Chapter 71
Chapter 71
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: IRIS OUT
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“…….”
Great One's grace.
No need to puzzle out who this "Great One" he spoke of might be. Ian stared silently at the man with the pipe clenched between his teeth, dragged over a half-shattered chair, and sat down. He pulled out a cigarette.
Tsss.
He lit it with practiced ease, and acrid smoke drifted into the air. The captain chuckled at the sight.
"You're calmer than I expected. Treating this like a fish already hooked?"
Ian didn't reply. Instead, he examined the man's appearance in detail.
The eyepatch suggested he was missing an eye. A cluster of blue tentacles protruded through his elbow, caked in blood, and atop his shoulder sat another man's head impaled like a stake. Wriggling worms and blood churned within their gaping mouths.
Whether he'd once been human and become this, or born this way, Ian couldn't care less.
Whatever the case, his current state was far from normal. Ian wedged the cigarette between his fingers and slowly spoke.
"Are you with the cult?"
"The glory of my faith. The Crawling Chaos, the Wailer in the Darkness, the God of the Blood-Soaked Tongue, and so on. It has many names, but to me, it's simply the Absolute God deserving of all praise."
The captain tamped fresh tobacco into his pipe as he answered.
"That One grants us the power to rule the world. Against mages like you, the Management Bureau that twists the laws of reality, and the Vatican with its false gods. It bestows the ability to crush them all."
"……."
"So how could I not worship It?"
"Why did you seize this cruise ship?"
Ian had no interest in debating faith with him. What mattered was the anomaly permeating the entire ship and its connection to the cult.
The captain, too, seemed uninterested in theological debate with an apostate. He shrugged and gazed out the window.
"Probably what you're guessing."
"……."
"A grand altar. We sacrifice the passengers one by one as offerings to summon the god. Bringing light to the world—that's my mission, my bestowed duty."
"Fanatic."
"Devout."
The captain smirked and exhaled smoke into the air. Ian leaned forward slightly.
"But this space itself wasn't our creation, unfortunately. We merely exploited an existing anomaly. The provider called it the 'Illegal Copy USB.' Sacrifice dozens of humans, and it can turn any space into a game."
Turning reality into a game...
That must be why status windows appeared, and the mental compulsion of "roles" took hold.
The genre was likely Lovecraftian. Too many bizarre elements for a simple mystery game. The tentacles and worms scurrying across the deck, and that presence stirring beneath the sea.
Ian lacked the heroic senses from fantasy novels to detect killing intent or feel gazes, but he could sense the grimoires' will.
[…….]
Deep Sea Chronicles.
The book penned by the Master of the Outer Sea, rooted in the ocean, was itching to tear apart whatever lurked below.
No vicious malice or hatred—just the ordinary urge to kill an ugly bug invading its domain.
Hand of Recreation remained still but didn't mock Deep Sea Chronicles' attitude. It shared the sentiment.
"……."
From past experience, grimoires rarely reacted strongly to anomalies or horrors. Even in the hospital, with its formidable Hospital Director, the grimoires hadn't cared. No reaction at all.
But now they reacted. That meant one thing.
The entity below was powerful enough to irk even the grimoires.
No ordinary anomaly. Even if spawned from the 'Illegal Copy USB,' its strength surpassed the Hospital Director's by far.
Whatever it was, it had to die. If killing the captain didn't end things, that thing would need dealing with too.
Ian felt no worry.
Of course not. One of his grimoires specialized in aquatic environments—what was there to fear?
He didn't know what lurked silently in the depths, but it was likely weaker than the summoned beasts listed in Deep Sea Chronicles. Killing it wouldn't be hard.
So for now, focus on the captain.
Ian wedged the spent cigarette between his fingers and flicked it at him. The butt scattered ash as it stuck to the captain's beard, then fell.
"Oops."
A blatant insult, but the captain laughed without a hint of annoyance and picked up the butt, bringing it to his lips.
Crunch!
Flesh ground audibly, and blood trickled from between his lips. A fishy metallic tang spread, and Ian grimaced, aiming his revolver. The captain raised both hands with a hollow laugh.
"Sorry about that. I've got a lot of tongues, you see. Chew anything, and they get chewed too."
"......Why pick it up and eat it?"
"Just curious what kind of smokes someone blessed by another Great One enjoys."
