Chapter 299: The Undeads Pastime

The captain often employed peculiar and enigmatic vocabulary, which was challenging to comprehend and creatively formed. Nevertheless, the crew on the Vanished didn’t mind this.

After all, there was a dove on the ship that used even more peculiar and incomprehensible terms, and communication between the captain and the dove had always been seamless, proving that these unusual words were not an issue with the captain.

It was an issue with the limited understanding of ordinary people.

In any case, those who couldn’t understand would simply regard it as a subspace dialect.

Morris didn’t inquire about the meaning of “PTSD,” but quietly processed the information the captain had just shared. Duncan was forthcoming and shared his experience in the graveyard the previous night.

He mainly sought the opinions of “professionals.”

Duncan’s narration quickly drew the attention of several people in the dining area. Nina was the first to approach, followed by Shirley, Alice, and Dog. Eventually, even Vanna, who had been quietly keeping to herself, couldn’t suppress her curiosity and discreetly moved closer to eavesdrop near the long table.

“Annihilators...” Morris, the most knowledgeable of the group, was the first to frown after hearing Duncan’s story, “Why would they be interested in corpses?”

“Shouldn’t Annihilators be interested in corpses?” Duncan asked curiously.

“They’re not necromancers,” Morris shook his head, “Annihilators follow the Nether Lord, exploring the knowledge of demonic and summoning realms. They have no interest in mortal flesh. In fact, they even despise and detest it because they believe that mortal flesh is weak and impure, while the demons of the dark depths and the Nether Lord are the ‘original form’ with ‘pure holiness.’ How could such heretics go to a graveyard to steal corpses?”

Duncan’s brow shot upwards after listening to the elderly scholar’s explanation.

Annihilators disdain mortal flesh and follow the “pure and holy beings of the dark realm”? They even believe that the dark demons and the Nether Lord possess this “pure holiness”?

Although he was aware from the start that the cultists in this world held strange beliefs, the Annihilators’ challenge to logical limits seemed a bit too outlandish!

Duncan couldn’t help but glance at Dog beside the table – who had been pulled over by Shirley and was now lying on the floor, diligently studying a vocabulary book with its grotesque skeletal skull swaying back and forth.

Noticing the captain’s gaze, Dog abruptly looked up, its entire body of terrifying bones rattling.

“Pure? Holy?” Duncan observed the dark hound with a peculiar expression, “Even the original form of life?”

Dog was taken aback: “... Huh? What?”

“Unimaginable,” Duncan shook his head, “The world in the eyes of those Annihilators must be entirely different from that of ordinary people.”

At the edge of the secret island shrouded in floating ice, turbulent currents, and fog, the steel warship, with its towering prow, docked smoothly at the end of the pier. The undead sailors were busy amid the cold wind and thin mist, with some inspecting the ship’s condition, others tallying cargo or directing the onshore cranes to lift heavy cargo containers from the hold to the shore.

The Sea Mist had returned from the warm central seas. Although it hadn’t brought back a victorious report, it had brought gifts and specialties from afar – fine wine and souvenirs given by Pland authorities to the “Sea Mist Venture Capital Company,” as well as tobacco, cloth, and handicrafts purchased by the captain. These items were all perfect for the cold, secluded island.

Although the undead had left the world of the living, they still possessed individual personalities and emotions. They required a certain quality of life, entertainment, and hobbies, and in some ways, they needed these things even more than the living.

Their souls constantly felt cold and empty, and they needed the warm creations of the civilized world to fill those voids all the more.

First Mate Aiden stood at the edge of the deck, meticulously packing fine Pland tobacco into an old-fashioned short-stemmed pipe, lighting it with a lighter, and taking a satisfying deep puff.

He then held his breath, making an effort.

A mist of smoke seeped out from the collar, cuffs, and pocket seams of his sailor’s uniform, enveloping his entire upper body in a cloud of white smoke.

Aiden rotated his neck, gazed at the smoke around him, and then opened his collar to take a peek.

The bullet hole in his chest was still emitting wisps of blue smoke.

“Warm tobacco can fill the void in the soul – but a physical void is another matter, isn’t it?”

A hoarse, dark voice suddenly emerged from behind. Aiden turned to see an old man with pale skin and a withered figure standing at the edge of the deck. The old man wore a priest’s robe, with one side of his skull caved in and the corresponding half of his body displaying a damp texture as if soaked in seawater.

That was the shipboard priest of the Sea Mist, Will.

The old priest finished speaking, picked up a small liquor bottle, and took a swig. The liquid trickled down from the cracked side of his cheek due to the caved-in skull.

Aiden observed the old priest for a moment and suddenly blurted out, “Want me to teach you a trick? You could make that bottle of liquor last for days...”

“Tricks don’t work,” the old priest shook his head, “mainly because it’s disgusting, and it starts to turn sour after the third time.”

Aiden shrugged, picked up his pipe, and took another deep puff, holding his breath again, completely enveloped in smoke.

“Actually, being undead isn’t that bad. I couldn’t play like this when I was alive.”

“...It’s good to have an open mind,” the old priest couldn’t help but exclaim.