Alexandria's Keeper - Lord of the Mysteries

Later that evening, as the White Agate entered the harbor, Irina stared out of the window, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Bansy Harbor...

Behind her, Danitz let out a low chuckle, eyes fixed on the darkening harbor and the towering lighthouse.

"Bansy Harbor? Elland is being cautious," he mused. Then, without waiting for a response, he smirked. "There are some nasty legends about this place."

Klein remained seated, his posture relaxed, offering no reaction. He had long understood Danitz's tendency to ramble when nervous and saw no need to personally ask.

Danitz continued, shaking his head. "Legend has it that 300 years ago, when the Loen army first occupied this island, more than 500 soldiers disappeared in the fog. Vanished without a trace. Then, a few days later, their bones started turning up—scattered along the beaches, piled on the mountains. And it didn't just happen once. This kept repeating until the Church of Storms built a cathedral here and stationed a bishop."

Irina sighed quietly, only half-listening. I already know the real reason... not that it matters. The Church of Storms is going to level this place soon anyway.

Danitz, oblivious to her disinterest, went on. "Historians say the colonial era officially began when Roselle sent a fleet to chart a safe route to the Southern Continent, but in truth, countries from the Northern Continent had already been exploring for centuries. They just weren't organized about it. Bansy was one of those early conquests."

The lighthouse flickered on, its golden glow cutting through the fading sunlight. Danitz tapped a finger against the glass. "And based on tombs and murals found here, the original natives had some... interesting traditions. Apparently, they were cannibals."

Irina arched a brow. And that's not even the whole truth behind it...

"This island gets hit by storms, earthquakes, fog—disasters all the time," Danitz continued. "To survive, the natives made up a God of Weather and started worshipping it. Four times a year, they held rituals. They'd kill chosen followers, feast on their blood and flesh, then bury their heads in the sacrificial altar. That tradition's long gone, of course. The Church of Storms replaced it with their own version, and the native language has been wiped out."

'Long gone,' he says. As if the current bishop wasn't currently corrupted.

He finally turned away from the window, shrugging. "But the legends left behind some interesting customs. First, when there's heavy fog or a sudden change in weather, people lock their doors and do not answer, no matter who's knocking. Second... they have a thing for blood dishes. They learned from migrating elves how to salt animal blood, solidifying it into tender, fragrant lumps. Add a few local spices, and you get a delicacy."

Klein's brows furrowed slightly. "Elves?"

Danitz spread his hands. "That's right. Apparently, a lot of elves are into solidified blood. Unfortunately, it's hard to find any good cooks of said race these days."

Pausing for a beat, he hesitated before suggesting, "There's a Green Lemon Restaurant here that's famous for its pig blood dishes. Really good stuff. Do you... wanna try it?"

Truthfully, Danitz just wanted to get out of this room. Being alone with Gehrman Sparrow made his skin crawl. He wasn't worried about Elena Jeager anymore—now that he knew the truth, she was harmless, barely a fighter. But Gehrman...

Danitz swallowed hard. At least if we're in a public place, he'll be less likely to snap.

Lord of Storms, let this trip end soon, he prayed half-heartedly. Not that he had much reverence for the Church himself.

Irina turned to Klein, curious to see his reaction.

He remained silent, contemplating the unsettling history Danitz had just shared. Then, without a word, he took a gold coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air, letting it spin before catching it easily.

When he opened his hand, he stared at the result, expression unreadable. There's no dormant danger in Bansy Harbor.

Hmm... Klein studied the coin for a few more seconds, unmoving. Then why do I still feel uneasy?

Danitz, watching from the side, felt a sudden chill. Wait... His eyes flicked between Klein and the coin, realization slowly dawning on him. He can divine things?

A wave of dread settled over him. So even if I tried to escape, he'd find me anyway... His shoulders slumped slightly.

Just as he was recovering from that unpleasant thought, Klein suddenly rose from his chair and strode toward the washroom.

Danitz barely had time to process the movement before Klein stopped at the doorway, turning his head back with an eerily blank expression.

"You can use this opportunity to escape," he said flatly.

And then he shut the door. Loudly.

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Irina coughed into her fist, trying—and failing—to stifle her laughter. Why so serious man?

Heavens above, watching Gehrman interact with Danitz is SO FUN.

Danitz, meanwhile, spread his hands open, clenched them tightly, then took two decisive steps toward the door—only to stop dead in his tracks. He turned to look at Irina, his gaze scrutinizing her.

"You're not going to do anything?" he asked.

