The Turning of Day and Night

Turning such a huge fish into lunch was no easy task.

It was not merely a technical job—it was physical labor too.

Fortunately, the fisherman's sense of duty and his enthusiasm for improving the meals drove Duncan together, giving him ample motivation to deal with the big fish he had caught today.

He worked in the kitchen for a long while before finally managing to remove the bony spines from the ugly monster fish's head. Then, with some difficulty, he cut its fat body into several pieces. There was hardly any meat on the fish head, so he set it aside for the time being. The belly and back, however, contained some fine cuts of meat that were well suited to becoming ingredients aboard the Lost Homeland.

It seemed somewhat strange for a captain of his stature to be busy in the kitchen himself, but Duncan enjoyed it immensely—though he had no idea how ordinary people, who feared the Lost Homeland as they would a natural disaster, might react if they saw this. Would they be astonished that the dreaded Ghost Captain had such an approachable, domestic side? Or would they first praise Duncan's impressive fishing skills?

As he cut the monster fish into chunks, Duncan suddenly thought of this, and his good mood made him laugh. Perhaps one day, he would truly invite some people aboard as guests—the Lost Homeland would not forever be synonymous with disaster, and he had no intention of truly becoming a cold-blooded, heartless Ghost Captain. Once he understood this world a little better, he would naturally reconnect with the civilization of the present age.

When that time came, he would treat his guests to fish.

After finishing the rough butchering, Duncan placed most of the fish in wooden barrels lined with sea salt, then pushed the heavy barrels into the storeroom at the back of the kitchen. He planned to deal with the smaller remaining pieces later, salting them and hanging them out on the deck to dry. If all went well, they would become dried salted fish in the sea breeze.

Unfortunately, he had not found any hard liquor aboard the ship. Otherwise, he would have had a few more ways to prepare the fish.

Having fresh fish to eat every day was certainly a good thing, but Duncan knew fishing had always depended on luck. He had made a fine haul today, but that did not mean he would always be so fortunate in the future—he had to consider how to process and preserve excess ingredients.

After all, although the jerky and cheese in the Lost Homeland's stores showed no signs of spoiling, he could not be sure whether that was due to the Lost Homeland itself or because there was something unusual about that "jerky" and "cheese." It would be a shame to let the fish he had worked so hard to catch rot.

At the very least, dried salted fish would make a better change of pace than century-old salted meat.

Duncan kept the most tender, best-looking cuts and tossed them into a pot to stew with the jerky—the jerky served as seasoning during the process.

It was an utter waste of good ingredients. Any real chef who saw what Duncan was doing would probably have their blood pressure shoot through the roof. These tender cuts of fish were best made into fish sashimi, or at least lightly pan-fried or grilled. Duncan knew that himself, but he did it this way to be safe.

He did not dare casually eat raw something-or-other he had fished out of the sea. Though marine fish theoretically did not carry parasites harmful to humans, and though a "Ghost Captain" like him presumably had nothing to fear from ordinary poisons, what if?

Compared with that, stewing was the most effective way to deal with unfamiliar ingredients.

He would test it this way first. If he confirmed that the fish was truly edible, then he could consider other preparations.

It was nearly mid-afternoon by the time his belated "lunch" was finally finished.

A bowl of fish soup was served, and its fresh aroma whetted Duncan's appetite. Before eating, however, he cautiously speared a piece of fish, blew it cool, and placed it before Pigeon Ai Yi.

Pigeons did not eat meat, of course—but "Ai Yi" was hard to call a normal pigeon.

Duncan needed to satisfy his curiosity. There were too many things aboard the Lost Homeland that he needed to test.

And what if this "abnormal pigeon" really did get poisoned after eating the fish... Duncan had prepared for that possibility as well.

First, he had processed the ingredients as thoroughly as possible, and letting the pigeon try some was merely a formality. Second, if Ai Yi truly showed signs of trouble, he could immediately pull it entirely into a spirit state with Green Fire. He had tested it before: in its spirit state, Ai Yi gave feedback identical to that from the Brass Compass. It was effectively an "object" controlled by Spirit Body Fire. He could even disassemble, reconstruct, and teleport spirit-form Ai Yi to a designated location beside him. Under such circumstances, ordinary toxins certainly would not work.

