Edit: I can’t delete locked Chapters but this Chapter was supposed to be, just after the Chapter titled; I will meet this devil.

I’m so sorry.

———————

Chapter 368

Daphne

I don’t know who started the rumor that you need to cut off your own body part to make a deal with me.

I was genuinely just bored. You get bored staring at water. So I had money, and people were calling me a devil, and I decided to play into it. A little. For fun.

Then I may have taken the Pirate King’s eyeball. And some over-enthusiastic drunk cut off his own leg for a few coins. And now suddenly I’m a devil.

Seriously.

Stop.

I drop the finger into a jar and seal it tight. The liquid inside sloshes—some kind of preservative I bought from the System store years ago. I place the jar on the shelf next to the others. Ears. Toes. A nose. A tongue from a man who talked too much.

The shelf is full.

I don’t have enough space for this.

I didn’t mean to let it get this far. I was just playing around. A joke that spiraled. A reputation that grew legs—pun intended.

I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling.

This ship is part of the reason people think I’m a devil. The System upgrades. Anti-shock capabilities that mean nothing falls over, no matter how high or unruly the waves. You could sail through a hurricane and not spill a single drop from your cup.

I only added that function because of my horrible motion sickness. After getting caught in a storm.

Now people think I’ve made a deal with the sea itself. Or I’m the devil?

I sigh.

I open the map. The one the barkeep gave me. I trace my finger along the marked locations—recent sightings of mermaids. Then I pull out my other maps. Cross-check. Compare.

I’ve already been to these places.

All of them.

The disappointment is immediate.

***

Caspian

We walk to the large, bald man with tanned skin, sharpening knives in front of an imposing ship docked at the pier. People look at us curiously.

I tug on my sleeves once more. The fabric is fine. Too fine for this place.

Apparently, you do not step foot onto the Bunny—Yes, the Bunny. I thought it was a ridiculous name for a ship belonging to someone called the Devil— without being clean. This is non-negotiable.

We walk to the man.

"We would like to meet your captain," I say.

The man doesn’t look up. His knife scrapes against the whetstone in slow, deliberate strokes. Metal on stone. Stone on metal.

"The cap’n isn’t accepting visitors." His voice is flat. Bored. "Go wait at the Drowned Rat, like the rest of them."

I glance at Marina. She steps forward.

"Do you know who this is—"

She stops herself. Changes tactics.

"I’m the Pirate King’s daughter."

The man finally looks up. His eyes are pale. Unreadable. He studies her face for a moment. Then he goes back to sharpening his knife.

"Ev’n if god himself came by," he says, "you would not g’t on the ship without an invitation."

One of my guards steps forward. His hand is on his pistol.

"You—"

He points his gun at the man.

Suddenly, we’re surrounded.

Guns on all sides. Pistols, rifles, weapons I don’t even recognize. Men appear from nowhere—from the ship, from the shadows, from the woodwork. They’re dressed in black. Clean-shaven. Silent.

I look around.

Guns shouldn’t be this accessible. Not to men like these. Not in a port like this. But here they are. Dozens of them. All aimed at us.

I raise my hands slowly. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"That’s not—"

The purple parrot flies by.

Quak. "Let them on. Let them on." Quak.

It flies back to the ship, a flash of bright feathers against the black hull.

The man with the knives stops sharpening. He looks at the parrot. Then at us.

He stands. His movements are slow. Deliberate. He doesn’t seem concerned about the guns. He doesn’t seem concerned about anything.

"Follow me," he says.

The bald man unties a small rowboat and climbs in. The vessel dips low under his weight, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Marina jumps in next, landing sure-footed. Smith follows less gracefully—he wobbles, nearly loses his balance, catches himself on the side. His face reddens.

I climb in and reach back to help Nancy. She takes my hand without a word. Her grip is cold.

One of my guards tries to follow.

"No," the bald man says. "No space."

The guard looks at me.

"Stand down," I order.

He steps back onto the dock.

The bald man takes the oars. The boat cuts through the dark water, pulling us toward the massive ship. I’ve seen warships. I’ve seen the pride of the Asterian navy. But this—this is something else.

The Bunny looms above us. Three masts. Black hull. Cannons peeking from gunports along the sides. The wood is dark, almost black, and the carvings along the bow are strange—creatures I don’t recognize, part beast, part woman, all teeth.

Lanterns sway from the rigging, casting the deck in flickering orange light. The ship must have at least thirty guns on each side. Maybe more.

My vessel—the one the finest shipwrights in the kingdom built—looks like a fishing boat next to this.

A rope ladder drops over the side. The bald man gestures.

I climb first.

The rope digs into my hands. The ladder swings with each step. When I reach the top, a man in black helps me over the railing.

I step onto the deck.

And stop.

It’s clean. Quiet. There’s no shouting, no singing, no sound of men fighting or dice rolling. Sailors move about their tasks in silence. They wear clean clothes—dark trousers, white shirts, black coats. Some have scars. Some are missing fingers or eyes. But they don’t leer or stumble.

It’s like a noble gathering. Except these men are clearly not nobles.

A woman walks across the deck carrying a tray of cups. She’s beautiful—dark skin, long skirts, her hair knotted with beads and shells and bits of colored glass. More beads hang from her neck, her wrists, her ears. They click softly as she moves.

She spots us.

"What do we have here?" She walks toward me, her hips swaying. She places a hand on my chest. Her nails are painted red.

"Naia." The bald man’s voice is flat. "Captain’s guests. Behave."

She laughs. "My bad, Father." She pulls her hand back and sashays away, the beads clicking with each step.

I watch her go.

A shadow drops from above. A man swings down from the rigging on a rope, landing silently on the deck in front of us. He straightens.

The Devil of the Seas.

He’s got the features of the eastern lands—dark hair, dark eyes, sharp cheekbones. And he’s pretty. Too pretty for a man. His coat is black, his boots are black, his shirt is open at the collar. The purple parrot sits on his shoulder.