Kapitel 11: Chapter 11 Alice

Redakteur: Nyoi-Bo Studio

Duncan felt he would never forget this scene in his lifetime—on the perilously strange Endless Sea, a splendid coffin bobbed with the waves, and a gothic automaton, driven by mysterious forces, stood within it, her hands clutching a massive coffin lid, riding the winds and breaking the waves…

And she seemed not very pleased.

However you looked at it, this scene was exceedingly sinister, so much so that for a moment, Duncan didn't know whether to be more astonished that the cursed doll was actually moving or to be shocked by her sweeping momentum with the coffin lid; he only felt that this scene grossly contradicted his initial imagination—he had imagined several times how she would return to the ship, but never like this…

While Duncan was still stunned, the automaton had already reached the stern of the Homeloss.

Despite using a coffin lid as her tool, her speed in the water was astonishingly fast, and she moved with unusual dexterity and strength. Duncan cautiously peeked out from the observation port and saw the automaton toss the coffin lid back into the coffin, then immediately grabbed a protruding piece of wood at the stern and began to climb rapidly—it was as if invisible ropes were pulling her upward, and that seemingly heavy wooden box bizarrely floated straight up from the sea, hovering beside the automaton.

Duncan quickly withdrew his head before the automaton noticed him.

However, the automaton apparently didn't realize that the captain of this Ghost Ship had been secretly observing her; in almost the blink of an eye, she climbed onto the towering stern of the Homeloss, flipped onto the deck, then waved a finger in midair causing the floating coffin to land securely at her feet. Then, she looked around, seemingly scoping out the situation on the deck. After confirming no one else was around, she quickly tidied her slightly dampened dress and then began to climb back into the coffin with her hands and feet.

Halfway through, a pirate sword suddenly emerged to her side—followed by the click sound of a flintlock pistol hammer being cocked.

The automaton's movements froze instantly; she tried to turn her head only to see a spectral captain wrapped in green flames standing beside her, watching her coldly with a voice that seemed to echo from the depths of the Spirit Realm, "Oh, I caught you, automaton."

In front of Duncan, the automaton visibly shuddered; she seemed frightened, instinctively trying to dodge to the side, but in her haste, her upper body swayed, and Duncan heard a crisp "click" from her shoulder and neck area.

Then her head fell off…

Right in front of Duncan, a beautiful head fell from the automaton's body, her silver hair unfurling in the sea breeze, entwining around the head as it rolled to his feet—the automaton's body still maintaining a pose as if ready to flee beside the coffin, with one hand aimlessly grasping in midair, while the head helplessly stared at Duncan, its mouth moving: "Help… help… help…"

It wasn't an exaggeration to say that at that moment, Duncan's heart stopped—although he had his doubts whether his heart still existed while being burned by the ghostly flames, watching the automaton's head fall was still a genuinely shocking experience. However, the roaring spectral flames masked his terrified face, and his brief hesitation under shock was interpreted by the automaton as some sort of apathy, unaware that this terrifying Captain Duncan seemed even more nervous than she was, as she merely kept repeating, "Help… help… head… fallen…"

Finally snapping back to reality, Duncan soothed his heart, which existed only in his imagination at that moment, and controlled his actions and voice as best he could, trying to maintain maximum calmness and observation of the automaton. He confirmed that this "cursed automaton," despite its various eerie characteristics, seemed more afraid of him, the "ghostly captain," than of her inherently strange nature.

With this fact clear in an instant, Duncan realized he had to keep his composure.

He was still unfamiliar with this world and even more so with this cursed automaton and, until he could fully control the situation, the identity of "terrifying Captain Duncan" was his greatest assurance of safety.

On another note, he couldn't just ignore this automaton—although the circumstances deviated from his initial expectations, the results suggested that the automaton could eventually communicate with him.

He put away his flintlock pistol and continued to hold the sword in his other hand—close up, the flintlock, with only one shot opportunity, was obviously less reliable than a blade, especially since his hastily practiced shooting skills were far from making him a skilled marksman. He then reached with his free hand and picked up the automaton's head that had fallen to the ground.

It felt incredibly strange; although he knew she was just a cursed automaton, the sensation of picking up a "head" still unsettled Duncan, and the slight warmth emanating from the head nearly drove him to throw it away.

It was too sinister and bizarre.

But he eventually managed to suppress those eerie feelings rising from within him, and met the head's gaze calmly, "Shall I help you put it back?"

"On... on... on…"

"Alright, you do it yourself," Duncan nodded, and casually handed the head back to the automaton's hands that were frantically grasping midair.

He then watched those hands skillfully and dexterously catch her own head, quickly tidy her somewhat disheveled silver hair, and adjust the angle before placing the head back on her neck—with a crisp "click", the ball joint seamlessly aligned.

The entire process was smooth and practiced, evidently not his first time doing such a thing.

Then the somewhat stiff face of the doll quickly became animated, she blinked and took a deep breath, "Phew... I'm alive."

Duncan, "..."

From every perspective, he felt he should say something, but considering his own persona as "Captain Duncan" and the unclear details of the doll before him, he eventually just nodded expressionlessly at the doll, "Very good, now come with me—you've come to my ship several times, we need to talk."

As he spoke, he dispelled the ghostly flames that were coiling around his body, returning to his original form.

He had voluntarily transformed into a "Spectral Form," a power he had mastered since gripping the helm of the Homeloss, but it was still something he had hastily come to grips with. He was far from proficient and couldn't much talk of "using" these powers, beyond steering the ship he didn't even know what else this thing could do—just now, it was only to create a strong image in front of the eerie cursed doll and to bolster his own courage.

Now that the image was established and the doll was cooperative, there was no need to maintain the flames and drain his energy.

Obediently, the cursed doll stood up from beside the coffin and was then shocked to see Duncan reverting to his human form. She stared, dumbfounded, "You... you're not a ghost?"

Duncan looked at her indifferently, "When necessary, I can be."

The doll lifted a hand to support her head, her gaze seemingly filled with some respect.

Duncan didn't know what she was in awe of, but it was clear her head was still not very secure—it might have nearly fallen off again due to fright.

He turned and headed toward the captain's quarters, and through real-time contact with the Homeloss, he could feel that after hesitating for a second or two, the doll also obediently followed him.

As expected, that grand yet bizarre "spirit coffin" closely floated behind the doll, seemingly accompanying her wherever she went.

Moments later, Duncan led the cursed doll into the captain's quarters.

Under the solemn gaze of the wooden carved goat's head, the ghost ship captain and the cursed doll sat opposite each other at the navigation table, Duncan in his dark, high-backed chair, and the doll, taking the coffin-like wooden box as her chair, elegantly and gracefully seated atop it.

She was indeed elegant and graceful, quietly sitting down with her silver hair draped and dressed in a Gothic long dress atop the wooden box, she looked dignified and beautiful as if she was an artwork meant to be in a palace, guarded by soldiers.

Unfortunately, every time Duncan saw her, he recalled the recent scene of her riding the storm as well as the process of splitting up...

He sighed, reassuming his detached and commanding demeanor, looking into the doll's eyes, "Name?"

"Alice."

"Species?"

"Doll."

"Occupation?"

"Doll... Why do you ask these questions?"

Duncan thought for a moment, "Just making some basic inquiries."

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