Preparation took the entire night for Thaddues. The ship groaned softly beneath him, wood shifting with the tide as if it, too, remembered what had happened here.
He had decided to stay.
There was nowhere else to go anyway, and even if there was, the thought of stepping into an unknown sea without preparation felt more dangerous than staying with the dead.
He had created a plan—simple, practical, and painfully necessary.
First, he would gather all the bodies.
Second, he would move them to a single area.
Third, he would clean what he could of the ship before attempting anything more advanced.
Disposal would come later, once he learned the proper charm. At least that was what he told himself. Magic could solve many things, but ignorance turned even spells into risks.
He moved through the lower decks and faced the sailors' cold, lifeless bodies, he raised his hand with quiet precision. With practiced control, he cast the levitation charm, lifting the corpses from the wooden planks. Mastering this spell had been a wise decision—without it, he would have been forced to drag each body through the cramped decks of the ship himself.
"Wingardium Leviosa, "
One by one, the bodies lifted from the floor.
He quickly learned that with his current mastery—but still limited magic capacity due to his recovering body—he could only safely sustain a certain load at once. The limit revealed itself through trial and error.
Four.
Four bodies was the limit he could comfortably lift at once. Any more, and the spell began to destabilize—his focus slipping, the connection between intent and wand thinning under strain.
It wasn't strength that failed him—it was capacity.
So he adapted.
He worked in controlled cycles.
Four bodies rose at his command, drifting through the air like weightless shadows. He guided them carefully through the narrow corridors and steep companionways of the wooden ship.
The hull groaned with the motion of the sea. Inside, the space was tight—cargo hooks, coiled ropes, storage crates, and hanging lanterns all swaying gently with the ship's movement.
Each levitated body had to be kept at a precise height to avoid snagging on beams, rigging lines, or low bulkheads. The confined layout forced constant adjustments, his control straining whenever the ship rolled and the corridors tilted slightly off balance.
Still, despite the instability and tight quarters, it was far more efficient than moving them one by one through the ship's maze of cargo holds and passageways.
"Wingardium Leviosa,"
The spell held.
As the work continued, he guided the bodies toward the upper deck, the widest and most open space on the ship. With no crew left to tend the vessel, the deck lay eerily empty, leaving him plenty of room for the grim task. One by one, the levitated corpses drifted through the hatch and into the open air, gathering where he directed them across the weathered planks.
Here, under the open sky, he began arranging them carefully into ordered rows, making sure they were contained in one place instead of scattered across the deck.
Then he released the charm.
Exhale.
Reset.
Repeat.
It became a rhythm, almost mechanical in execution. Lift, stabilize, move, release. Over and over again, until the lower decks and cabins gradually emptied of scattered remains and the upper deck became the single gathering point of all a hundred and nine bodies.
He did not allow himself to dwell on the number.
Food became the next concern. He had no idea how long he would remain here, and starvation was not something he could afford.
The ship's original supplies were still intact—barrels, dried goods and sealed containers preserved with great craftsmanship he did not fully understand.
But he didn't trust them.
Not after what he suspected had happened.
Poison, or something similar. The thought lingered like a stain in his mind. So instead, he took only what he considered safest: preserved food from the captain's private stores, sealed bottles, hard biscuits, and dried meat that showed no signs of tampering.
Even then, he checked everything twice before eating.
The first bite tasted like survival. The second tasted like suspicion. He ate slowly, forcing himself not to imagine worst-case scenarios. Hunger eventually won over fear, but only barely.
It was during the quiet hours just before sunset that the system appeared.
There was no sound, no warning. Just a familiar internal shift, like something unlocking behind his thoughts. A translucent interface flickered into existence in front of him, hovering in silence.
———
[SIGN-IN AVAILABLE]
[DAILY SIGN-IN: 1 ATTEMPT]
———
Thaddues didn't hesitate long. Whatever this system was, it had already helped him survive once. And in a situation like this, refusing help out of caution felt more foolish than accepting unknown assistance.
