Captain of the Misty

Demon life was always monotonous.

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

On the rare occasions they had free time, the elder demons would discuss their experiences cooking wizard flesh, while the younger demons needed to tend to their wild demon herds. The banshees, meanwhile, preferred to gather and gossip about the great demons who roamed the seas.

The Black Ship was named the Misty, a warship personally crafted by the Sea Demon King.

Its captain, a legend among great demons, was often the subject of the banshees' chatter.

It was said that this captain was very young, a demon of the Primal Species, born a true demon. Not yet a hundred years old, he had already reached the peak of the great demon realm.

It was said that he once sailed the seas in a single day aboard the Black Ship, ambushing thirteen wizard hunting parties, with none of the three leading great wizards surviving.

It was said that on a full moon night, he ventured deep into the ocean to challenge the ancient Sea Demon King and returned unscathed.

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

Now, this legend stood before Nikita.

Nikita squinted, secretly observing the tall figure with his back to her, and stopped beside a pillar.

"Don't be shy, come closer so you can see clearly. Everything I'm showing you is something you're allowed to see," the gentle voice continued, sounding very forgiving.

Nikita paused, then obediently moved closer.

The first rule of the demon race: when facing a strong individual, one must maintain reverence and awe, and obey their will.

Leaning against the cabin wall was a wide tabletop, supported by several angled wooden props, making the table appear very stable.

On the side of the tabletop facing the cabin wall, several dark, lacquered jars were messily arranged, with wisps of smoke of various colors swaying a few inches above their openings. On the outer side, an ancient scroll lay open, adorned with complex patterns drawn in dark gold and silver-white.

A wooden plate rested casually on the scroll. The plate had a simple, ancient design, coated entirely in a dark purple lacquer. Near the edge, intricate patterns were outlined with silver thread, which Nikita vaguely felt had the style of demonic script.

Her gaze swept over the jars, the scroll, and the intricate patterns, finally settling on the plate.

The plate held a whole, bloody brain. Two jet-black, sharp spikes were skillfully manipulating the brain's tiny folds, tapping it lightly from time to time. As the brain trembled, a stream of silvery-white, misty substance was drawn out and inhaled by a pair of grayish-black lips suspended in mid-air.

Nikita's vision trembled.

Her gaze followed the stream of light to the grayish-black lips and immediately froze, then quickly slid downwards. The corner of her eye could only catch the hem of a white robe.

The demonic script on this robe must also be very particular, she mused inwardly.

"Memories, they are more captivating than power," the gentle voice revealed a deep sense of satisfaction.

Nikita knew he was referring to the silvery-white mist from just now.

This was a very popular beverage among high-level demons, much like the alcoholic drinks wizards enjoyed.

However, this beverage wasn't brewed from nectar and dew by sprites.

This beverage was filled with the noble and bloody aura of demons; it was a distillation of memories flowing from a warm human brain stimulated by demonic energy.

This drink was called 'Memory.'

Memory was the aged vintage of time.

For wizards, nothing was more important than time. Their power accumulated through time, their souls sublimated within time, and memories, in the wash of time, left behind the most precious essence.

These essences were the most coveted enjoyment for high-level demons.

"This brain is from a little wizard we captured yesterday. It's very fresh and quite rare. Especially the memories filled with power and struggle, they are truly mellow and delicious," the gentle voice praised, with a hint of reluctance. "It's becoming harder and harder to find wizard brains these days, especially those registered little ones. What a shame."

Nikita quickly took out a dark red ceramic jar and respectfully offered it:

"This is 'Memory' I brewed from a Duoh person's brain. Although it's not as mellow as the wizard's, it's full of exotic flavor. I hope you'll accept it."

The Duoh people were a branch of an alien species. They recognized the Wizard Alliance's orthodox status and disdained demons. Therefore, their flesh and souls were often offered as rare spoils to high-level demons.

"Don't be afraid, lift your head," the captain of the Misty took the ceramic jar, caressing its raised patterns, his voice filled with joy.

Nikita lifted her head and saw the grayish-black lips, the high-bridged nose above them, and the dark red, deep eyes.

In just an instant, she was lost in those pure eyes, and her demonic energy uncontrollably froze.

The vast memories protected by her demonic energy surged forth like waves.

All the memories repeated the same story.

Survive.

Born in the northern district of Beta Town, as the child of a Trickster, Nikita knew from a young age how difficult survival was. When the wizard children rode their brooms and flew their swords playfully around town, she could only watch with envy before following her parents back into the dark, silent Silent Forest to gather herbs for a meager living.

When she was six years old, both her parents were gone.

One was dragged to the bottom of the river by a water ghost while crossing the Silent River; the other was coiled around a treetop by a grey vine while venturing into the Silent Forest.

The Silent Forest, in her eyes then, was the embodiment of death.

As a child, her only impression of being alive was a small piece of black bread given to her by an old Trickster on the street.

A small piece of dark, hard bread.

The old Trickster's withered claws pinched her face.

She watched as she, with tears in her eyes, stuffed the black bread into her belly.

Living was hard.

When she was fifteen, she received her acceptance letter to First University.

She moved into the university dorms, no longer needing to listen to rats fighting in a cramped attic; she ate delicious meals, no longer needing to risk venturing into the Silent Forest for a piece of bread; she even had a lover, his emerald eyes forever clear and dependable.

She began to dream of the future, of life.

She lived happily at the university.

In her final year, with an internship assignment, she stepped into the Silent Forest once more.

She was attacked by a pack of Wild Demons.

When her mentor saved her, her eyes were already bloodshot.

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

Her mentor said, "Then run. Run far away, run out of the Silent Forest, run to a place where there are no Wizards."

And so, she began to flee.

The Wizard hunting parties were terrifying. They always found lone Demons, either turning them to ash or binding them and taking them to dark, unknown lands.

But what was more terrifying was that she could no longer control herself and began to consume Wizards as food.

There was no going back.

But she was still alive.

Not long ago, her mentor brought a six or seven-year-old girl to her.

He said, "This child also wants to live."

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

The little girl did not transform for a long time, always lingering in a state between half-Wizard and half-Demon.

The old Wizards in the territory were restless, wanting to send the child to the testing platform; the young Wizards in the territory were salivating, wanting to taste the young Wizard; even her companions were looking at them with ill intentions.

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

To survive.

Now, she had boarded this ship.

The captain blinked.

Nikita snapped back to reality.

She touched her face in fright; it was wet.

There was sweat, and there were tears.

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

"Every fallen Wizard has experienced a desperate struggle.

That cannibalistic blood is slowly pumped from a weeping heart."