100.

Against the backdrop of Melvin’s loud, roaring shouts, a long ship’s horn sounded. Sailors ran about, breathing life back into the once-sleeping vessel. Ro grabbed the rope ladder lowered by Melvin and swiftly climbed up onto the deck.

“Where are the Sea Alliance bastards?”

“They set sail twenty minutes ago. They’ve already raised the Alliance flag. See that black ship near the horizon?”

“Yeah.”

“Just follow that one… Holy—!”

Melvin finally turned to look at Ro, his eyes narrowing.

“What the hell? Did you cut your hair? Wait… was it cut off?”

“I cut it myself.”

“You weren’t in any danger, were you? No, wait—why do you always go off alone when you clearly know this place is dangerous?”

Ro tuned out Melvin’s nagging and glanced around. The wind was favorable, and the fog was thinner than yesterday. The sails billowed in the breeze. The sloop, slowly moving at first, began picking up speed, cutting through the waves.

“Melvin. The sea chart.”

Melvin placed the rolled-up sea chart onto her outstretched palm. Ro squatted down, spread the chart flat on the deck, and placed a compass at its corner. The needle, spinning wildly at first, quickly settled, pointing steadily in one direction. Peering over curiously, Melvin grumbled.

“What? Is this compass broken or something?”

“It’s not broken.”

Ro stared silently at the compass for a long while, then snatched Melvin’s hat and firmly pressed it onto her short hair. She folded the sea chart and tossed it at his chest.

“Lock in this course. We’ll reach El Trabata within five hours.”

* * *

El Trabata. This fearsome sea region featured a deep, swift current so distinctly black that it formed a perfect boundary with the surrounding seawater. Just a few centuries ago, whether navy or pirate, all had feared this accursed sea, this sea of death, and avoided sailing anywhere near it.

The Sea Alliance’s active use of El Trabata was a stroke of accidental fortune. A drifting ship, having lost its course, entered El Trabata and five days later emerged at the Portmuts Archipelago.

Since then, it had been used especially for evading naval forces—raiding merchant ships and swiftly disappearing. Of course, the starting and ending points of the route shifted each time depending on the day’s currents, and safeguarding this secret was the Sea Alliance’s livelihood. As such, any vessel approaching without Alliance escort or flying no Alliance flag would inevitably be turned into a sieve long before reaching the area.

Four hours after fixing and maintaining the course, the dark current became visible to the naked eye. Because of El Trabata’s infamous reputation, the crew was extremely tense. A few sailors knelt before a carved figure of Pontus at the mast, praying fervently. Only after Melvin passed around a flask of rum did they begin to calm down somewhat.

“Captain, have a drink too?”

Melvin offered a leather flask to Ro. She was about to refuse, then changed her mind and merely moistened her lips. The fine rum’s aroma gently loosened her tightly wound nerves.

She wanted to drink more, but Ro suppressed the urge. If she indulged too freely in alcohol with this body, she’d probably end up kissing a whale before even reaching the Portmuts waters. She couldn’t complain, but… this body was inconvenient in so many ways. Ro tossed the flask back to Melvin and asked,

“Where’s Turner?”

Melvin groaned with an expression of utter exasperation.

“He’s ranting beside the mast, yelling whether it’s right to set the sails this way.”

“Lock him in the cabin so he can’t keep ranting.”

“Will do.”

Judging by Melvin’s flushed face, he’d had quite enough. Half an hour later, the Alliance ship ahead began to slow down gradually. At the boundary where the black sea met the blue, small whirlpools formed and dissipated repeatedly. The Alliance vessel repeatedly inserted and removed something into the current at the edge where the whirlpools didn’t reach. Finally, the Alliance ship raised a blue flag.

Piiiiiiit— Bang!

A sharp signal horn and a gunshot rang out. This was the signal to proceed slowly—this was the starting point of the current. Ro chewed on dried mint leaves, trying hard to keep her mind sharp. The dark current and whirlpools were now right before her eyes, and this moment, just before entering El Trabata, was the most dangerous. A single mistake could cause the hull to capsize instantly in the suddenly accelerating current.

