Chapter 623: Hanter Island

Ludwig, who was eating grilled lamb chops, glanced at the ancient notebook and the slip of paper inscribed with "Love Spell" and said:

"I can only tell you the paper's age, raw materials, and manufacturing process."

I can't extract the knowledge or hidden content written on it.

"Alright." Lumian retracted his hand without much disappointment.

He had merely asked out of curiosity—nothing lost, nothing gained.

With no further gains, he sat in the armchair, basking in the still-bright sunlight, and flipped through the ancient notebook filled with tales of devils.

This notebook was written entirely in Highland tongue; otherwise, someone like Flores, who had only attended elementary grammar school, couldn't have read it.

Lumian read it like a novel, thoroughly engrossed, discovering that some legends were even more thrilling and chilling than popular horror fiction.

Occasionally, a few incantations appeared—some obviously fabricated by complete novices and revised multiple times, others subtly sinister, resembling "Naporedisli" in tone; Lumian dared not speak them aloud, only murmuring them silently in his mind.

The first day of the "Berry's" voyage passed in such calm.

In the deep night, Lumian dreamed of lush, sensual scenes, woven into vivid, blush-inducing stories that gradually pushed his emotions to their peak.

At that moment, Lumian woke up; sunlight seeped through the curtains, bringing a faint glow.

It was six in the morning.

Lumian lay in bed, feeling strangely hollow.

Lacking the ascetic's restraint, the dream's scenes felt unusually compelling.

"Heh…" Lumian exhaled, self-deprecatingly smiling, "I've almost forgotten this isn't a blessing—it's a curse."

The fact that he returned to his body's state right after sealing Thelmipolos every morning at six was, for him, mostly linked to phrases like "unafraid of serious injury," "unconcerned with exhaustion," and "self-healing"—all good things.

Though each reset inevitably brought back memories of the disaster in Keldu Village and his sister Aurora, the pain had been unbearable only during the initial psychological sessions; later, it gradually numbed and adapted, leaving only occasional dull aches and emptiness.

Lumian rolled out of bed and pulled back the curtains, seeing the blue sea in two utterly different states:

To the right, the ocean stretched boundlessly, where a crimson sun had just breached the horizon; to the left, fog swirled and waves churned, obscuring anything beyond a hundred meters.

Leaving the master bedroom, Lumian found Lu Jianuo awake far earlier than usual, gazing out at the sea.

"In good spirits, huh?" Lumian said with a teasing tone.

Lu Jianuo smiled awkwardly:

"First time on the Storm Sea—excited, woke up early."

He added quickly:

"Besides, to be a good translator for you, I need to master Dutan as soon as possible."

On the room's coffee table lay the large stack of Dutan language books Lumian had bought in Kolia Port—Kolia, as one of the main southern trade hubs, had created a trend of Dutan learning; citizens needed it practically, so there were all kinds of beginner-friendly textbooks and private Dutan tutors. Lumian easily acquired two complete sets covering beginner, intermediate, and advanced levels with accompanying exercises—nothing like in Sangta Port, where he'd struggled desperately to get a few barely usable books.

Lumian clapped twice lightly:

"Good."

Lu Jianuo then pointed to the foggy, turbulent half of the ocean:

"Last night, I heard the sailors say many ships once tried exploring that direction but never returned; sometimes, people still see one of those ships silently gliding past at night—no lights, no people on deck.

"They say this is the Storm Sea: only sail the safe routes; never attempt unknown paths, as they almost always mean unknown, unstoppable dangers.

"Look, over there the sun rises, the sea is calm—but if you stray from the safe route into that sea, the next second you might face a hurricane, be struck by a lightning storm, or even be melted and evaporated by the sun. Heh, that's what the sailors say—I'm not sure if it's true."

Lumian nodded:

"Collect more rumors like this."

Lu Jianuo's face brightened at his employer's approval—he felt he'd found his direction.

The voyage across the Storm Sea proceeded smoothly; neither Lumian nor Ludwig nor Lu Jianuo attracted any trouble.

They occasionally witnessed storms capable of destroying cities, saw lightning displays resembling forests, and once found an entire sea devoid of fish—dead silent as the legendary Underworld.

