Six Crew Members

The brilliant sunlight outside the cabin dispelled a little of the gloom in Nikita's heart.

On deck, Harry, dressed in swim trunks, was furling the sails. The blonde youth was helping him pull the ropes nearby, while the powerfully built strongman was once again hanging from the mast.

"The captain said we're going north," the Banshee shouted to the two busy men.

"Saw it!" Harry pointed to the green lantern at the stern. Nikita remembered that when she boarded the ship earlier, the lantern was still shining brightly, but now the light had gone out.

"The captain told you to pass on a message, did he agree to let you on board?" The blonde youth, pulling on a thick rope, swung in front of the Banshee, squinting his blood-red eyes, his tone somewhat malicious.

Nikita looked at him cautiously, saying nothing.

"My name is Ryan, I'm the boatswain," the blonde youth pointed to his nose and threatened, "Since you're on board, you have to obey my orders."

"You're the boatswain? Then I'm the first mate!" Harry shouted angrily from the mast above, "Who ever heard of a boatswain who can't even catch a fish!"

"Besides, beauties don't need to obey anyone's orders." Harry turned his head, his face beaming with happiness, and solicitously brought over his lounge chair for the Banshee, "Beauties just need to lie here and enjoy the scenery."

Ryan snorted mockingly, pulled out "Miss Dodo" from Harry's back pocket, and sneered.

Nikita did not sit down.

Looking at the two clowns in front of her, she suddenly lost a little confidence in the legendary Black Ship.

"How many crew members are there in total?" she interrupted the two who were tearing at each other and asked.

"Including these two brats, there are a total of one hundred and thirteen senior crew members at or above the True Demon level, not including consumables like deep-sea war beasts, elf servants, alchemical golems, and fast-growing wild demon legions," a gruff, gloomy voice answered from behind her.

Nikita was startled. She quickly turned around and saw a one-legged, limping old man holding an extinguished lantern, standing behind her.

Anyone who could appear behind her silently was at least a Great Demon.

Nikita bowed her head respectfully.

"Harry, have you finished furling the sails! And Ryan! If any more ropes complain to me about you swinging them around, I'll hang you upside down under Arno's butt!" The one-legged old man pointed at the strongman hanging from the mast and roared fiercely at the blonde youth.

Nikita saw several gray-white ropes coiled around the old man's shoulders, their ends swaying weakly.

Harry and Ryan disappeared in front of the old man without a word.

"As for you, pretty little thing, what do you think you can do!" The old man turned his face, revealing two dark, empty eye sockets. Two points of dark red light flickered within the sockets, appraising the Banshee in front of him.

"I can cook," Nikita replied quickly.

"Then go! The ship does need a cook," the old man grunted dully, stomped his foot, and disappeared from the deck.

The Banshee opened her purse, inventoried her supplies, and sighed.

She looked up. Harry was standing on the highest yardarm, gazing into the distance, his pink shirt appearing blurred and distorted in the afterglow of the setting sun, like a melting candle. The blonde Ryan was by the ship's side, directing the ropes to be neatly coiled and rolled into the dry cabin; next to him, several dark, thin elves with white eyes were dragging wooden brushes and basins, diligently scrubbing the floor.

"Where is the kitchen?" the Banshee called out to Ryan.

"In the cabin, you can find it by following the smell of blood."

"Why is he still hanging up there!" the Banshee pointed to the strongman hanging from the mast, "Do we need to cook for him?"

"You don't have to," Ryan said, chewing on a cigarette, without looking back, "He's being punished. According to the ship's rules, he has to hang for a month. It would have been enough after sunset today, but he broke the rules when you arrived, so he has to hang for another week."

"What are we going to the north for?" The Banshee felt that her heart was full of questions.

"If you respectfully call me 'senior,' I might consider taking pity and telling you," Ryan finally turned his head, looking at the Banshee with indignation, "The crew members before you all started by scrubbing the floor, but you get to go straight to the kitchen! I thought the relationship between demons was simpler and more equal!"

The Banshee tilted her head, looking at this inexplicable young man, blinked, and finally went into the cabin to find the kitchen.

For wild demons, blood food was an unparalleled delicacy. Food without the stimulation of blood was as bland as mortal food without salt. For senior demons, their demands would naturally be higher.

Nikita's claim of being skilled in cooking was not an empty boast. In her hazy childhood, she already knew how to simply process the food obtained from the Silent Forest. From the first day she was taken in by her teacher, Sir Ulrich discovered her outstanding talent, and she had been responsible for feeding her teacher and the group of fellow disciples, ranging from wild demons to great demons.

Therefore, she could easily take out her teacher's treasured aged vintage from her purse, and also find a lot of suitable seasonings from it.

Since it was afternoon tea, the portions were naturally not too large, and the Banshee finished preparing them in a short while.

Each person had a small pastry and a drink. The pastry was a piece of hindquarter meat drizzled with a yellow sauce, the meat was somewhat smoked and blackened, and its material was unclear. It was placed on a thin layer of red jelly-like substance on a wooden plate. The drink looked quite appetizing, green, very much like the Green Bee that wizards drank.

Demon food was blood food. As a witch demon who retained much of her aesthetic ability, Nikita could not tolerate the crude aesthetic standards of demons. Unfortunately, in the kitchen of the Misty, she despaired to find that all the kitchen utensils consisted of only a knife, a chopping board, and a pot.

"We need to stock up on more ingredients and suitable kitchenware," Nikita suggested when delivering afternoon tea to the captain's room.

The captain pouted, but did not object.

On the deck, the two hardworking crew members had made preparations for departure. The heavy anchor that had sunk into the deep sea had been raised, and the sails on the mast had been furled and rolled up, hanging neatly there.

"Well done, you just got the quantities wrong," the old one-legged ship worker grumbled, glaring with his dark eye sockets, and nodded.

Nikita frowned, recounted her pastries, one hundred and thirteen portions, no mistake. She looked up, gazing blankly at the old ship worker.

"There are indeed one hundred and thirteen registered senior crew members on the ship, but that doesn't mean they are all on board right now," Harry explained in a muffled voice, his mouth full of pastries, "Most of them have gone to the New World, and there are only six people on board in total right now."

The captain, the old ship worker, Harry in the floral shorts, Ryan the blonde youth, Arno the strongman, and herself!

Nikita supported her slightly dizzy head. The Black Ship, which had traversed the four seas in legend, had completely sunk in her heart.