The question wasn't meant for an answer—it was for his own satisfaction. He was testing his theory, boosting his ego by proving that she, Elena, was powerless to stop him if he chose to escape. That was why Gehrman had given him the chance in the first place—because she wasn't a threat.

Heh, I really figured you two out! His smirk deepened. You can't hide it from me!

And yet... he hesitated.

Wait, why would he leave his woman alone with a famous pirate like me? A slow, creeping realization crawled up his spine. Don't tell me... is he p-planning something? Is this a test?!

The unknown was the scariest thing of all. If there was one lesson Danitz had learned over the years, it was that men like Gehrman Sparrow never did anything without a reason. If he left her here, it meant one of two things—either he was waiting for Danitz to do a mistake, or Gehrman didn't care about what happened to her. And Danitz wasn't sure which option was worse.

He swallowed hard. At least he hasn't actually hurt me... yet. He'll probably let me go once we reach Bayam... yes. That was the only reasonable outcome. His desperately latched onto that thought, hoping for the best.

Across the room, Irina pressed her lips together, trying to suppress her body's growing tremor of laughter. She forced herself to remain still, saying nothing, watching him through half-lidded eyes in an attempt to appear mysterious and composed.

... but what the hell is going on with his face?

One moment, Danitz looked confident, like a man who had everything figured out. The next, doubt flickered in his eyes. Then confidence again, as if someone had whispered who knows what praise into his ear. And then—panic. Pure, unfiltered panic.

Oh my, what I'd give to be able to read his thoughts right now!

Wait no, NO! I probably wouldn't be able to restrain myself and I'd laugh in his face!

Meanwhile, in the washroom, Klein pulled out a paper figurine, changed its appearance, and took four steps counterclockwise. He quickly arrived in the world above the grey fog.

He sat at the head of the long bronze table, retrieved his spirit pendulum, and penned a divination statement:

"There is danger dormant in Bansy Harbor."

The topaz pendant spun clockwise with a swift and high amplitude. Klein's frown deepened. There's great danger lurking in that harbour.

His fingers tapped lightly against the table. How could that be?

Bansy Harbor had been colonized for more than three hundred years. For over a century, it had stood as a major trading port, bustling with merchants and sailors. There had never been any whispers of impending catastrophe, no rumors of something lurking beneath the surface.

Could it be that several powerful pirate crews are planning an attack? No... the cannons guarding the port weren't just for decoration. Even the most daring pirate wouldn't risk a full-scale assault.

Klein performed another divination. This time, he focused on whether he would encounter any pirate-related mishaps. The result was a clear no.

Then what...?

He sat in silence for a few moments before allowing his spirituality to drag him back down through the gray fog.

Back in the real world, Klein pressed the mechanical button on the toilet, disposing of the paper figurine. He turned to the washbasin, running cool water over his hands as he quickly sorted through his thoughts.

Danger was present. That much was clear. His priority was to stay safe and, if necessary, disappear before trouble found him.

After wiping his hands dry, he stepped out into the living room of the cabin.

Danitz was still, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, shifting from foot to foot like a man uncertain whether to flee or stay. Across from him, Irina rested her chin in her palm, watching him from behind that scarf and lace with what he knew was a lazy, but amused expression.

Klein's gaze flicked to her hand, catching the faintest tremor—her fingers twitching against her cheek, her head tilting ever so slightly.

Is she... suppressing a laugh?

I haven't been gone for long.

Danitz, still clearly rattled, turned to face him with an exaggerated air of nonchalance. Klein ignored him.

"To the first-class dining room," he said.

Danitz blinked. "... alright."

He had no idea why Gehrman had suddenly changed his mind, but he wasn't about to argue.

Cleves walked alongside Donna and the others before abruptly stopping at the gangway. His gaze flicked toward the ship's upper decks.

"Head to the Green Lemon Restaurant first," he instructed. "I have business with Captain Elland. I'll join you soon."

Urdi Branch frowned but didn't question him. "Alright."

Cleves walked through the ship with an unreadable expression. Halfway across the deck, he spotted Elland, his straight sword resting at his waist.

"I'm going to visit Gehrman Sparrow," Cleves said simply, before turning toward the first-class cabins.

Elland hesitated.

There's no reason to tell me that, he thought. But after a moment, the true meaning behind Cleves's words clicked into place.

He's letting me know in case something happens to him.

If he returned unscathed, it meant his suspicions had been wrong, and there was no need to disturb Gehrman Sparrow further.

But if he didn't return...

