Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

My toes sank, and the third pier was even more deserted than I had imagined. A few narrow cargo ships were moored alone in their berths, and the stevedores were nowhere to be seen. Only the tall sails of the ships revealed their outlines.

The Kingfisher is a huge ship that was recently refitted and set sail. It is 150 meters long and 20 meters wide. Even with its cabins empty, the waterline is already quite deep.

The Tingen shipyard had invested a huge sum of money in the construction of the Kingfisher, but just months before completion, a labor protest erupted due to unpaid wages. The prolonged strike unsurprisingly dragged down the company, which was already struggling to the brink of bankruptcy. The shipyard went bankrupt, and the workers did not receive their due wages. In this desolate and lose-lose situation, everyone scattered like birds and beasts, leaving only the incomplete hull stranded alone on the white cliffs.

After two years of exposure to the elements, the original gold paint had become faded and worn. Fortunately, a wealthy merchant from overseas took over this hot potato and transformed it into the enormous and bizarre Kingfisher we see today.

It served ocean voyages, carrying goods from all over the world, including treasures, practical items, and even people who were neither alive nor dead.

Gazing at the empty deck, Sander had already gripped the pistol at his waist, his gray eyebrows furrowed in a frown.

"Something's not right. At this time, there should at least be a sailor on duty."

Shouldering the heavy instrument, Pederina asked, "Should I do some preliminary observation first?"

“No, we’ll follow the rules.” The experienced man raised his hand to stop him. “Charlotte, use your clairvoyance and premonitions to check the situation inside and outside the cabin.”

As the 'Balancer' of Sequence Eight, Charlotte, with her keen senses, was intentionally trained in this area, and reconnaissance and early warning were among her assigned duties.

She nodded gently, closed her eyes, and her spirituality spread outwards like a tide.

In view, the Kingfisher's silhouette gradually distorted, and thick red patterns emerged on its hull, like dried blood. Inside the cabin, several blurry black shadows lurked in the darkness; they had no clear form, yet exuded an unsettling malice. Even more unsettling was the eerie sense of discontinuity in the ship's existence, as if forcibly severed by some force, its connection to reality extremely thin and fragile.

“There was mental pollution left in the cabin. As soon as my spiritual sense entered, I felt a strong stinging pain.”

Pain is the body's warning to itself, an autoimmune mechanism against injury. Charlotte herself is capable of ignoring spiritual pollution, yet such intense malice still makes her feel uncomfortable.

Sander's expression immediately turned serious. He glanced around to make sure there were no unrelated people nearby before speaking: "We'll wait for Nia to return, find out who the employer is for this voyage, and then conduct the exploration after we meet with the relevant personnel."

From a safety perspective, this is the safest decision.

However, just as everyone was preparing to wait quietly, a commotion suddenly broke out at the entrance of the dock.

Nia, whom they were waiting for, emerged from the rain and mist, leading one person quickly to close the distance between them, her tone hurried and anxious.

"Captain Sander, the Kingfisher's registered voyage makes no intention of stopping in Tingen. The client for this commercial voyage is..."

Before she finished speaking, a layered wave of energy rippled across her spiritual senses. Charlotte instinctively turned around to look, only to find everyone still standing there, stunned and unaware of their own unfocused gazes.

Hypnosis, dreams, or higher-level control?

Without changing her expression because of the current situation, she saw through the illusion at a glance, dispelled the delusion, and glanced in the direction of the sound.

As expected, Nia was indeed hurrying over, with urgent steps and a flustered expression, while the figure following behind her was unhurried and indistinct.

She walked up to herself, intending to grasp the beautiful woman's slender hand resting on her side, to express her emotions and seek comfort and response. However, as the sensation returned, a cold, hard object pressed against her knuckles, reaching the left side of her chest.

That was not the warmth of a hand, but a gun held steadily, aimed at the person in front.

Click.