“Steer the bow to port!”

The helmsman and Melvin clung to the wheel, carefully turning the bow to the left. As they drew closer to El Trabata, the rapid current made the hull tilt noticeably. Ro opened her tightly clenched fist and quickly wiped the damp sweat on her pants.

“Everyone, onto the deck!”

“If you get trapped under cargo, your corpse won’t even be recovered!”

“You there, anyone still in the hold or cabins! Get up on deck now!”

Experienced sailors rang the bell from the crow’s nest slowly but steadily, issuing a warning throughout the ship. The crew tightly bound wooden barrels filled with gunpowder and sand with ropes and covered them with nets to prevent rolling. Then each found a secure spot to take cover. Some even tied their bodies to the railings or masts. And then, the bow began to be sucked into El Trabata’s first whirlpool.

“Waaaah!”

“You! You’re falling over!”

Screams erupted among the crew. As the sharply tilting mast darkened their field of vision, the violent current swallowed the ship whole.

* * *

At first, the ship was helplessly swept away like a fragile leaf. Even after the bow spun around two or three times in the fierce current, Ro believed everything had gone wrong.

Of course, she couldn’t maintain that thought for long. Soon after, a terrible, unfamiliar seasickness rose within her—something she’d never experienced before. Her vision spun violently, a ringing filled her ears, and her stomach churned as if her intestines were twisting. Even the rum she’d enjoyed moments ago now smelled nauseating.

It wasn’t just her. Judging by the crew around her, even seasoned sailors seemed to be suffering the same—dry heaving here and there, faces turning deathly pale as they groaned in agony. The hull swayed unsteadily from side to side.

It was a situation where sinking wouldn’t have been surprising. How long did this last? Gradually, the spinning hull slowed, and at some point, it began to ride the current more smoothly.

Within less than an hour, the ship was fully riding the current. Most of the crew lay collapsed, utterly exhausted. A few burst into loud laughter, while others, unable to believe their luck, began praying to the gods once more. When the cook handed out candied lemons, everyone ate them and slowly began to recover.

The ship quickly regained stability. The sailors, initially terrified, now seemed unable to tell whether they were in El Trabata or just off their neighborhood coast—thanks to Melvin’s generous supply of good food and rum that helped ease their tension.

Occasionally, if one looked closely at the sea, they might notice the violent whirlpools forming where the blue and black waters mixed… but for now, they were safely entrusting their bodies to this swift and secure current.

“Here.”

Ro, wrapped in a blanket and leaning against the bow, was startled by a sudden tin cup thrust toward her. It was Turner, his face pale after half a day. Ro took the cup, dazed.

“What’s this?”

“Lemon tea. The cook said to bring it.”

Ro accepted it gratefully. Her stomach had been unsettled anyway, and something sour was exactly what she needed. While she took a few sips, Turner dragged over a wooden barrel from somewhere and hesitantly sat beside her.

“Why are you out here? It’s cold.”

“In El Trabata, you never know what might happen. We’ve only got five days to Portmuts—can’t afford to just sprawl out and sleep.”

“You’ll be the one dead first… I mean, my lady.”

“I’ve been catching short naps here and there. Don’t worry.”

Turner stared at her, utterly dumbfounded.

“At least get a few hours’ sleep in the cabin. I’ll keep watch in your place.”

“After we pass the Siren Sea. We’ll rest then. You know how cunning they are.”

“…Sirens?”

Turner repeated, disbelieving. He might have sold every scrap of land-based information, but clearly, her knowledge of the seas surpassed his. To treat sirens as mere legends… Ro didn’t bother explaining and simply turned her gaze back to the dark sea. After all, they’d soon enter the Sirens’ domain—Turner would see it with his own eyes soon enough.

About three hours later, a low whistle pierced through the dark night sky. Ro pulled a pistol from her coat.

“It’s starting now.”

“What exactly is…?”