Chapter 149: The danger was not yet over
With the appearance of the ghouls on deck, their guttural voices intoned verses dedicated to the God of Eternal Night. Their chant was mournful, accompanied by the stench of their decaying bodies.
Meanwhile, the survivors remained locked in their respective rooms, not daring to come out. They would not be a hindrance.
Kael watched them silently. His body was enveloped in an intertwined aura of black and white, representing yin and yang. At first glance, that energy seemed peaceful, but inside it hid an oppressive and changing flow.
In the next instant, he vanished from everyone’s sight, leaving behind only a residual image.
He reappeared right in front of the ghouls. His sword descended without hesitation: vertical, horizontal, and diagonal cuts followed one another with mathematical precision. Between movements, flashes of yin and yang materialized into symbols that emerged in the air, glowing for an instant before the creatures’ bodies fragmented.
The rotten blood spurted from them with a viscous sound, falling onto the stained deck. The pieces of blackened flesh scattered among the pirates’ corpses, as if the ship itself were sinking into the stench of death.
"ARGHH!" roared the undead with uncontrollable fury.
They lunged at Kael with claws and teeth as sharp as those of a hungry shark. However, he moved with disconcerting ease. His footwork was fluid, as if each step was in tune with a hidden rhythm. He dodged naturally, and in the same movement, counterattacked with clean, lethal blows.
The few ghouls that had managed to climb onto the deck were eliminated in a matter of seconds. Each one fell to pieces as Kael advanced without losing his composure, leaving behind a trail of black and white aura. That trail was the manifestation of his aura cultivation technique: Infinite Flow of Yin and Yang.
Although he had only seen it a few hours ago, he had already become completely familiar with it. Now he was putting it into practice, testing its effectiveness in combat, and it had more than fulfilled his expectations for that technique.
Everything happened so quickly that the others were unable to react. They could barely move a muscle, but they felt deep down that this was only the beginning. The night would be long, endless... and bloody.
Shortly after, more ghouls emerged, crawling onto the deck.
However, this time they weren’t alone.
A black fog, much denser than before, began to envelop the ship. The mist was suffocating, greatly limiting visibility and enveloping everything in an oppressive blanket. In that darkness, the undead creatures, followers of the God of Eternal Night, moved with ease, as if the entire world belonged to them.
Audrey, on the other hand, did not remain motionless. Her figure flashed with a burst of movement, and in the blink of an eye, she appeared in front of a group of ghouls. Her sword pierced heads and hearts with surgical precision. She knew their weakness well and did not waste a single blow.
She moved fluidly, her hair blowing in the mist, her red eyes burning with coldness. Every step, every turn, was precise, calculated down to the smallest detail.
She took two steps to the side, gracefully dodging the claws of a ghoul. She spun around and blocked an attack that was trying to hit her from behind. No movement was unnecessary, no energy was wasted. It was efficiency in its purest form.
Suddenly, she leaped to one side. The heel of her boot struck one of the creatures in the head with devastating force. The skull shattered, and the body flew several meters before landing in the river of blood that ran at the foot of the deck.
On the other hand, Michel also moved quickly and calmly, tearing apart ghouls one after another. His body was covered by a black aura that took the form of a dragon.
The sword of coins slid masterfully in his hand, spinning with precision. Each cut was clean, accurate; each movement calculated.
The undead fell to the ground like crushed flies, their mangled bodies giving off a foul stench that mingled with the dried blood encrusted on the floorboards.
The deck was slowly turning into a quagmire of decay and death.
Michel concentrated much of his aura on the sword of coins. The blade was enveloped in a black layer so dense that it seemed to devour the light around it. Calmly, he wielded the weapon.
The cut that emerged from it was unusual: a completely dark streak cut through the air, destroying everything in its path.
The impact was devastating. The ghouls were split in half in a grotesque manner, their putrid entrails scattered across the deck.
However, death did not grant them silence. Their mouths, still separated from their bodies, continued to move spasmodically. From them emerged a guttural murmur, a sickly echo that rose in the air.
It was a call. A call directed toward his Lord: the God of Eternal Night.
The battle continued as time passed. The ranks of ghouls seemed endless. For every one that fell shattered to the ground, two more emerged from the shadows, advancing with unsteady but relentless steps.
No matter how many were killed, no matter how violent the blows they received, they kept appearing, as if an endless well were throwing them onto the battlefield.
At some point, the moon had changed. Its silvery glow was tinged with crimson, bathing the night sky in an ominous glow. Now, its blood-red light descended upon the deck, revealing with brutal clarity the mangled bodies of the undead creatures.
Under that lighting, the remains looked even more grotesque: open torsos, torn-off limbs, split skulls, all mixed in a shapeless mass.
Those corpses were the fallen devotees of a dead God, and yet, even in their destruction, it seemed they continued to worship him, as if every drop of blood spilled was part of a silent offering to the extinct divinity they had once served.
The black fog that covered the entire half-destroyed ship began to slowly dissipate, as if it were being absorbed by the darkness of the night itself.
As the veil fell away, the scene hidden beneath its cloak was revealed: countless bodies of ghouls piled up in grotesque mounds, forming small mountains of dead flesh.
Yellowish pus and rotten blood oozed from his remains, the fluids seeping through the cracks in the deck boards, filling the air with an unbearable stench.
As the fog receded, the number of ghouls decreased. What had once seemed like an endless stream dwindled until it almost ceased entirely. The night wore on, and with each passing hour, the tide of creatures weakened.
The moon, which had dyed the sea crimson red, gradually regained its normal pallor, bathing the deck in a cold, distant glow.
No more shuffling footsteps or claws tapping on the wood could be heard. Only faint murmurs remained, ghostly whispers that dissolved into the shadows, unable to ascend to the deck again.
That gave them a respite. For the first time in hours, those who had fought felt the pressure ease. Their bodies were covered in sweat and blood; their mana pools had been drained almost to emptiness.
Everyone... except Kael.
"Finally, this... it almost completely suffocated my mana essence," said Martha, wiping the rotten blood from her face. Her breathing was ragged, each inhalation like a hot iron scraping her lungs. The dark slime staining her skin gave off a nauseating stench, but she paid no attention to it.
Audrey, Michel, and Kael remained silent. No one responded to Martha’s words, not even with a gesture. They all kept their senses alert, waiting for the slightest sign that new enemies might appear.
The silence on the deck became oppressive, as if the corpses themselves were holding their breath.
Five minutes passed. No sound came from beyond the creaking of the wood beneath the swaying of the river. The air was still thick with blood and decay, but there were no new movements in the darkness.
Finally, the three of them relaxed their bodies a little. Each took out their mana stones, and without exchanging a word, they began to quickly recover their mana essence.
However, the danger was not yet over.
In the distance, the roar of the river currents began to sound loudly. It was not the murmur of an ordinary stream, but a deep rumbling.
The sound grew closer, more and more powerful, as if thousands of drums were beating in unison.
The River of Blood churned. Its crimson surface boiled like a cauldron, and the currents intertwined with one another, forming whirlpools capable of devouring men and beasts alike.
The force of the current was a danger in itself. A single mistake, a misstep, and any one of them could be swallowed up and reduced to nothing, swallowed by that river that never gave back what it took away.
The previous silence on deck was broken by that ominous roar.
Kael ran straight to the captain’s cabin because he had reached the most dangerous part of the route; it was not the time to think too much.
Standing on the deck at the helm, his expression hardened slightly as he prepared for the worst.