The hammer struck, sparks flew, and then gunfire blazed.

boom--

Chapter 210 East Window

Gunshots rang out in the rain, and a glaring flower of blood bloomed on Nia's chest. Her expression froze between shock and confusion, her lips trembled, her steps faltered, and she finally stumbled back several steps, collapsing onto the wet dock.

She pressed down on the revolver, brushing away the wisps of smoke rising from the muzzle. The woman's golden hair was already wet from the rain, clinging to her cheeks, but her eyes remained remarkably calm.

Looking around, Charlotte noticed that her companions were still standing there, seemingly oblivious to the gunshots they had just heard.

This confirmed her judgment—the 'Nia' in front of her was not real, or rather, she was not the person she had known before.

"Charlotte, why..." Blood spilled from the corner of her lips, staining the front of her uniform red.

Without saying a word, Charlotte simply raised her revolver again. This time, the muzzle was pointed at the man's forehead.

A flash of fire, and then the scene before them shattered like a broken mirror. Nia's figure twisted and deformed, turning into a cloud of black mist and dissipating into it. The sound of the surrounding rain intensified, and Sander and Pederina shook their heads violently as if waking from a dream.

"What happened?" Sander raised his hand to press his acupoint, his face pale. "I think I just saw Nia come back..."

"Given the time difference, even after a negotiation, it would be difficult for her to return here immediately."

“From the moment we stepped onto the dock, our senses and thoughts were severed, extending in a distorted direction.” Charlotte’s gaze lingered coldly as she made a hypothesis about what she was seeing: “Perhaps, Nia never went to the port authority at all, but disappeared from the beginning.”

The rain intensified, with large raindrops pelting the three of them. The outline of the Kingfisher was faintly visible in the twilight, and the mottled rust now looked like dried bloodstains.

“What about Nia?” Pederin gripped the string tightly, her voice trembling slightly.

“No, no one can draw conclusions before witnessing it firsthand.” Wiping the rain from his cheeks, Sander checked his pocket watch, his worry deepening. “The timing is wrong. We’ve been here for almost five minutes, but the only physical feedback we’ve had is that momentary lapse in concentration.”

The tribunal did not assess the crisis of the recent series of events as high, so no seals were issued for this temporary port operation; only scattered personnel were dispatched to handle the situation.

This has led to the current precarious situation. Not to mention Nia's disappearance, Pederine is only a Sequence Nine bard, and Sander and Charlotte, as Sequence Eight Extraordinaries, are also finding it difficult to break free from the illusion, follow the trail, and escape unscathed.

Before the words were even finished, the outline of the Kingfisher appeared like a piece of paper crumpled by an invisible hand, with traces of corrosion and weathering over the years emerging from the metal. Then, the steel material of the deck rolled up and cracked, revealing the scarlet flesh and blood tissue underneath.

"Step back!" Sander shoved Pedeline aside, but was himself pierced through the shoulder by a swift, dark shadow. For a moment, as blood seeped out, the seasoned arbitrator showed a puzzled expression—there was no pain at the wound; instead, it was scabbing over and healing.

For a moment, even he couldn't distinguish between truth and falsehood, reality and illusion, and he knew nothing about the people or things he was facing.

How could three people possibly destroy a cargo ship that is over 100 meters long?

Unless all of this is just an illusion, there is still no hope even if we put up a fight.

The rusted steel cables broke free from the mast, turning into sharp spearheads that pierced the skulls and lungs of the crowd.

Unfortunately, just as the shadow they magnified in their eyes, the warmth that splattered from the ruptured chest, was the truth—a cruel and irreversible crushing force.

Charlotte knew this; in her spiritual vision, Sand and Pederina's fortunes had plummeted to rock bottom and could be completely dissipated with a single breath.

Biting her lip, even knowing her fate, the Conch Girl did not give up. She tightened the strings of her zither, constantly releasing notes from her fingertips, hoping to stop the approaching sharp object.

"Walk."

Pederina's screams were tinged with the saltiness of the sea breeze; her shoulder and arm, which had been holding the instrument, had been pierced by the steel cable and hung limply.