Ai Yi tilted its head as it watched Duncan, and after confirming that the piece of fish was for it, it first pecked at the tabletop beside it. Its eyes drifted between Duncan and the ceiling. "Is this melon guaranteed ripe?"

Duncan said, "Just tell me whether you're eating it or not."

Ai Yi raised its wings and mimicked Duncan's tone. "Just tell me whether you're eating it or not!"

Only then did it lower its head and rapidly peck at the cooled fish. At an astonishing speed, it finished in just a few bites the food that, no matter how one looked at it, was not meant for a pigeon!

After finishing, Ai Yi stretched its neck hard, then strutted about the table with its head held high. It seemed extremely pleased. After circling around, it returned to Duncan and loudly squawked, "So good! So good!"

Duncan stared at the pigeon in dumbfounded silence, and for some reason a thought suddenly surfaced in his mind—this thing had now combined "pigeon," "so good," and "parrot" into one!

All three essential elements were present. It was practically humanity's—Earth's—pride and joy. If he sketched it out on a freeform alignment chart, perhaps this thing could count as an Earthling too...

After a while longer, Duncan confirmed that the pigeon had not shown any abnormal reaction, and only then did he finally set his mind at ease.

The captain of the Lost Homeland and his pet hid in the kitchen, feasting away.

The fish was indeed delicious, just as Duncan had seen in his dream.

The setting sun was gradually nearing the high walls at the city's edge. Pland City-State's towering chimneys, pipelines, and spires were slowly being bathed in pale golden light.

From the high ground in the city center where Storm Cathedral stood came the resounding toll of a great bell, accompanied by the shrill hiss of steam bursting from pressure-release valves. A vast cloud of white mist surged from the top of a tower on the cathedral's side wing, blanketing the sky over the high ground like clouds at sunset and refracting the golden sunlight from the sea.

This was the signal marking the change between day and night—a reminder that the sun's power was about to rapidly fade, and that World's Creation would soon take command of the sky.

After this, the order of the mortal world would shift from stability toward unrest, while influences from the world's "deeper layers" would rapidly strengthen with the coming of night. This process would continue until the sun rose again the next day.

At night, cautious people chose to remain at home. Those who had no choice but to go out had to stay in well-lit places whenever possible—gas lamps blessed by clergy could drive away the malice of the night to the greatest extent.

But no matter what, this was at least a prosperous and stable great city-state. Under the protection of sacred Storm Cathedral, even the influences of the world's deepest layers were suppressed below a safe threshold. The occasional abnormal phenomena appearing in the city were merely harmless little problems. Ordinary citizens knew how to keep their homes safe, and the Church Guardians who patrolled at night took over the constables' duties after dark, ensuring the city's order.

But just as even the brightest streetlamp always left shadows untouched—there were always fools who yearned for darkness and upheaval, even beneath the Church Guardians' watchful eyes. They feared and hated the existing order of the world, and in their fanaticism awaited a "better age" that even they themselves had never seen.

Fortunately, in a city-state where the forces of order held dominance, these subversives could only cower in the shadows most of the time.

At the edge of the city-state, deep within an abandoned sewer entrance, several black-robed figures huddled in the corner of a room.

This had once been a resting room for sewer maintenance workers, but it had been forgotten as the city's plans changed. An unattended corner had become a shelter for cultists fleeing in panic. A dim oil lamp hung on the wall, its wavering light illuminating several gloomy faces full of fear and resentment.

A black-robed man of about thirty lay on a makeshift bed of rags, his teeth clenched, his face pale, and his breathing weak and uneven. The others sat nearby. One of them cursed under his breath, "Those damned Church hounds..."

"We lost many of our brethren, and the Emissary died in the ritual..." another said hoarsely. "How could the sacred ritual suddenly lose control..."

"That Sacrifice... It was obviously because of that Sacrifice. He was clearly a lackey of the heretics..."

"Listen," one of the black-robed figures suddenly cocked his head, then pointed upward. "That's the sound of Dusk Bell and the steam whistle."

"...Night is coming," said the black-robed man who had first begun cursing. His voice was low as he cast an uneasy look at the "brother" lying on the bed, whose condition was clearly terrible. "Damn it... I hope he can make it through tonight..."