"Sign in,"he said.
The interface shimmered.
——
[REWARD ACQUIRED]
Congratulations host for obtaining a 3'n 1 Potion Set.
*Skele-Gro Potion.
*Pepper-Up Potion.
*Blood-Replenishing Potion.
[CLAIM THE REWARD? ]
[Y/N]
———
Thaddues clicked yes and a pouch appeared beside him, small and worn-looking but clearly enchanted. He caught it instinctively before it fell to the floor. It felt heavier than it looked, as if space itself had been folded inside it.
Inside were three potions.
His breath slowed.
He recognized two of them immediately from fragmented memories—Marco's endless trivia sessions becomes usefull!
The system had given him exactly what he needed again.
That realization made him uneasy.
Still, there was no time to question it deeply. His body was already telling him what to do. Weakness had settled into his bones, and the strain of using magic whole day was catching up fast. If he didn't recover, he felt he wouldn't last another day on this ship.
He opened the first vial.
Blood-Replenishing Potion.
The smell alone made his stomach turn. Metallic, sharp, like iron soaked in rainwater. For a moment, he hesitated. Marco's voice echoed in his memory, describing potion taste with exaggerated enthusiasm that felt cruelly funny now.
"Worst thing you'll ever drink, but it works."
He swallowed it.
Instant regret followed.
The taste hit like biting directly into raw metal. His body reacted immediately, gagging hard as he forced himself not to vomit. Heat spread through his chest afterward, not comforting, but invasive. It felt like something inside him was being rewritten, repaired in a way that wasn't gentle.
He leaned against the wall, breathing through it, waiting for it to pass.
Eventually, it did.
Then came the second vial.
Pepper-Up Potion.
He stared at it longer this time. His hesitation was visible even to himself. But there was no alternative. He needed strength.
He drank it.
The reaction was immediate and far more intense.
Heat surged through his chest first, then exploded outward like fire racing through his veins. It didn't burn in a destructive way—it overwhelmed, as if his entire body had been pushed into overdrive. His heartbeat quickened sharply, each pulse loud in his ears, as though his body had suddenly remembered how to function at full force.
Then came the pressure in his head.
His senses sharpened painfully. Sounds became layered and distinct—the creak of wood, the distant slap of waves against the hull, even the subtle shifting of ropes above deck. Everything felt too loud, too clear, as if the world had been turned up beyond comfortable limits.
A strange pressure built behind his ears.
A moment later, steam began to rise from them.
Thin at first, almost subtle, then steadily increasing until faint white vapor drifted upward from both sides of his head. It wasn't painful, but it was unmistakable—a physical release of excess heat and energy as the potion forced his body into a heightened state of alertness.
Fatigue drained from his limbs, replaced by a sharp, almost aggressive clarity. His body felt light and wired, alert in a way that bordered on unnatural.
For nearly five minutes, he stood there like that—overstimulated, overheated, but undeniably stronger.
Then, gradually, the intensity eased.
The pressure in his head faded. His heartbeat slowed from a frantic rhythm into something steady and controlled.
When it was over, he felt it—not just awake, but fully functional, refreshed in a way sleep alone couldn't replicate.
He checked the status interface again.
———
[STATUS]
Name: Thaddues
Condition: Stabilized | Poison Neutralized | Malnourished | Physically Weak
Active Effects: Pepper-Up Potion Effect (Temporary Stimulant)
Treatment: Antidote Administered | Healing Potions Consumed
Magic Talent: Awakened
Magic Capacity: Medium (Partially Stabilized)
Physical Condition: Weak Body — Temporarily Revitalized State
Recovery Status: Ongoing Natural Recovery
Buff Duration: Temporary (Fatigue Suppression Active)
———
Thaddues stared at it.
Medium.
Still not enough. Still far from what he needed. But it was progress—real progress.
How long until full recovery? He didn't know. The system gave no answer, and asking it would change nothing.
He closed the interface. The glow faded from his eyes as he turned back to what remained of the day.
Another night was coming.
TBC
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