Elland exhaled slowly, turning to his first mate. "Wait fifteen minutes."

Thump! Thump! Thump!

The rhythmic knock echoed through the cabin just as Klein, Irina, and Danitz were about to step out. Danitz, catching the subtle signal from Klein, hurried over and opened the door.

Cleves stood outside. His sharp gaze flicked over Danitz, who had once again poorly disguised himself, before shifting to Klein. "Blazing Danitz?"

At lunchtime, he had found Gehrman Sparrow and Elena Jeager's companion oddly familiar, but it hadn't clicked until Donna mentioned the name. That was when the inspiration struck him—this man bore an uncanny resemblance to the wanted posters.

Klein was about to nod when Danitz let out a laugh, raising his hands in mock innocence. "My friend, you have the wrong person. Although I may look like the famous pirate worth 3,000 pounds, I swear I'm not him. People have these misunderstandings all the time—it brings me no end of trouble."

Irina watched as Klein subtly raised a hand to his mouth, and her stomach twisted with the effort of keeping her own laughter in check. Even a Faceless can't fully suppress it! That's how pathetic you are, Danitz. Poor Klein, he really risks losing his persona over this idiot.

Her shoulders trembled slightly as she fought to contain her growing laughter, but it was becoming increasingly harder, making her eyes water. Thank the Goddess for this lace and scarf or I would've said bye-bye to my cool and refined persona!

Klein mastered his expression and replied flatly, "Yes."

Danitz sighed dramatically, stretching his neck and staring at the ceiling in utter defeat. There goes my reputation...

Irina coughed continuously—this time much louder than necessary—as she clenched her jaw. Fuck my cool persona! Why couldn't I just be myself? It's impossible NOT to laugh at this man!

Klein's lips were pressed into a thin line. Irina, please. Please compose yourself or you'll make me laugh as well!

Cleves glanced at her briefly, frowning. Is she sick? But he quickly dismissed the thought and focused on the matter at hand. He took a silent breath before asking directly, "What are the two of you planning?"

Klein tilted his chin toward Danitz. "Watching over him."

Cleves narrowed his eyes. "Watching over?"

Sir, you must learn to make inferences on your own. You can't expect me to explain everything—that doesn't fit my persona! Confronted with Cleves's doubtful expression, Klein casually added, "He boarded at Damir Harbor, and I recognized him. So, I decided to watch over him—to prevent any accidents."

Cleves studied Klein for a few long seconds before nodding. "Will you be fine? Do you need any help?"

"No," Klein replied quietly.

Cleves's gaze swept over Danitz, who looked absolutely miserable, then to Elena, who sat with a deceptive calm composure. Finally, he took a step back. "Then, I'll take my leave."

Just as he turned to go, Klein's voice rang out heavily, "Return to the ship as soon as possible. There is danger dormant in Bansy Harbor."

No shit, Sherlock. Irina groaned internally. I'd love to say this out loud, but I CAN'T! My persona—

In the Green Lemon Restaurant, Donna had just unfolded her napkin when she spotted Uncle Cleves hurrying past the window below.

At that moment, the weather in the port shifted without warning. Strong gales howled through the streets, sending trees swaying violently and debris tumbling across the cobblestones.

As expected of Bansy Harbor, the Weather Museum... Donna mused as she stared out the window, fascinated.

Then, her eyes caught something else—a man in a black cloak trudging through the storm, holding a lantern in his hand.

A sudden chill crept up her spine as the figure turned slightly, as if sensing her gaze. Slowly, he lifted his head—or at least, he should have.

Instead, where his head was supposed to be, there was only a bare, gaping neck, bright red blood spewing from it in slow, pulsing rivulets.

The figure jerked his cloak tighter around himself and continued walking.

Donna's breath hitched. Her pupils shrank. A scream crawled up her throat and she barely managed to contain it. If she hadn't seen that skeleton messenger before, she would have bolted from her seat, knocking over chairs and tables in her panic.

But she wasn't the same naive girl who had first boarded the White Agate.

Even so, her voice rose slightly as she pointed with a trembling finger. "Th-there's a zombie! A headless zombie!"

She used the most familiar term she knew to describe the horror she had just witnessed.

Cecile shot to her feet, rushing to Donna's side. She followed her gaze outside, frowning as she observed the chaotic street. The wind howled, leaves and trash flying through the air. But there wasn't a single soul in sight.

"There's nothing," Cecile said flatly.

Donna recoiled, her heart still hammering in her chest. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to look again. No, I saw it. I know I did! But the streets were empty now—only shifting shadows and battered storefronts.

