Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 208

Chapter 208: Ash Sea And Magic Pollution!
Princess Ariel had been entranced by the earrings, their delicate forms shimmering and dancing like flames. After a long moment of admiration, she was jolted back to reality.

As she opened her mouth to speak, a sudden wave of drowsiness overtook her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and the world around her began to blur into darkness.

“This…” she murmured, just before succumbing to a deep slumber.

Ryan, who had been observing the scene, watched in stunned silence as Princess Ariel collapsed into the icy embrace of a coffin that seemed sculpted from frost itself. With quick steps, he approached and hovered his hand near her nose, relieved to feel the faint stir of breath.

“She’s breathing… she’s just fainted,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, after all, the Water Drop Princess had just roused from a lengthy slumber, her emotions swinging wildly from elation to despair. Such intense swings could easily overwhelm anyone.

Ryan sighed, his thoughts turning unexpectedly pragmatic. “But what about my compensation?” he wondered aloud, ruffling his hair in frustration.

He settled down cross-legged beside the ice coffin, his mind racing with scenarios. If something happened to the princess during her unconscious state, could he lose his reward? Determined not to take that risk, he decided to wait for her awakening.

The sound of light footsteps interrupted his brooding. He turned to see a figure approaching, a young woman who took a seat beside him.

“Milanla, is this your sister?” Ryan asked, eyeing the newcomer cautiously.

“Yes,” she replied softly, a solemn tone to her voice. “You’ve come to learn quite a bit already, so there’s no point in secrets now.”

She paused, her expression hardening slightly. “I am the Ice Witch, Shelia.”

“My sister and I are both from the Witch Club, but she was the former head at the Outlying Island branch. I came from Starry Island after hearing of her troubles.”

Ryan’s gaze sharpened. This was a revelation. The Fire Witch, Milanla, had been the previous leader? His mind flickered back to a conversation with the Fantasy Beast Witch about the recent, mysterious turnover at their branch…

“And Starry Island?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Starry Island is the headquarters of our Witch Society,” Shelia explained, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if she were sharing a sacred secret. “We were fortunate to be taken there as children. It was a place of peace, no pursuit, no persecution.”

She looked away, her eyes clouded with nostalgia. “My sister completed her training and was sent on a mission while I stayed behind to continue my studies. Time flew by, and in a mere three years, I had finished a curriculum meant for six.”

“But before I could graduate, I received the dire news of her disappearance.”

Arriving at the Outlying Island, Shelia discovered her sister dramatically changed, no longer the person she once knew.

“As I pieced together the past, I learned that my sister had met Ariel shortly after her arrival. Their bond grew over time, aiding in smoothly laying out our branch’s intelligence operations.”

“After more than two years, they planned a journey overseas,” Shelia continued, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and sorrow.

“They were drawn by an ancient map belonging to the royal house of Saint Toth, leading to a temple in the depths of the Ash Sea, a relic from the age of gods, hiding secrets of the ‘Stairway to the Gods.'”

At that moment, Shelia elaborated on the incredible prowess her sister and Princess Waterdrop held as fourth-order extraordinary professionals, teetering on the brink of ascending to legendary status.

“Reaching legend,” Shelia paused, her voice tinged with reverence and wistfulness, “is the lifelong dream of countless professionals. Yet, among ten thousand, few ever cross that elusive threshold.”

“For a witch, legend is but a distant, often unattainable dream,” she continued, her tone growing somber.

“The pollution that entwines both body and mind stifles even the faintest hopes of achieving such heights.”

Ryan, listening intently, furrowed his brow at her words. “Wait!” he interjected suddenly, his mind racing with confusion. “Witch, pollution, what are you talking about?”

The term ‘pollution’ conjured up vivid images of Freni, a past encounter where she had unleashed her full strength, her body marred by dark blue lines that seemed indelible. A wave of unspoken emotions surged within him.

“You don’t know?” Shelia looked back at him with a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Purple Wind, your aura carries the mark of the Blood Witch, Meloye, and another witch I’ve yet to meet. With such strong magical signatures, how have you missed the lore of ‘pollution’?”

