Captain of the Mist

A demon's life was always monotonous.

Evading wizard hunting parties, capturing wizards, then continuing to evade wizard hunting parties.

When they had free time, the older demons discussed their experience cooking wizard flesh and blood. The younger demons needed to tend to their own wild demon packs, while the female demons liked to gather together and gossip about the great demons who roamed the seas.

The Black Ship was called the Mist, a warship personally forged by the Sea Demon King.

Its captain was a legend among great demons and often the subject of the female demons' conversations.

It was said that this captain was very young, a Primal Species demon who had been a True Demon from birth. Not yet a hundred years old, he had already reached the peak of the great demon realm.

It was said that he had sailed the Black Ship across the four seas in a single day, hunting down thirteen wizard hunting parties. None of the three Archwizards leading them had survived.

It was said that on a full-moon night, he had ventured deep into the seabed to challenge the ancient Sea Demon King, then retreated unharmed.

There were even rumors that he had faced the principal of First University!

Now, this legend stood before Nikita.

Nikita narrowed her eyes slightly and secretly watched the tall figure with his back to her. She stopped beside a pillar.

"Don't be shy. Come closer so you can see clearly. Everything I let you see is something you are permitted to see." The gentle voice continued, sounding remarkably tolerant.

Nikita froze for a moment, then meekly stepped forward.

The first rule of demonkind: before the strong, one must remain respectful and reverent, obeying their will.

A broad tabletop rested against the cabin wall, supported below by several slanted wooden beams. It looked very sturdy.

Several pitch-black clay jars were scattered messily along the wall side of the table, wisps of smoke in various colors swaying a few inches above their mouths. On the outer side lay an old hide scroll, covered in intricate patterns outlined in dark gold and silvery white.

A wooden plate had been casually set atop the hide scroll. Its design was ancient and simple, its entire surface coated in dark purple lacquer. Near the rim, silver threads traced several elaborate floral patterns. Nikita vaguely felt that those patterns carried the style of Magic Script.

Her gaze passed over the clay jars, the hide scroll, and the intricate patterns before finally settling on the plate.

A whole, bloody brain rested on the plate. Two jet-black spikes deftly stirred the tiny folds on its surface, lightly tapping them from time to time. As the brain trembled, a strand of silvery-white mist was drawn from it and sucked into a pair of bluish-black lips suspended in midair.

Nikita's gaze trembled.

Her eyes followed that glimmer to those bluish lips, then immediately froze before dropping swiftly. From the corner of her eye, she could only glimpse the hem of a white robe.

The Magic Script on this robe must be exquisitely designed as well, she quietly mused.

"Memories are more fascinating than power." The gentle voice brimmed with deep satisfaction.

Nikita knew he was referring to that silvery mist.

This was a very popular drink among high-ranking demons, much like the wine wizards enjoyed.

Only, this drink was not brewed by little sprites using nectar and dew.

It was imbued with the noble yet bloody aura of demonkind, brewed from memories flowing out of warm human brains under the stimulation of demonic energy.

This drink was called "Memory."

Memory was time's aged brew.

For wizards, nothing was more important than time. Their power accumulated through time, their souls ascended through time, and their memories retained their most precious essence through time's scouring.

That essence was the indulgence high-ranking demons found most intoxicating.

"This brain came from a little wizard we captured just yesterday. It's extremely fresh and extremely rare. Especially those memories filled with strength and struggle—they're incomparably mellow." The gentle voice sighed in praise, reluctant to part with it. "Wizard brains are becoming harder and harder to obtain these days, especially those little ones who have been registered. What a pity."

Nikita quickly took out a dark-red earthen jar and respectfully offered it forward:

"This is Memory brewed from the brains of Duoh People. It may not have the pure flavor of a wizard's, but it is filled with exotic charm. I hope you will accept it."

The Duoh People were a branch of an alien race. They acknowledged the Wizard Alliance's legitimate authority and held demons in utter contempt. Therefore, their flesh, blood, and souls were often presented as rare trophies to high-ranking demons.

"Don't be afraid. Raise your head." The captain of the Mist accepted the earthen jar, stroking its raised patterns. His voice was filled with delight.

Nikita raised her head and saw those bluish-black lips, the tall nose above them, and those dark-red, profound eyes.

In just an instant, she was lost in that pair of pure eyes, and the demonic energy throughout her body came to an uncontrollable halt.

Countless memories protected by her demonic energy surged out like waves.

Every memory repeated the same story.

Survive.

Born in Beta Town North District as the child of a stage magician, Nikita had known from an early age how difficult survival was. When wizard children played around town on broomsticks and flying swords, she could only look on enviously before following her parents back into the pitch-black Silent Forest to gather herbs and trade them for a little more time.

When she was six, both her parents were gone.

One had been dragged to the riverbed by a water ghost while crossing the Silent River; the other had been wrapped up to the treetops by gray vines after entering the Silent Forest.

To her then, the Silent Forest was the embodiment of Death God.

When she was young, her image of being alive was a small piece of black bread broken off for her by the worn-out old stage magician on the street.

A small piece of black, hard bread.

The old stage magician's withered claws pinched her face.

He watched her swallow that black bread along with her tears.

Living was hard.

When she was fifteen, she received her admission notice from First University.

She moved into the university dormitory and no longer had to listen to rats fighting in a cramped attic. She ate delicious meals and no longer had to risk entering the Silent Forest for a piece of bread. She even found a lover. His emerald-green eyes were always so clear, so dependable.

She began to dream of the future, to dream of life.

At the university, she lived happily.

In her fourth year, carrying an internship assignment, she entered the Silent Forest once more.

She was attacked by a wild demon pack.

By the time her mentor saved her, her eyes had already filled with blood.

She told her mentor, "I want to live."

Her mentor said, "Then run. Run far away. Run out of the Silent Forest. Run somewhere without wizards."

So she began to flee.

Wizard hunting parties were terrifying. They could always find lone demons, either reducing them to ash or binding them and taking them away to dark, unknown places.

But even more terrifying was that she could no longer restrain herself from treating wizards as food.

There was no going back.

But she was still alive.

Not long ago, her mentor found her with a little girl of six or seven.

He said that this child wanted to live too.

She nodded and took the child back to the Lich King's territory.

The little girl was slow to transform, remaining forever caught between half-wizard and half-demon.

The Old Liches in the territory were eager to send the child to the experiment table. The young liches there drooled at the thought of tasting a little wizard. Even her own companions swept their gazes over the two of them with ill intent.

So she fled from the Lich King's territory once again with the little girl.

To survive.

Now, she had boarded this ship.

The captain blinked.

Nikita woke as if from a dream.

She touched her face in terror. It was wet.

There was sweat, and there were tears.

The captain looked at her gently, a faint smile on his lips:

"Every fallen wizard has endured desperate struggles.

The blood that eats people is slowly pumped from a weeping heart."