Elegance Wasn't Exactly Elegant

That "coffin" had come back again.

On the Lost Homeland's stern deck, Duncan stared expressionlessly at the ornate wooden box lying quietly before him. Droplets of water fell from its edges, one by one, onto his feet, proving that his memory of throwing it into the sea had not been false, proving that this thing had indeed been drifting in the ocean not long ago.

Such a bizarre situation was enough to send chills down anyone's spine, yet for some reason, Duncan felt even calmer than he had expected.

Perhaps it was because he was aboard this already incredibly strange ghost ship. Perhaps it was because he had just experienced a thrilling Spirit World Drift and collision. Or perhaps it was because he had spent several days dealing with that equally strange Goat Head. Duncan seemed to have developed a certain immunity to the bizarre supernatural phenomena of this world.

In fact, when he had thrown this "Cursed Doll" into the sea last time, he had vaguely guessed that things would not end so simply.

He lowered his head and, unsurprisingly, found that the iron nails he had driven around the coffin and the chain wrapped around it had both vanished without a trace. Then he bent down and used the pirate sword in his hand to pry open the "coffin" lid once more.

The exquisite Gothic doll still lay quietly in the center of the red velvet lining, her hands folded over one another, serene and elegant.

But this time, Duncan clearly noticed that the hem of her dress seemed to bear traces of having been soaked by seawater—and a faint briny smell came from the inside of the coffin lid.

So far, aside from repeatedly leaving and returning, this strange doll did not seem to have done anything else improper or dangerous. Yet the simple fact that she could "leave and return" was already a standard trait of a "cursed item."

Duncan stared expressionlessly at the doll for a while, then suddenly broke the silence with a faintly amused smile. "I suddenly feel like satisfying my curiosity..."

As soon as he spoke, he turned and walked toward the nearby cabin entrance, leaving the doll on the deck with considerable ease of mind.

—Personally, he remained wary of the doll and did not want to keep her close. But based on what he knew of the Lost Homeland and that Goat Head, he knew there would be no major problem leaving her on the deck for the moment. Even if she suddenly attacked, the many "living things" aboard this ship would be enough to deal with her.

And during that time, he intended to make some "preparations."

Duncan crossed the stern deck, opened the wooden door leading below deck, and descended the wooden stairs, which had stood for who knew how many years. Familiar with the route, he arrived at the cabin below deck. This was the "upper gun deck," where the cannons were housed—old-fashioned muzzle-loading cannons lay quietly along both sides of the cabin. Moldy, blackened planks covered the firing ports beside them, while pitch-black powder barrels and solid iron cannonballs were piled between the gun positions, as though they had been sitting there for a century.

Duncan's gaze swept over these ancient-looking objects, and a thought suddenly came to him—

There was no second "person" aboard this ship besides himself, so who exactly operated these cannons...?

Could it be that, just like the Lost Homeland itself, these cannons could load and fire on their own when the time came?

Then what about the ship's freshwater tanks? Did they replenish themselves too? What about damaged areas? Did they repair themselves? Or rather... did this ship even possess the concept of "damage"?

Questions surfaced one after another, yet he could not think of any way to explain them.

Duncan knew very clearly that he still understood far too little about this ship. Although he had explored it to a certain extent over the past few days, he had only gained a rough understanding of its upper structure. The deeper areas were far stranger and more unsettling than the upper decks. On top of that, he had previously pinned his hopes on leaving his "bachelor apartment" and returning to the normal world on Earth, so he had not devoted much of his energy to the Lost Homeland. As a result, he had lacked much motivation to act "on this side."

But now, he suddenly felt greater curiosity toward this ship—or rather... a greater desire for control.

This was his ship. He ought to understand the Lost Homeland.

Perhaps this was also a change brought about by grasping that wheel.

Duncan shook his head, setting aside his plans for further exploration for the moment. Then he walked over to where the cannonballs were stored...

A short while later, Duncan returned to the stern deck carrying several cast-iron cannonballs. Just as he had expected—the Cursed Doll in the coffin was still lying obediently inside the wooden box.

"Did she do anything just now?"

