In a secluded courtyard at the Rosemary Inn.
The table was covered with leftover food, and the dishes were in disarray. The elite pirates of the Man-Eating Shark lay scattered all around, each snoring like thunder.
Only First Mate Bone Crusher Miles and a few pirate officers remained on their stools, still feasting and drinking heartily.
"Cheers! Never mind those useless fellows, let's keep drinking!"
"Haha, the true mark of the strong is a hearty appetite for food and drink; these weaklings can't compare."
For some reason, these pirates had all found their appetites growing lately.
The more they ate, the larger their capacity for drink seemed to become.
The stronger and healthier one was, the more pronounced this change became.
These still sober pirate officers were clearly among the cream of the crop.
They too had their share of the vermicelli with scallops, braised prawns, and lamb offal soup Byron had cooked for Salman that night, so they simply continued their revelry.
If they weren't afraid of riling Salman, they probably would have called over a group of large-bottomed wenches to join their drunken carousing.
"The Captain finally decided to bring out his stash; this Battle Blood is simply priceless."
"I feel like not only are my wounds nearly healed in these past few days, but my strength is growing too. If this keeps up, maybe one day I'll be able to hoist the yardarm single-handedly."
What they were drinking was rum mixed with the Blood of Metamorphosis and Salman's own blood.
Clearly, with the premium Blood of Metamorphosis brewed by Byron almost ready, Salman had also spared no expense, opening up his reserves to accelerate the "feeding" of this reserve fodder he had been cultivating for some time.
A band of illiterate pirates, they were utterly oblivious to what the changes in their bodies signified.
The essence of the Blood of Metamorphosis was one of transformation and replacement.
If they all became lesser ghouls and continued to feast on humans, they would become as deeply controlled by Salman as those Man-Eater Sharks haunted by vengeful spirits.
The most unfortunate would become reserve fodder for the Ghouls' Dietary Supplementation. Those slightly luckier would become unwilling members of the Guardsmen.
Buzzed from the drink, the ship's Sailor Chief tapped his glass against First Mate Miles's and teased, "I heard that kid just presented the Captain with new schematics for sail rigging modifications. He left empty-handed, without any reward from the Captain. How can a newcomer compare to us old crewmen, who are so loyal to the Captain?"
"Let's all raise a toast to our First Mate! Once you become a Transcendent, that kid will have to do whatever you say. So what if he keeps making great contributions? He still doesn't get a share of the Captain's gifted blood-wine, does he? Still, the food that kid makes is truly delicious; a perfect match for this Battle Blood, hahaha..."
"Indeed! To our First Mate, forever!"
"..."
Anyone who could become a pirate officer was no fool. They also knew that with a sufficiently capable leader, they might be able to make the pie bigger, enriching all their followers. But they were the ones on board most qualified to become Transcendent. They were terrified that Byron would not only usurp their positions but also snatch away their chance to become Transcendents!
Their mentality was precisely that of an owl, fearing a noble phoenix would swoop down to steal its prized rotten mouse.
"Hahaha! As long as I'm First Mate for a day, I'll never forget any of you. Cheers!" First Mate Miles also laughed boisterously, returning the toast to his supporters.
But after downing another cup, he suddenly sensed something was wrong around him. The thunderous snoring of the pirates on the ground had, for some unknown reason, completely vanished.
As he turned to look, his attention was inexplicably drawn to the reflection in a glass cup on the ground. In that instant, as his gaze locked onto it, he was horrified to see a pair of bright silver eyes wink gently at him from the mirror-like surface.
His glabella felt as if pierced by a sharp steel awl, a chilling, intense pain spreading through it. Then, his vision went black, and he pitched forward, collapsing to the ground, utterly unconscious.
The other pirate officers around him assumed Miles had simply drunk too much. As they moved to help him up, they too, one by one, dazedly followed him into unconsciousness.
In truth, at that moment, Magic Mirror West, who had incarnated as a Mirror Demon Spirit, also felt utterly bewildered and greatly vexed. Why would that single drop of blood be linked to so many people?!! Even if the target grew cautious after his blood was taken and distributed it amongst many, the directivity of blood never changes. Looking at them, it's clear their very Life Essences are converging. Forbidden knowledge! This must be another form of Black Sorcery! Wasn't the target supposed to be an ordinary mortal? Damn you, York! How could you bungle such crucial intelligence? I'm going to die because of you fools!
