Behind the curtain, a figure, nearly transparent, stood before the altar.
He was an elderly man with brownish skin, his face carved with wrinkles so deep they resembled layered ravines, his white hair sparse and withered like a tree after autumn.
Judging by appearance alone, he had decayed to the point of being barely recognizable, as though he had already spent a long, long span of years in this world.
He gazed at the candle flame on the altar of flesh and blood with focused humility, utterly still.
Outside the curtain, Senor, the "Admiral of Blood," also sensed the weight of the atmosphere and lowered his head respectfully to wait.
'I hope the Mother Tree will bestow her grace and heal Lord Suah's injuries...'
he thought silently to himself.
A week ago, a hidden tremor had passed through the Rose School of Thought. Soon after, from the Star Plateau to the Hagati Grasslands, from the Southern Continent to the Sonia Sea, every member of the sect had been mobilized.
Some held bloody sacrifices, others carried out sweeping hunts for heretics, and the whole affair unfolded with fierce, frenzied intensity.
Cultists were extreme in their conduct to begin with, but activity on this scale was rare even by their standards.
As a Senior figure within the organization, the Admiral of Blood had gained access to a few pieces of inside information.
It was said that the sect's leader, the "Divine Abomination" Suah, had been injured due to certain events.
This angel had already been in poor condition, unable to remain in reality for long, and now, having suffered a further blow, his state had worsened still further, teetering on the brink of collapse.
And everything the Rose Sect had done up to now had been an attempt to heal their leader.
Unfortunately, the results brought by the series of bloody sacrifices had proven far from satisfactory.
This latest attempt was something new: a direct prayer to their worshipped "Mother Tree," seeking the divine's bestowal and guidance.
"Whoosh!"
Just as Senor turned these thoughts over in his mind, he suddenly heard the sound of the flame flickering atop the altar.
At some point, that candle had taken on a riot of vivid, complex colors, each one dazzling and eerie in its own way.
A hungry yellow, a greedy black, a lustful pink, a bloodthirsty red... each color seemed to reflect the deepest desires buried in the human heart.
"Sizzle..."
The altar, composed of flesh, blood, severed heads, limbs, and viscera, began to melt, writhing and piling together as though alive, converging and reforming.
Soon, it twisted itself into a small tree made entirely of flesh and blood, its surface uneven and covered in tumor after fleshy tumor.
"Thud! Thud! Thud!"
A heavy, powerful pulse of sound emanated from within the tree, echoing throughout the entire chamber.
Senor's face turned pale instantly, twisting with anguish; that sound tormented the soul through pure spirituality. Fortunately, before long, the small tree rotted into mud and collapsed to the ground.
Within that mud lay a sticky ball of flesh, seemingly the fruit that tree had borne.
It gave off an air of extreme malevolence and horror, squirming ceaselessly as though it were alive.
"Mother Tree, great Mother Tree..."
The aged Shanks's face was lit with fervor as he chanted in a low, unbroken murmur, veins bulging on his aged forehead, as though something intangible were being forcibly poured into his mind.
"I hear it, I understand! With this ritual, we can help Lord Suah..."
"Praise the Mother Tree..."
Seeing this, Senor did not hesitate either, dropping to his knees and murmuring his own prayer.
The candle went out, and the ritual came to an end. The ball of flesh continued to squirm, glowing with a faint red light that cast the two men's shadows long across the wall.
In this ominous atmosphere, only the sound of their prayers continued to echo, unbroken.
The next day, in the waters of the Rorsted Archipelago, before the harbor of Symeem Island.
"Cargo ship entry fee is a flat 5 pounds. Based on your ship's tonnage, there's also a 7 pound, 3 sol administrative fee.
Given the value of your goods, there's an additional tax as well, plus dock fees, berth rental, pilotage... altogether, that comes to 45 pounds, 15 sol."
The harbor supervisor calculated the total fluently, writing out the bill and handing it across to the ship's owner standing opposite him.
"You've gone to such trouble for me..."
The owner forced a smile, and as he took the bill, he slipped a bribe into the other man's palm.
Feeling the weight of the bribe, the supervisor's expression brightened considerably. With a casual gesture, he assigned him a berth convenient for coming and going.
The owner thanked the supervisor hastily, then turned to scold his own crew. "What are you standing around for? Get moving!"
But the crew, ordinarily obedient, paid him no attention this time. Instead, they all stared blankly into the distance, their faces slack.
"Didn't you hear me!"
Seeing the sailors' dazed expressions, the owner's temper flared at once, and he raised his voice further. "I said, get mov..."
Before he could finish speaking, his body suddenly froze in place. Like the others, he too stared blankly into the distance.
It wasn't only the men on his ship who fell into this state; the strange atmosphere spread rapidly, and within a few breaths, the once-bustling harbor had gone as silent as a graveyard.
Everyone was looking toward a row of connected berths in the middle of the harbor.
Along that stretch of berths sat a line of sailing ships, along with a single warship. Atop every ship flew a blood-stained skull flag, held high.
Pirates!
Pirate ships!
When had they arrived?
No wait, it seemed they had already been docked here for some time... why hadn't anyone noticed anything wrong?
The people on the dock were seized with terror, and yet utterly bewildered as well.
It was as though something had gone wrong with their own minds; they had clearly seen these pirate ships sail into the harbor and dock without incident, yet had paid no attention whatsoever, only now coming to their senses.
"That flag... those are Blood Reverends!"
The harbor supervisor's legs trembled, his arrogant demeanor vanishing entirely, replaced by a fear that ran bone-deep.
As though caught in a spiral of panic, he turned to flee, but his limbs refused to obey him, and he tumbled straight to the ground.
Everyone else, faced with the yawning dark muzzles of the cannons aimed at them from the sailing ships, wisely chose to remain right where they were.
"Creak."
Under the watch of everyone present, the warship at the very center extended a gangplank onto the dock, laying out a ladder for disembarkation. Immediately after, a group of people was driven up onto the deck and made to walk down the ladder.
These people had fierce, hostile faces, dressed as sailors, and looked very much like pirates. But every one of them was bound with rope, and their state looked utterly wretched... they appeared to be a group of prisoners.
Leading them was a female pirate with an androgynous bearing, accompanied by a blonde maidservant. Though she looked exhausted and weak, she remained strikingly beautiful nonetheless.
The people on the dock stared, transfixed.
"It's... it's Vice Admiral Ailment!"
A number of them recognized this widely renowned female pirate, and the dock erupted into an uproar.
"From the looks of it, the Blood Reverends' fleet wiped out Vice Admiral Ailment's crew entirely?!"
"There's no mistaking it! Even the captain herself was taken alive. This whole group of pirates must be her own men..."
"Tsk, tsk... such a beautiful woman, and they still bound her up this tightly..."
The crowd grew excited, watching as the prisoners were marched ashore, pointing and murmuring among themselves.
"All right, everyone, please clear the way for us."
Anderson gestured for the crowd to move aside, then leaned in close to Tracy, smiling as he looked at her. "You really are famous, aren't you. So many people recognize you."
Tracy's face remained utterly cold, and she said nothing at all.