"Damn it." Sander finally snapped out of his daze, tearing open his shirt to reveal the dense tattoos covering his chest. The pale gold runes glowed in the rain, enveloping the three of them in a halo of light.

“A quarter of an hour.” He casually wiped the blood from his mouth and nose, muttering, “These ancient inscriptions have merged with my body and soul, providing temporary protection from mental pollution…”

As he spoke, the old man failed to notice that even with the runes lit up, the terror behind him did not fade away at all. Instead, it took advantage of this moment to leave wounds on his waist and back.

The flesh was mangled and bloody, and the white bones were visible through the wounds.

How ridiculous that he still believed it was an upward-floating illusion, a hallucination, something that could be resisted by human power. He could hardly believe that he was facing an existence far beyond his imagination.

The harp emitted a series of mournful cries as it snapped. Perhaps Pederin knew that this was just self-deception, that she was aware of the desperate situation she was facing, but she no longer knew what she should mourn or regret in the few moments she had left in her life.

He coughed violently, and the blood clots he vomited were mixed with metal fragments.

Sander looked down at his trembling hands, where tiny bumps were moving freely beneath his skin. "So, this wasn't an illusion after all..."

His pupils began to dilate, and the whites of his eyes were quickly eroded by a rusty color.

He was going to die. This man, whom he had met several times, was gradually approaching the end of his life, dying in the last remaining hope, dying in the moments of self-absorption, dying in the despair of a sudden awakening.

Perhaps, among everyone, only Charlotte is still in good condition. She can see clearly what is real and what is fake, and she is not afraid of this strong pollution.

Through the time she gained, she truly saw through what was happening to her; it was not the work of a high-sequence extraordinary being, but merely a sealed object that had been freed.

An extraordinary item adapted to the Kingfisher, used as a vessel, and pre-placed there.

Barring unforeseen circumstances, all members of the team dispatched for this operation, including her, will perish here.

The lack of manpower led to oversights in what should have been a thorough investigation, which in turn triggered a vicious cycle. This is logical and an unexpected outcome.

"Charlotte, get out of here..."

Pederina didn't understand her friend's peace of mind; she only knew that the former was still conscious and capable of living in her place, conveying this crucial message to Ms. Z.

Because they were companions who had met, and had cared for each other, Charlotte, though a girl who was not good with words, would set aside her temper and treat them with patience.

Therefore, this lively seashell maiden willingly became a withered green leaf, providing the rose with its last nourishment.

Without trying to stop her, she released her grip on his hand, and with her bleeding body, she bit down on the other end of the string with her teeth and played the music again, giving it her all.

The best option is to withdraw. There's no need to reveal too much about yourself; just be a dejected person who has lost their companions and is filled with grief and indignation.

Even though Charlotte is a bad woman, she can soften her heart for a moment and be reluctant to give up a touch of tenderness.

So she put one arm around the girl's waist, and with the other hand raised the revolver and fired all the bullets from the chamber.

Just as decisive as the first time.

Chapter 211 Blood Clan

The wooden mast was gradually pierced by the barrage of bullets, and the high-flying flag fell heavily to the ground with a hoarse sound.

It is the source of the pollution, a trap deliberately placed here by the mastermind behind it.

Illusions, illusions, and real scenes all seemed to return to normal at this moment, except for the girl in his arms, who was so light and frail, like a feather drifting away in the wind.

The spent bullet casings rolled into the puddle with a dull thud. Charlotte holstered the empty revolver, raindrops dripping down her long blonde hair onto Pederina's face.

The girl's pupils had begun to dilate, and the blood-stained strings of the zither were still wrapped around her pale fingers.

"Don't close your eyes, Pedeline."

Pederina's thin lips trembled as if she wanted to say something, but she only spat out a mouthful of blood mixed with metal fragments.

With both physical and mental injuries, ritual magic could no longer save a life on the verge of death.

"You'll be alright, dear girl. You promised to go to the opera with me that evening."

