The brilliant sunshine outside the cabin slightly dispelled the gloom in Nikita's heart.
On the deck, Harry, dressed in beach shorts, was furling the sails; the golden-haired youth helped him pull the ropes, while the burly man was once again hanging from the mast.
“The Captain said he’s going north,” the Demoness called out to the two busy men.
“Got it!” Harry pointed to the green wind lamp at the stern of the ship. Nikita remembered that when she boarded the ship earlier, this wind lamp was still shining brightly, but now its light had extinguished.
“Did the Captain send you to relay a message because he agreed to let you on board?” The golden-haired youth, pulling on a thick rope, swung in front of the Demoness, his blood-red eyes narrowed, his tone somewhat malicious.
Nikita watched him cautiously, saying nothing.
“My name is Ryan, the boatswain,” the golden-haired youth said, pointing to his nose, threatening, “Since you’re on board, you have to follow my orders.”
“You’re the boatswain? Then I’m the First Mate!” Harry, standing on the mast above, shouted angrily, “Who’s ever seen a boatswain who can’t even catch a fish!”
“Besides, beauties don’t need to obey anyone’s orders.” Turning his head, Harry’s face was beaming with joy as he diligently moved his lounge chair for the Demoness: “Beauties just need to lie here and enjoy the scenery.”
Ryan snorted derisively, pulled out the “Ms. Duoduo” from Harry’s back pocket, and sneered.
Nikita did not sit down.
She looked at the two clowns in front of her and suddenly lost a bit of faith in this legendary Black Ship.
“How many crew members are there on board?” She interrupted the two who were tearing at each other and asked.
“Including these two brats, there are a total of one hundred and thirteen Advanced crew members of the True Demon level and above, not including expendable items like deep-sea war beasts, elf servants, Alchemy Puppets, and fast-growing Wild Demon legions,” a gloomy voice answered gruffly from behind her.
Nikita was startled. She quickly turned around and saw a one-legged, limping old man, holding an extinguished gas lamp, standing behind her.
Anyone who could appear silently behind her would at least be a Great Demon.
Nikita respectfully lowered her head.
“Harry, have you finished furling your sails? And Ryan! If any more ropes complain to me that you’re swinging them around, I’ll hang you upside down under Arnold’s butt!” The one-legged old man pointed at the burly man hanging from the mast and roared fiercely at the golden-haired youth.
Nikita saw several grayish-white ropes coiled around the old man’s shoulders, their ends swaying weakly.
Harry and Ryan vanished quickly from the old man’s sight without a word.
“As for you, pretty little one, what do you think you can do?” The old man turned his face, revealing two dark, hollow eye sockets. Two points of dark red light flickered within the sockets as he scrutinized the Demoness before him.
“I can cook,” Nikita answered quickly.
“Then go ahead! The ship does need a cook,” the old man grunted muffledly, stomped his foot, and vanished from the deck.
The Demoness opened her handbag, took stock of her provisions, and sighed.
She looked up. Harry was standing on the highest yardarm, gazing into the distance; his pink top, in the afterglow of the setting sun, seemed like a melting candle, appearing somewhat blurred and deformed. The golden-haired Ryan was by the ship’s rail, directing ropes to be neatly coiled and rolled into the dry cabin; beside him, several dark-skinned, white-eyed elves were dragging wooden brushes and water basins, vigorously scrubbing the deck.
“Where’s the kitchen?” the Demoness called out to Ryan.
“In the cabin, you can find it by following the scent of blood.”
“Why is he still hanging up there?” The Demoness pointed to the burly man hanging from the mast: “Does he need food?”
“You don’t have to give him any,” Ryan chewed on his cigarette, not turning his head: “He’s being punished; according to the ship’s rules, he needs to hang for a month. Originally, his time would have been up after sunset today, but he broke the rules when you arrived just now, so now he needs to hang for an extra week.”
“What are we going north for?” The Demoness felt her heart full of questions.
“If you respectfully call me ‘Senior,’ then I might consider mercifully telling you.” Ryan finally turned his head, looking indignantly at the Demoness: “All the crew members before you started by scrubbing the deck, but you get to go straight to the kitchen! I originally thought the relationship between Demons would be simpler and more equal!”
The Demoness tilted her head, looked at this inexplicable young man, blinked, and finally went into the cabin to search for the kitchen.
For Wild Demons, blood food is an unparalleled delicacy; without the stimulation of blood in their meals, it is like Mortal food without salt, bland and tasteless. And for Advanced Demons, the demands are naturally higher.
Nikita saying she was good at cooking was not an exaggeration. In her muddled childhood, she already knew how to simply process the food she obtained from the Silent Forest. From the very first day she was taken in by her teacher, when Sir Ulrich discovered her outstanding talent, she had always been responsible for feeding her teacher and that group of Senior Brothers, sisters, and disciples, ranging from Wild Demons to Great Demons.
So she could easily take out her teacher’s treasured aged wine from her handbag, and also find a large number of suitable seasonings from it.
Since it was for afternoon tea, there naturally wouldn’t be too much. The Demoness finished preparing everything in just a short while.
Everyone had a small pastry and a drink. The pastry was a piece of hind leg meat drizzled with a layer of yellow sauce, the meat somewhat smoked black, its material unclear, placed on a thin layer of red jelly-like substance, all on a wooden plate. The drink, however, looked very appetizing, green and very much like the qing feng'er that Wizards drank.
Demon food is all blood food. As a Witch Demoness who retained much aesthetic ability, Nikita could not tolerate the crude aesthetic sense of Demons. Regrettably, in the Mist’s kitchen, she despairingly found that all the kitchen utensils consisted of only one knife, one chopping board, and one pot.
“We need to stock up on more ingredients, and also proper kitchen utensils,” Nikita suggested when delivering afternoon tea to the Captain’s room.
The Captain pursed his lips but did not object.
On the deck, the two hardworking crew members had already made preparations for departure. The heavy anchor, which had sunk deep into the sea, had been raised, and the sails on the mast had been furled, rolled up, and hung neatly there.
“Well done, just the number of servings is wrong,” the one-legged old boatswain said, glaring with his hollow black eyes, and nodded.
Nikita frowned and recounted her pastries. One hundred and thirteen servings, no mistake. She looked up, bewildered, at the old boatswain.
“There are indeed one hundred and thirteen Advanced crew members registered on the ship, but that doesn’t mean they are all on board now,” Harry explained, his mouth full of pastries, in a muffled voice: “Most of them have gone to the New World. Right now, there are only six people on the ship in total.”
The Captain, the old boatswain, Harry in his flowered shorts, the golden-haired youth Ryan, the burly Arnold, and herself!
Nikita supported her somewhat dizzy head; the legendary Black Ship that once roamed the seas had completely sunk in her heart.