"Th-there really was someone there!" she insisted, her voice rising in urgency. "H-he was wearing a black cloak, and he had no head! His neck was bleeding!"

She gestured wildly, desperate to make them believe her.

Her father, Urdi Branch, sighed as he pushed back his chair and strode to the window. After a long glance outside, he turned back to her with an exasperated expression. "Donna, you are not allowed to read 'Fonce's Horror Stories Anthology' tonight."

"B-but...!" Donna's face twisted in frustration. I know what I saw!

At that moment, Cleves arrived on the second floor. He approached the table, glancing between them. "What happened?"

"Donna says she saw a zombie—a headless zombie," Teague explained with an amused chuckle.

Cleves was silent for two seconds. Then he nodded at Donna. "It's okay. This shall pass. The wind outside is strong and dangerous. We'll leave once it calms down."

To Donna, his words meant one thing—he believed her. He was simply choosing the safest course of action.

To the others, however, it was nothing more than a clumsy way to soothe a frightened child.

Urdi still seemed unimpressed, so Cleves casually pulled out a chair and sat down. "There's a strange tradition in Bansy Harbor. When the weather turns stormy at night, people don't leave their buildings. They don't even answer knocks on the door."

Denton's eyes widened with intrigue. "If you open the door... will the zombie take you away?"

Cleves took a sip of water. "You can think of it that way."

A strange, uncomfortable silence settled over Donna. So that's how it is...

She relaxed slightly, convinced that as long as she stayed inside, she wouldn't encounter the terrifying figure again.

It was only then that she noticed the other customers had all turned to watch their conversation.

Dozens of eyes. Silent. Unblinking.

Heat rose to Donna's cheeks. She instinctively wanted to lower her head and shrink into herself. But she clenched her fists and forced herself to straighten. I didn't do anything wrong! I really saw it!

Then, her gaze swept across the room—and she froze.

The gentlemen in tailcoats, the elegantly dressed ladies... they all turned away, picking up their spoons and resuming their meals.

Scooping dark red chunks from their bowls.

Bringing them to their lips.

Their faces were pale under the glow of the chandelier.

Their mouths tinged with red.

A chill wrapped around Donna's spine.

I want to leave. Now.

At the telegraph office of Bansy Harbor, Elland and his first mate, Harris, had just finished sending their report to the Navy when they noticed the wind outside had picked up, howling through the narrow streets. Doors and windows rattled in protest, as if trying to resist an unseen force.

"The weather here is always so unstable," Elland muttered, adjusting his boat-shaped hat with a resigned sigh.

Harris let out a chuckle. "Otherwise, how could they call themselves the 'Weather Museum'?"

"It's best if you don't head out." The telegraph office's staff, a young woman with curly brown hair, spoke in a slow, almost lethargic tone. "Legends say you'll lose your head because of that."

Harris snorted, waving off the warning. "I've tried a few times, nothing happened." He pushed the door open, only to be met with a forceful gust of wind that nearly knocked him back.

Elland grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. "What about the cathedral next door? Your office is closing, right?"

"No problem." The woman remained as unbothered as ever.

Elland nodded and stepped outside, trudging toward the Storm cathedral just a few dozen meters away. The wind fought against them, strong enough to sweep away a child. Harris, gripping his hat, struggled to keep up.

When he attempted to speak, the gales stuffed his words back down his throat, leaving him choking on nothing. He wisely shut his mouth after that.

Despite the evening hour, the main doors of the cathedral were still open. The moment they stepped inside, the wind lost its strength, as though afraid of intruding on the holy ground. Relief washed over them as they walked down the dimly lit aisle toward the altar, where a man in dark blue priest robes sat motionless in the front pew.

The flickering candlelight cast deep shadows over his form, his head tilted slightly downward as if in deeply observing the massive Storm Sacred Emblem above the altar. An amalgamation of wind, waves, and lightning symbols.

Elland smiled, stepping forward and clapping the man's shoulder. "Jayce, where's your bishop?"

The priest's head wobbled.

Then, with a sickening thud, it fell forward and hit the floor, rolling once, twice, before coming to a stop.

Blood gushed from the severed neck in a grotesque fountain, splattering across the pews, soaking into the hard wooden floor.

Elland stood frozen, heart hammering against his ribs, breath stuck in his throat. A cold, damp sensation spread over his face—warm, thick, smelling metallic. His vision blurred into a world of red.

The priest's head stared up at him, eyes glassy, mouth slightly parted as if trying to speak one last word.