"Not at all," Goat Head's voice immediately came through. It seemed to have been holding itself back for far too long, for the moment it opened its mouth, words poured out in a rush. "This lady is as quiet as she appears. You should trust my judgment—she is gentle and harmless toward you. Since she has returned to the ship time and again, perhaps it means that she, her Coffin, and the Lost Homeland share some sort of connection. A great gardener once—"

"Shut up."

"Oh."

Duncan stared expressionlessly at the doll inside the coffin.

He did not know whether she truly could not move, or whether she was still pretending to be asleep even now—but Duncan did not care.

He was going to satisfy his curiosity.

The solid cast-iron cannonballs were exceptionally heavy. When executing traitors aboard a ship, tying just one such cannonball to a man was enough to send even the most seasoned sailor to the bottom of the sea.

Duncan placed four of them in the coffin—then returned to the cabin and carried back another four.

Eight cannonballs nearly filled every bit of remaining space in the wooden box. The exquisite and elegant Gothic doll was now surrounded by a ring of cannonballs. She looked... extremely well armed.

She was not exactly elegant anymore, but she was definitely damned weird.

Duncan sealed the coffin lid again, then pushed the wooden box to the edge of the deck with considerable effort. Even with the strength of his current body, completing this was no easy task.

Finally, he sent the coffin flying into the sea with a kick.

A heavy splash rang out. The ornate wooden box plunged straight into the water and sank directly downward.

Duncan remained quietly at the edge of the deck, staring at the spot where the wooden box had fallen for a long time without moving.

Goat Head's voice entered his mind. "Captain, have you changed your mind? If you regret discarding this trophy, the Lost Homeland can try fishing that box back up with the anchor. Although that is not the anchor's proper use, the anchor says it can give it a try..."

"Shut up."

"But I see that you have been standing at the edge of the deck for quite a while..."

"Shut up."

"Oh."

Duncan let out a soft breath.

In front of that bootlicking Goat Head, he could hardly admit that his toes hurt.

So he stood by the deck in pain for several minutes, trying the entire time to maintain the stern expression expected of a dignified captain. By the end, he was even beginning to wonder whether he looked like a stone statue waiting for his wife before the pain finally eased. Then he unhurriedly returned to the upper gun deck below.

After quietly waiting a few more minutes and judging that the time was about right, Duncan suddenly headed for the stern section of the upper gun deck. He opened the observation window between the two stern cannons and focused on the movements of the sea.

Goat Head had not stayed quiet for long before it could no longer hold back. "Captain, you are...?"

Without looking up, Duncan kept his eyes fixed on the sea and answered, "I'm curious about how that 'Cursed Doll' keeps returning."

"Uh... because she is a Cursed Doll?"

"...I admire your attitude of not digging into things, but I believe that even if she is a Cursed Doll, there must be some process by which she returns to the ship. She wants to pretend she is 'dead,' yet she keeps coming back. I think there must be a reason for that, and she must be capable of communication... But she refuses to communicate right now, so I can only find a way to grasp her pattern of behavior and force a line of communication open with her."

After listening to Duncan's explanation, Goat Head fell silent for two seconds before asking tentatively, "Captain, you seem to have... suddenly become more interested? Ah, what a wonderful sign! Ever since you woke up last time, you have been in poor spirits. You seemed to have lost interest in many things. Your loyal First Mate and Second Mate and—"

"Shut up."

"Oh."

After Goat Head quieted down, Duncan continued to watch the sea intently. Within his line of sight, the sea behind the ship was completely calm.

That "coffin" seemed to have truly sunk into the deep sea and did not reappear.

But with the experience of the previous two times, Duncan was especially patient this time. He silently counted the time, silently waited, silently observed, letting time flow by.

Even he himself seemed not to notice that he was actively looking forward to the doll's reappearance.

Then, a small black shadow truly appeared in his field of vision.

As a wave rose and fell, the black shadow burst into Duncan's sight. It was an exquisite wooden box, breaking through the sea like a lone boat amid wind and waves. And the beautiful Gothic doll stood inside the box, holding her ornate coffin lid in a rather imposing pose and desperately paddling forward through the waves, rowing left and right with all her might.

A Gothic doll standing in a coffin and wielding a coffin lid to ride the wind and waves.

She was not exactly elegant anymore, but she was fucking weirder than eight cannonballs.

Duncan was deeply shaken.

Oh my god!