Her probing left Ryan feeling a blend of embarrassment and guilt. Since his arrival in this timeline, he’d been caught in a relentless cycle of evading the Augustus Kingdom by day and wandering by night, neglecting to delve deeper into such crucial details. “Sorry,” he murmured, his apology floating in the air, meant for no one and everyone.

He averted his eyes, unable to meet Shelia’s gaze directly. “Please, explain what this ‘pollution’ is.”

Shelia sighed gently, realizing the gaps in his knowledge. “You’ve encountered magic, correct?”

Ryan nodded, recalling the potent forces he’d witnessed in Freni, the Blood Witch Selina, and now Shelia. Magic was a formidable and versatile force, far surpassing the constrained energies of spirituality, which relied heavily on professional skills and arcane techniques.

“Magic,” Shelia continued, “is a primal force, capable of reaching the ‘root’ a power even the gods covet.”

“And with such immense potential comes a price. Every use of magic deposits ‘pollution’ within the witch’s mortal body. This corruption is relentless; it permeates a witch’s very essence, slowly tainting both body and soul, unavoidable, irrepressible.”

She looked away, her expression darkening. “While magic grants witches unparalleled strength compared to their peers, reaching the fourth level is often their zenith.”

According to our lore,” Shelia’s voice dropped to a whisper, “no witch has truly broken through to legendary status since the Golden Age. If such a being existed, would the nations of this continent dare to hunt her?”

Ryan’s lips tightened as he processed her words. The enigma of why witches, despite their formidable powers, were forced to skulk in shadows like outcasts, now unraveled before him. It was not just their power but their potential vulnerability at the pinnacle of their strength that marked them.

“But why do the countries hunt witches so relentlessly?” Ryan asked, the confusion apparent in his voice. “Even if they surpass professionals of the same level, is such persecution justified?”

Shelia met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a history of pain and persecution, preparing to unravel yet another layer of their fraught existence.

Despite his indomitable spirit, Ryan found himself grappling with the notion that witches, historically seen as adversaries, could potentially be invaluable allies to the nations. To him, waging relentless wars against such powerful beings seemed counterproductive, an act of inflicting damage upon the enemy at great personal cost, often described as “hurting the enemy by a thousand and oneself by eight hundred.”

“Of course, there’s a reason for this stance,” Shelia responded, her voice soft yet tinged with a resigned wisdom as she lowered her eyelids in reflection. “Since the Golden Age, no legendary witches have emerged, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t exist in the God Age, before the Golden Age.”

“In those ancient times, even when gods roamed the earth, the legendary witches were luminous figures, impossible to overlook.”

She paused, her gaze distant as she continued, “At the end of the Age of Gods, as the divine beings vanished, these witches stood as the mightiest entities in the world.”

“It’s said that at the dawn of the Golden Age, these witches convened and executed a deed so monumental that history itself seems to have erased every record of it. Since that erased event, the witch hunts across the continent have been relentless.”

As Shelia spoke, Ryan could sense the layers of unresolved feelings she harbored, from anger and unwillingness to a somber acceptance.

“I see…” Ryan sighed, pondering the heavy legacy borne by the witches due to their forebears’ actions, while also wrestling with his thoughts on Freni’s affliction with ‘pollution.’

After a brief silence, Shelia recalled their earlier conversation. “Where were we? Ah, yes… My sister and Princess Ariel journeyed to the Ash Sea. After many ordeals, they located the temple from the treasure map.”

“I’m not sure what transpired there, but upon their return, both were cursed, their vitality fading each day, impervious to even the most potent life-giving treasures.”

Shelia’s tone grew heavier, “The pollution had already weakened my sister, and the dual burden of pollution and curse was nearly fatal. It should have ended there…”

“But then, Princess Ariel performed a sacrificial act, transferring the curse from my sister to herself.”

“The double curse was too much for her, and she succumbed.”

“And so, my sister, barely pulled back from death’s edge, began devising a plan to resurrect the Princess.”

Shelia explained the intricate ritual her sister had uncovered in the Ash Temple called ‘Reversal of Life,’ which required an amalgamation of blood, spirit, and the power of faith. “Thus began the infamous ‘theft of the holy relics’ using the blood and spirits of pirates, adventurers, and monsters as sustenance, while the power of faith was siphoned from the ‘Sacred Scale.'”

“Yet, nobody anticipated that an ancient god would subtly influence Pope Libra. