Chapter 239: The Unexpected Visitors
By the time those four figures—marked on Steven's minimap by red dots far larger than anything he'd seen before—finally drew close, he was already standing at the front entrance of the inn, waiting.
Strangely enough, Steven had expected something... monstrous. After all, red markers that massive had to belong to some hideous Seaborns, right? But when he actually laid eyes on them, he was instead greeted by four girls.
Just... girls.
Albeit dressed rather bizarrely.
The size of their icons on his map was what had initially thrown him off. Compared to any danger he'd encountered before—even that terrifying Seaborn he'd run into back at the Church of the Deep—none of them had lit up his map this intensely.
Which could only mean one thing.
These four were on an entirely different level.
At the same time, the strange quartet of girls had already noticed the black-haired boy standing before them, as if waiting. Their eyes settled on the vial in his hand—the scent drifting from it unmistakably belonged to the sea.
"That blood… it's not yours," the girl in front said, stepping forward. She had soft pink hair, but the sharp look in her eyes was anything but delicate.
She gave Steven a once-over, confused.
As a self-proclaimed ancient being—one of the undying, eternal species—she prided herself on her ability to read anyone's nature with a glance.
But this boy?
She couldn't tell what he was.
She couldn't even detect the faintest ripple of strength from him. Yet her instincts were screaming at her, louder than they ever had before: this boy is dangerous.
Far more dangerous than he appeared to be.
It was a kind of primal, bone-deep warning—one she hadn't even felt when standing face-to-face with the so-called sea gods of her homeland.
"You're right, it's not mine," Steven replied calmly, slipping the vial of blood back into his pocket with a practiced motion. "But before we get into that, let me ask you something—what exactly do you want with the owner of this blood?"
The bait had been cast. And now, the fish had taken it.
Even if the type of fish was a little different than he'd expected… that didn't matter.
All that mattered was that they were big.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth—friendly, even casual. But to the four girls facing him, it felt anything but safe.
It was like being stared down by a wild beast that hadn't decided whether or not to pounce.
They felt it clearly—an oppressive pressure that made their skin crawl.
"Oh, and one more thing," Steven added, eyes narrowing in amusement. "Would you mind introducing yourselves? You don't seem like the mute type, and I'd really appreciate knowing who I'm dealing with."
He eyed them with interest, noting how each of their names—displayed on his minimap—carried the tag: [Feranmut Incarnation]
He might not know much about this world, but he knew that someone with that kind of title is not one to be taken lightly.
"..."
The four girls exchanged glances, all of them wary. But what truly unnerved them was the fact that every one of them was feeling it—that same instinctual fear. If it had been just one of them, they might've dismissed it as nerves.
But all four?
There was no mistake.
This unremarkable-looking boy standing before them was undeniably—dangerous.
"…We're just a traveling band," the pink-haired girl finally said after a long pause. "We roam from place to place and perform. That's all. As for why we came here, well… let's just say we caught a whiff of the presence of a not-so-friendly kin in the area and decided to investigate."
As soon as her words left her mouth, Steven watched as the four red dots on his minimap pulsed briefly—and then faded into neutral gray.
Steven let out a sigh—mostly in disappointment—as he casually planted his Yamato into the ground beside him.
Seriously, why was everyone in this world sharper than a barrel of monkeys? He'd gone out of his way to act all threatening and overbearing, and still, these girls had backed off without even putting up a fight.
Where was the fun in that?
But when his eyes drifted to the instruments slung across their backs, he couldn't help but nod in slight approval. At least that part of their story seemed plausible enough.
After all, no true Seaborns—like those raised by the Church of the Deep—would carry instruments around. That bunch barely had the brains to recognize food, let alone appreciate music.
"In that case, you're going to be disappointed," Steven said, voice calm and composed. "All you'll find here is a stranded little shark. And as her temporary guardian, I suggest you don't poke around in her business… unless you want trouble."
He gave a simple explanation regarding the familiar "Seaborn" scent they had mentioned earlier. At the same time, he brought Yamato horizontally across the inn's entrance—not in an overtly aggressive way, but enough to make a point.
It wasn't a threatening move on the surface… and yet, the four girls visibly tensed.
A primal dread crept into their bones, like some ancient instinct warning them that the predator before them had no need for a raised voice or flashing teeth—his presence alone was enough.
"…She's one of the Abyssal Hunters, isn't she?"
The one who spoke was a tomboyish blonde with a sharp glint in her eyes.
