Ashes Of Deep Sea

Duncan felt that he would probably never forget this sight—a gorgeously adorned coffin bobbing on the waves of the dangerous Endless Sea, with a Gothic automaton standing within, its arms wrapped around a massive coffin board, swiftly riding the wind and waves toward him…

And it didn’t seem very happy about it.

No matter how you looked at it, the scene was too eerie and bizarre, so much so that for a moment, Duncan didn’t know whether to be more surprised that the cursed doll was indeed moving on its own, or to be astonished by her demeanor, swinging the coffin board with such a forceful presence. He just felt the whole thing was contrary to his initial imaginings—he had pictured several times how she might return to the ship, but he had decidedly not anticipated… this scenario.

And in the brief moment that Duncan stood there, spellbound, the automaton had already approached the stern of the Homeloss.

Despite using a coffin board as a tool, her speed in the water was astoundingly fast, coupled with a strange agility and strength. Duncan cautiously poked his head out of the observation port and saw the automaton toss the coffin board back into the coffin, then swiftly reach out and grab a piece of protruding wood at the stern, and start climbing rapidly upward—as though invisible ropes were pulling her—and meanwhile, the heavy wooden trunk eerily lifted straight out of the sea and hovered beside the doll, as if it had lost its weight.

Duncan quickly drew his head back before the automaton noticed him.

Apparently unaware that the captain of the Ghost Ship had been stealthily observing her, the automaton clambered up the towering stern of the Homeloss in the blink of an eye and flipped onto the deck. She then waved her finger in the air, causing the floating coffin to land steadily at her feet. Afterward, she looked around, observing the situation on the deck, and once she confirmed there was no one around, she quickly straightened out her somewhat damp gown and began to crawl into the coffin with hands and feet.

Midway through, she was blocked by a pirate sword that suddenly appeared beside her—followed by the clicking sound of a flintlock pistol’s hammer being cocked, that reached her ears.

The automaton’s movements stiffened instantly. She tried to turn her head and saw a ghost captain wrapped in green flames standing coldly beside her, watching her with an icy and profound voice that seemed to come from the depths of the Spirit Realm, “Oh, I’ve caught you, automaton.”

In front of Duncan’s eyes, the automaton visibly trembled. She appeared startled and instinctively tried to move to the side, but in her haste, her movement went awry. Her upper body swayed, and Duncan heard a crisp “click” from her shoulder and neck area.

Then her head fell off…

Right before Duncan’s eyes, a beautiful head tumbled from the doll’s body, her silvery locks spreading out in the sea breeze, entwining around the head as it rolled to his feet—while the doll’s body still maintained the posture of preparing to flee next to the coffin, one hand aimlessly clutching at the air, the head helplessly staring at Duncan, mouth opening and closing: “Help… help… help…”

To say that Duncan’s heart stopped at that moment wouldn’t be an exaggeration—though he doubted whether his heart even still existed while being burned by ghostly flames, the sight of the automaton’s head dropping was still a tangible shock to him. However, the fierce ghostly flames masked his horrified expression, and in his astonishment, his moment of hesitation was mistaken by the automaton as a form of indifferent treatment, so much so that Miss Automaton didn’t realize that the fearsome Captain Duncan seemed even more nervous than she was, just kept repeating, “Help… help… my head… fell off…”

Duncan finally came to his senses. He calmed the small heart that existed only in his imagination, trying his best to control his actions and voice, observing the automaton with the greatest calmness and composure, determining that this “cursed automaton,” though possessed of various strange aspects, seemed to be more afraid of himself, the “Ghost Ship Captain,” than her own eerie nature.

With this fact clear, Duncan realized he must maintain his composure.

He didn’t understand this world, nor did he understand this cursed automaton, and before he could fully control the situation, his identity as the “terrible Captain Duncan” was the greatest assurance for safety.

On the other hand, he couldn’t just ignore the automaton before him—though the turn of events had not quite matched his initial expectation, the result was that this doll could, after all, communicate with him.

He put away the flintlock pistol and kept holding the sword in his other hand—in close quarters, the single-shot flintlock was a less reliable option than a sword, all the more because his hurriedly practiced marksmanship was far from making him a proficient gunman. Then with his free hand, he picked up the doll’s head that lay on the ground.

The sensation was exceedingly odd. Although he knew she was merely a cursed doll, the feeling of picking up a “head” still made Duncan’s insides squirm, and the slight warmth emanating from the head nearly provoked him to throw it away.

It was all too bizarre and ominous.

But ultimately, he suppressed those unusual feelings that welled up within him, and looked calmly into the head’s eyes, “Do you need me to help you put it back?”

“On… own… own…”

“Alright, you do it yourself.” Duncan nodded, casually handing the head to the doll’s hands flailing in midair.

Then he saw those hands skillfully and dexterously catch her own head, quickly tidying the slightly disheveled silver hair, and adjusting the angle before placing the head back onto the neck—with a crisp “click,” the ball-and-socket joint perfectly aligned.

The entire process was as smooth as drifting clouds and flowing water, clearly not the first time for such a feat.

Immediately following, the somewhat stiff face of the puppet became lively, she blinked her eyes and breathed out, “Hoo… I’m alive.”

Duncan: “…”

No matter how he looked at it, he felt he should make a comment, but considering his persona as “Captain Duncan” and the unclear specifics of the situation with this puppet, he ultimately just nodded to the puppet expressionlessly, “Good, now come with me—you’ve come aboard my ship several times, and we need to talk.”

While speaking, he dissipated the ghostly flames that were coiled around him, returning to his initial appearance.

Voluntarily transforming into “Spectral Form” was a power he’d mastered after taking hold of the wheel of the Homeloss, but since this was something he’d come into contact with suddenly, he was far from proficient at it, not to mention leveraging this power, aside from using it to steer the ship he didn’t even know what else it was capable of—the outburst earlier was simply to create a strong image in front of the eerie cursed puppet and to bolster his own bravado.

Now that the image had been established and the puppet was cooperating, there was no need to maintain the flame at the expense of his energy.

The obedient cursed puppet stood up from beside the coffin, and then with surprise, she witnessed Duncan reverting to his human form, her eyes wide, “You… You’re not a ghost?”

Duncan glanced at her indifferently, “When necessary, I can be.”

The puppet lifted a hand and steadied her head, a look of awe in her eyes.

Duncan wasn’t sure what she was awed by, but it was apparent her head still wasn’t quite secure—it had likely nearly fallen off again from the fright.

He turned and walked towards the captain’s quarters, and through his real-time connection with the Homeloss, he could sense that the puppet had hesitated for a second or two before obediently following him.

As expected, the ornate and bizarre “coffin” floated closely behind the puppet, as if she had to take it with her wherever she went.

Moments later, Duncan led the cursed puppet into the captain’s quarters.

Under the haunting gaze of the wooden goat head, the Ghost Ship captain and cursed puppet sat opposite each other at the navigation table, Duncan seated in his dark back chair, while the puppet miss sat elegantly and demurely on the wooden box that resembled a coffin as her seat.

She was indeed elegant and demure; when she sat down, remained silent, her silver hair spread out, dressed in a gothic-style long dress atop the wooden box, she looked as dignified and beautiful as an artwork that belonged in a palace, surrounded by guards.

Unfortunately for Duncan, the mere sight of her reminded him of her surfing the waves and the process of splitting up…

He sighed, resumed his indifferent and authoritative manner, and stared into the doll miss’s eyes, “Name?”

“Alice.”

“Species?”

“Puppet.”

“Occupation?”

“Puppet… why do you ask these questions?”

Duncan thought for a moment, “To get a basic understanding.”