By this point, Magic Mirror West had realized something was amiss, but he was already riding a tiger, unable to dismount. With this kind of Ritual Witchcraft, if he failed to completely eradicate the target, the Mirror Demon Spirit would turn and devour its master. Even if he had to force himself, he had to continue the slaughter.
After slaughtering the thirty-odd pirates, who were helpless against non-physical attacks, an utterly exhausted West used the ubiquitous mirror-like reflections throughout the inn to silently stalk the final target in the backyard room.
Salman, who had been feigning sleep, suddenly felt his spiritual premonition trigger. Hmm? He had planned to sneak out and consume one or two pirates after the feasting outside ended, to alleviate his hunger and the symptoms of the curse. However, he was shocked to discover that the pirates, with whom he had already established a spiritual connection, had all vanished from his perception within a few breaths.
The instant he snapped his eyes open, the mirror in the room inexplicably dimmed. An attack was upon him!
Just as Salman, following an old pirate's instinct, started to roll out of bed to evade, he felt his body pinned down as if by a crushing weight, unable to move even a finger.
And in his Spirit Vision—a capability of Transcendents—a pitch-black figure was straddling him, its shadowy hands clamped tightly around his neck. A frigid aura spread rapidly, his consciousness on the verge of being frozen solid.
Relying on the well-prepared ritualistic ambush, West clearly held a massive advantage, even against a fellow Second Order Transcendent.
Who... are... you? Why... attack... me?! By the time Salman registered the assault, his thoughts moved like rusted gears; even the slightest turn felt as if it would drain all his strength.
West, however, had no desire to converse. The Deerhoof Grass's Demon Break effect had forcibly suppressed Salman's spirituality, but killing over thirty mundane pirates had also pushed West's own spiritual power to its limits. Now, clenching his teeth, he had to exert every ounce of his remaining strength to slowly strangle Salman. That idiot Fingermonkey actually got the target wrong! Is this a mortal? This is clearly a Second Order 'Professional' Transcendent! Idiot! Idiot! When I get back, I'll make you pay dearly!
ROAR—!
At that moment, an inhuman roar abruptly shattered West's bitter thoughts.
Salman ought to thank Byron for the five daily meals—those 'purine bombs'—which had overfed him and made his transformation all the more effortless. With a series of sharp CRACKS from his joints, his whole body contorted, and he reverted to that hunched figure with pallid skin and the potent stench of death—a Ghoul!
The dense, blood-red Spiritual Radiance enveloping him erupted, violently shoving the Mirror Demon Spirit back a step.
Salman's face was savage. Seizing the chance, he snatched the glass bottle from the small table by his bed and gulped down more than half of the blood-red liquid within. This was no longer Bacardi Rum but the Blood of Metamorphosis left by those chefs—his entire remaining stock, prepared for the final transformation ritual.
Ability: Dietary Supplementation!
BOOM—!
Searing blood-flames erupted, instantly engulfing the Mirror Demon Spirit as it tried to pounce again.
These blood-flames, born from flesh, were the nemesis of all Yin-natured powers. But Salman himself was not faring well. The fat he had so recently regained was incinerated once more, leaving him in an even more wretched state than after his previous battle against Fortress Guard Harold. He was reduced to a mere skin-and-bones skeleton.
With a CLANG, he collapsed to the floor, lacking even the strength to stand. Just as the burning Mirror Demon Spirit, needing only to endure the pain and land one more blow, was about to finish Salman, the door was suddenly kicked open from the outside. A frantic young man rushed in, sword in hand, yelling urgently, "Captain, are there intruders? Are you alright?"
Seeing the newcomer, Salman was overjoyed. He quickly waved his hand. "Quick, Byron! Help me!"
At this moment, if even his trusted first mate, Bone Crusher Miles, had appeared, Salman might have harbored some suspicion. But... the person before him was a 'good man' to whom he could confidently entrust his back!
Meanwhile, the grievously wounded Mirror Demon Spirit, no longer able to focus on killing Salman, desperately plunged into the mirror and fled.