"......What?"
"Kidding. No deeper meaning. Sometimes I just get this impulse to eat whatever I see."
The captain slowly rose.
Only then did Ian notice his three legs: two ordinary ones stained red, and a living one bursting from his tailbone. At its end, a gaping maw extended a long tongue slick with blood, spear-like, aimed at Ian.
"……."
Ian met the captain's gaze briefly, then stood, recreating the broken chair into a dagger gripped in his hand. He shook off the blood staining his palm.
"You've got a lot to cough up."
Bang! Bang!
Ian shattered the pilothouse windows with gunfire. Glass shards flew, expanding the fighting space. The pooled seawater deepened slightly.
"The name of the provider who gave you that anomaly. And the cult's entire structure. Spill it all."
"Not an easy task."
Crack.
The captain's arm split vertically, a scarlet tongue extending from within. Red flesh writhed from his mouth like maggots. In moments, his face was covered in saliva- and blood-smeared tongues.
"I've stalled plenty. So here's my counteroffer."
He tore open his nape, extracting a rigid tongue, and spoke.
"Care to join our cult?"
"……."
"We always welcome talent like you. Already favored by the Great Ones, you'd receive our miracles easily. Might even become an apostle. Gain an intangible blade that bewitches with words and kills with voice alone. You could pull it off. I could even write the recommendation."
"......Hm."
"What do you say?"
The captain licked his lips. Ian feigned contemplation in silence, then grinned.
"Fuck off."
"Knew it."
The captain grinned back and stomped the floor hard.
Boom!!!
Living tentacle clusters erupted from the pilothouse floor like spears, battering Ian's body. A dull thud pierced his coat, and before he could react, the charging captain slammed into him.
Thud!
Ian's body crashed into the wall with a racket. Dust and sea mist billowed thickly. The captain stared at the impact site and leered.
Concrete walls crumbled like nothing. No mage could survive that unscathed. Not dead, but near enough.
"Why'd a mage step to the front line?"
The captain chuckled, clamping the pipe in his mouth.
"Don't worry. Even if you're dead, I'll extract your tongue as an offering. Oh, and take your grimoires too. Precious items—they'll delight the Great One."
"……."
"No answer. Dead?"
The captain scratched his head, waved away dust, and stood before the ruined wall. He tsked at Ian's limp head dangling below.
"Croaked. Tough catch, but just a pest after all."
Muttering to himself, he knelt and grabbed Ian's hair, lifting his head to extract the tongue.
"Quick work, then snag the other mage for the cult's alt—"
"Summon."
Snap.
The captain's soliloquy cut off at Ian's voice. His eyes bulged as Ian, eyes now open, placed a hand on the captain's shoulder and smiled.
"Be reborn."
Crack!!
Hand of Recreation, now in his grasp, glowed as the spell activated. The captain's shoulder ballooned like a balloon and burst. Blood, fluids, and flesh sprayed everywhere. Covered in gore, Ian snatched his nearby revolver without flinching and unloaded into the captain's head and heart.
Bang bang bang!!
Rapid magnum fire. Instead of dodging, the captain bit down and severed his own shoulder before the explosion spread upward. The detached arm burst midair like a balloon. He roared and thrust his tongue-spear at Ian's head.
"Urk!"
Ian barely dodged. His cheek tore, blood flowing, the pain sharpening his focus.
Ignoring the tongue embedded in the wall, Ian jammed a long kitchen knife into the captain's regenerated lower jaw.
Squelch!
The gruesome sensation of rending flesh traveled up his arm.
But beyond primate limits, the captain didn't die from the blade.
As expected. Ian abandoned the spot, sliding across the floor. The captain wrenched free—not retrieving the tongue, but severing it—and turned toward Ian.
"Hrrrrgh...!"
"......Hoo."
Their gazes clashed in the air.
The impact-absorbing spell rippled his coat like water before restoring it. He tossed the crushed cigarette pack from his inner pocket and smirked.
"First humanoid fight—don't die easy. Gotta rack up that experience."
Blood trickled from his cheek, dripping from his chin. Ripples spread in the pooled seawater. The captain screamed and charged.
Same pattern as before.
Ian swapped grimoires and hurled his revolver.
Shaaa...
The seawater at his feet churned as if sensing a predator.