She seemed the least willing to back down.
Now that they were closer, it was easier for them to make out the Ægirian traces in the scent—mingled in with the Seaborn aura.
Only the Abyssal Hunters had such a blend.
But the real mystery was the boy in front of them. How had he ended up with someone like that under his care? Was he one of them too?
No… he didn't even carry the faintest trace of Seaborn energy.
"You know about the Abyssal Hunters, huh?" Steven scratched the back of his head. "And you still expect me to believe you're just some traveling band?"
If they could recognize the scent of an Abyssal Hunter that easily, they were definitely more than just ordinary drifters.
In fact, he was starting to wonder if they might even be acquaintances of Specter and the others.
"We really are a band," the tall blonde woman with a bass strapped to her back stepped forward, flashing a calm smile. "Here—this is our card. You've probably heard of us if you're into rock."
She handed him a simple band card.
"Alive Until Sunset" — the name was scrawled across it.
Steven took it between his fingers, flipping it once.
He wasn't exactly musically inclined—tone-deaf since birth, really—but he had heard the name before.
Back on Rhodes Island, that little gator Gavial had mentioned it once. Said she liked their sound.
"…Fair enough."
He tucked the card into his bag before gesturing politely toward them.
"Then allow me to introduce myself. Steve. Just a wandering traveler. And, more importantly, the temporary guardian of the two Abyssal Hunters behind me."
It was a formal gesture, but one laced with warning.
His meaning was clear: These girls are under my protection. Whatever you're planning, you need to get through me first.
Fortunately, the girls from Alive Until Sunset band didn't seem to harbor any real hostility. Despite the tense air earlier, none of them made a move or said anything that would provoke a conflict.
For now, at least… things remained in balance.
"I believe there may have been a bit of a misunderstanding between us," the pink-haired girl said softly, her tone much more measured now. "We never intended any harm toward the Abyssal Hunters. I hope you can understand that, Mr. Steve. To be precise… we hold no hostility toward anyone. All we seek is to perfect our music and continue singing our hearts out."
Steven raised a brow, but said nothing.
Her words seemed honest enough.
Still, she'd clearly felt the killing intent from the blade he held just moments ago.
The threat that emanated from his sword wasn't something she could put into words—but it had shaken her to the core.
And she had no intention of finding out what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that weapon.
"…And don't forget food. Music and good food are the two things in life that should never be abandoned."
That remark came from the green-haired girl with a guitar strapped to her back.
She had been silent until now, but clearly couldn't tolerate the idea of her band's mission being misrepresented.
Whether it was personal principle or sacred belief, she had to set the record straight.
That small interjection made Steven's impression of her skyrocket.
Music? Whatever. He didn't get it. But food? Now that was something worth fighting for.
The sparkle of mutual understanding lit up in his eyes, as if he had just found a kindred spirit in the world.
From what he could tell so far, they really had no reason to lie to him. Which… unfortunately meant that his little "big fish" strategy had failed miserably.
He had hoped to hook something terrifying from the Church of the Deep or its spawn. But what he ended up reeling in?
A weirdly charming all-girl rock band.
Well… it was still something, wasn't it?
"I get the picture now," Steven said with a faint smile. "So, if this really is just a big misunderstanding… how about we sit down and have a proper chat? I admit—I'm a little curious about who you all really are."
With that, he sheathed Yamato, the invisible pressure in the air dissipating immediately.
His tone was polite, even friendly. Though whether it came across that way to the four girls… well, that was a different matter entirely.
He pointed toward a nearby bar, the one where the bald bartender with the shiny head held court.
"There's a decent place over there. How about we get a drink and talk this out properly?"
Steven waited calmly for their answer, showing no signs of urgency.
Truth be told, he didn't really care if they accepted.
As long as they didn't make a move against him—or the people he cared about—he wouldn't give them any trouble.
They could be the Incarnated form of Feranmuts, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse themselves, or some other weird thing, and he still wouldn't bat an eye.
But the four girls clearly weren't as detached.
After a brief exchange of glances, they all nodded, albeit hesitantly.
It wasn't that they were won over by his friendliness. Rather, it was because they couldn't be sure what would happen if they refused him.
Was he the kind of man who would react violently to rejection?
They didn't know.
What they did know was this: the pressure he exuded—just from standing there—was enough to leave their instincts screaming in warning. And if even a fraction of that was real…
Then who—what—was this black-haired boy, really?
What kind of existence could make even them feel so small… just by standing still?
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