Tearing off the edges of her clothes, disregarding any loss of decorum, Charlotte tightened the bandage around the wound to prevent further bleeding.

With only the abilities of a Sequence Eight 'Balancer', it was impossible to maintain Pederine's breathing or awaken her body's self-preservation instincts.

Fortunately, she was not just an ordinary extraordinary person, but a powerless one who watched her friends and companions pass away before her eyes.

From the distant other side, the blue-haired girl's raised fingertips froze in mid-air, and the heavy book slipped from her hands.

Sequence Six 'Priest' compensates for what has vanished with the lives of others, grafting suffering and weakness onto any lower-ranking being.

This is the means by which she gained power after devouring the Scaled Dragon, and it is also Charlotte's most powerful ability at present.

The price was paid, and the deathly aura faded from Pederine's body, crossing the surging waves and selfishly bringing the evening bells to the ignorant and carefree fish and shellfish.

In an instant, countless fish floated to the surface of the nearby sea. They lay on their backs, not dead, but barely breathing, waiting for the seabirds and fishermen to arrive the next day.

Yes, even so, Charlotte did not commit any killings. There was no way around it; she was always so merciful, merciful enough to grant the other party a delayed death.

Gradually, the girl's breathing in his arms became more stable, and the bleeding wounds from the pierced chest and shoulder blades were healing and scabbing over at a visible speed.

"Let's go, good girl."

His leather boots waded through the puddles, avoiding the scattered debris and Sander's already cold body. The old arbitrator's face was frozen with the bewilderment of his final moments, his eyes wide open, gazing at the sky he could never comprehend.

The sea breeze brushed her face, its chill biting, yet Charlotte's steps never faltered, and Pederina's eyelashes trembled in the rain. Her consciousness sank into the deep sea, but she heard faint sounds—the kind of sounds only heard when life is slipping away, a revolving lantern of memories.

"Ms. Z's tea... was too bitter." The girl twitched her nostrils as she awoke, strands of hair stuck together with blood brushing against the girl's knuckles with each shake of her head. "But I drank it all..."

In these fragmented daydreams, the fireplace in the arbitration tribunal's lounge always burned brightly. When the hardworking young woman finished her work, the older lady would have already hidden sweet cookies under the file folder, watching with satisfaction as the former accepted them with a delighted, almost animalistic smile.

"The opera tickets are in my coat pocket." A soft sob mingled with a few coughs; she still seemed unwilling to give up. "Charlotte hates... crowds, but I'm a little greedy; I always want to see a different expression on her face."

"She is so gentle and considerate, yet she doesn't like to speak frankly and is cunning."

It is an unfounded complaint.

Lost in thought, Charlotte recalled how Pederina always liked to write down small details in her mission reports. For example, the shape of dandelions by the roadside, the frequency of a stray cat's tail swaying, or the slight furrow in her brow as she savored her tea and snacks.

She once again carefully examined her companion who always loved to hum. Pedeline's freckles were more pronounced after the blood loss, like chocolate sprinkled on a cake; her uniform was slightly ill-fitting, and the cuffs had to be rolled up to reveal her wrists; there was a callus on the first joint of her right middle finger—a medal left from years of playing the strings.

"Fix... the strings."

The murmur made Charlotte look at the nearly broken harp. Pederine always said her harp was a "stubborn old maid," and she would spend time tuning it before each trip. Once, during a chase of a fugitive, the case was smashed, and she cried for a whole day while holding the wreckage, until Ms. Z found a craftsman from the church to repair it.

The rain stopped, and her brilliant blonde hair cascaded down her face like a bolt of molten gold. The girl in his arms finally smiled with relief, letting out a final whisper:

"go home."

The Conch Girl did not come from this bustling land. She left home on a ferry across the ocean and wandered alone for a long time before finally settling down in Tingen, next to Ms. Z.

Even if you go home, how can you know where home is?

......

"Please take care of her, Winnie."

In the private clinic, Pederina was fast asleep on the bed, her breathing weak but steady. Her blood-stained uniform had been changed into a clean hospital gown.