Thanks to the experienced captain, first mate, and crew, the "Berry" navigated these zones along the safe route.

Several days later, the ocean-going steamship reached the transit port of Hanter Island, where it stopped for two days to take on coal and water, clean the machinery, and restock on pale ale and various foods.

"This island doesn't seem to have any special products," Lu Jianuo said, recalling passenger and sailor tales while holding the Kolia Port travel guide. "But its geography is excellent, with a natural deep-water harbor—it's one of Fenn Bote Kingdom's primary transit ports."

Special products? Are devils considered one? Lumian muttered inwardly, then pulled out two Jin Lisuo and spun them lightly in his hand:

"I'll go try the local homebrew."

He headed straight for the largest bar on the port and ordered a glass of the local red wine, "Paha"—a deep pomegranate color, thick and rich.

Soon, Lumian struck up conversation with a few patrons near the bar, deliberately addressing the one with the local accent:

"I met a nice girl."

He winked, grinning suggestively:

"I'm taking her on a date later—on a quiet night. Can you tell me a few local horror stories? Not necessarily popular ones—just terrifying, with specific locations. Like, what terrifying thing happened in some abandoned house on a certain street? Heh, I'll take her there on our date."

The local man, his beard damp with beer, set down his oak beer mug and laughed heartily:

"That's low, but I like you!

"For men, courting women is war—anything goes to win!"

The local man thought a moment:

"Take her to the edge of the forest outside town—you know, forests at night are always frightening. And Hanter Island's forest hides a devil—maybe more than one.

"Since I can remember, priests have warned everyone: don't go deep into that forest, don't even think of cutting timber in the island's center—it hides many dangers.

"What dangers? The priests never said, but someone always told me who saw a devil with goat horns and a stench of sulfur in the forest.

"Those who saw the devil firsthand supposedly died—no one knows why.

"How's that? No woman fears devils—no, my wife doesn't. She's more terrifying than any devil!"

Had the devil legends of Hanter Island evolved this far? It was somewhat like the ghost tales of Monsury—but encountering Monsury's ghosts might kill your whole family; Hanter's didn't have that clear trait… Lumian raised his glass of red wine, toasted the local man, then said:

"I may be good-looking, but I doubt any girl would agree to a first date in the forest edge at night—even if she's not afraid I'll try something, she'd worry I'm a serial killer targeting young women. Any legends about serial killers? Preferably ones that happened in town."

According to Aurora's witch notes and intelligence gathered over the past few months, Lumian knew that the "Devil" Path's Sequence 9 was "Criminal," Sequence 8 was "Cold-Blooded," and Sequence 7 was "Serial Killer."

The term "Serial Killer" clearly implied that the corresponding transcendent, whether consciously practicing the "Performance Method" or not, would inevitably carry out or be drawn into a series of murders.

Although the devil of Hanter Island was clearly far beyond Sequence 7, long past the "Serial Killer" stage, if it hadn't been born a high-tier being but had ascended step by step, it might once have, consciously or unconsciously, played the role of "Serial Killer"—could it have retained corresponding preferences?

Whether human or a sentient being, once a desire is indulged and not deliberately suppressed or controlled, the preference remains.

If humans occasionally enjoy a drink, perhaps devils occasionally kill a few people—complete one serial killing.

Also, if Naporedisli's request wasn't a fabricated lie to secure a verbal agreement, then the Hanter Island devil—or its descendant—must be hiding among humans.

The local man with beer-damp beard thought a while:

"No serial killers here. In a small place like ours, if murders happened in succession, the whole town would know."

He paused, then added:

"What about people who vanish every year in the forest outside town?"

…………

In Trier, Furanca, Jianna, and Anthony had gathered sufficient intelligence on Minister Moran Avini of the current government's Ministry of Industry.

This included a color photograph.

In the photo, Moran Avini had the dashing, charismatic look typical of Intisians; though aged, he carried even more charm.

He was nearly sixty, his black hair now streaked with gray, his features well-proportioned, his eyes a deep gray, his nasolabial folds pronounced.

"Deep gray eyes are rare in Intis…" Furanca murmured.

Mid-sentence, she fell silent.

She remembered another person with deep gray eyes, also from Intis:

"Black Witch" Clarice.

(End of Chapter)