak! —exclaimed Captain Barrow, pressing his palm to his forehead—. This is much more serious than we thought.
Joshua narrowed his eyes, analyzing every word.
—There's still something I don't understand… How did they know I managed to get out of the Dark Forest alive?
Troy snapped his fingers. Instantly, several ethereal angels descended silently, carrying the inert corpses of three sailors. They carefully deposited them on the shattered deck in front of the group.
—What the hell are you doing, boy!? —roared Captain Barrow, stepping forward, his face red with indignation.
He tried to intervene, but Mikaela firmly gripped his arm, holding him back with a strength surprising for her delicate build.
—Captain… there were heretics without light among your men —she said in a grave and compassionate voice.
Barrow's face shifted from fury to disbelief in a matter of seconds.
Then, as if a veil had been torn away, understanding hit him. His shoulders slumped. His legs gave way, and he fell to his knees on the splintered wood with a dull thud. A hoarse sob escaped his throat.
—I knew them since they were children… I watched them grow up… —he stammered, his voice broken—. How is it possible? Why does Prismak allow this?
Tears rolled uncontrollably down his weather-beaten cheeks. Mikaela knelt beside him and placed a soft but firm hand on his back, offering him silent comfort.
Joshua looked away, unable to keep watching. A pang of guilt pierced his chest like a hot dagger. "All of this… because of me," he thought, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. He murmured, barely audible:
—I'm sorry…
Troy, his voice lower and more serious than usual, explained:
—That's one of their methods. They infiltrate wherever necessary to obtain information. Like rats in the hold.
—Why didn't they attack us before, if they were from the sect? —asked Joshua, still trying to organize his thoughts.
—Probably low-ranking members —replied Troy, gesturing with his chin towards the decapitated corpse of the puppeteer—. They only passed information. The real attack came from the one above.
—Hmm… I see —murmured Joshua.
Mikaela stood up gracefully, though her expression remained somber.
—We need to dispose of the corpses before their corruption spreads.
After throwing the bodies of the Red Devils members into the sea, Mikaela tended to the fallen sailors. She performed a solemn rite that Josué watched in complete silence, equally fascinated and moved.
With a delicate gesture of her hands, she invoked a soft golden light. The ethereal angels accompanied her, moving like silent guardians. Under her power, the sailors' remains slowly disintegrated into a bright, pure dust, which she reverently sealed into medium-sized crystal urns.
—What is this called? —Joshua asked in a low, almost reverent voice.
—The Rite of Eternal Rest —Mikaela replied, not taking her eyes off the urns—. It is said that the souls of the righteous ascend to Götterheim, while those of the wicked fall to Hölle. But when someone dies especially cruelly and their soul becomes trapped… they can become a Broken-Soul Walker.
—A mindless undead —added Troy in a grim tone—, that only wanders the world seeking vengeance against those who caused it suffering.
—Literally zombies or ghosts, rather —murmured Josué to himself, remembering the horror movies from his previous life.
Captain Barrow approached with heavy steps. In one hand, he held a bottle of aged rum, and in the other, an old photograph showing him surrounded by his entire crew, smiling proudly. He poured a little rum onto each urn, his hands trembling and his eyes red.
—Rest in peace, boys… We'll take you home —he whispered, his voice cracking.
Joshua felt guilt tighten his throat. Those men had died for being on the wrong ship at the wrong time.
Because of him.
…
A couple of hours later, when the night had advanced and the sea swayed more calmly, Troy approached the helm.
—Captain, how long until we reach the coasts of the Karthus Empire?
Barrow, his eyes still swollen, replied in a hoarse voice:
—With the ship in this state… a couple of months.
—What!? —exclaimed Troy, frowning—. We don't have that much time!
—I know. That's why I'll divert to Mougi Island. I have an old friend there who can repair the vessel in a few days.
—And how long will it take us to reach Mougi? —asked Mikaela, approaching with interest.
—One sun cycle. Tomorrow at dusk we should sight the island.
Troy let out a long yawn and stretched.
—Well… wake me when dawn breaks —he said, and without further ceremony, he dropped onto an improvised bed that the ethereal angels materialized for him in a sheltered corner of the deck.
As soon as he closed his eyes, the golden figures vanished into particles of light, leaving only the sound of the waves and the creaking of the wounded ship's wood.
Joshua stayed a while longer at the railing, gazing at the dark sea. The weight of everything that had happened—the reincarnation, the Dark Forest, the Rohayackt, the sect now after his head—pressed down on his shoulders like a slab.
"What the hell am I doing here?" he thought, gripping the railing. "And, above all… how far are these Red Devils willing to go to kill me?"
The night wind ruffled his red hair. For the first time since waking up in this world, he felt a different kind of fear: not the immediate terror of being devoured by a monster, but the cold certainty that someone, somewhere, had marked his face with a black circle.
And they wouldn't stop easily.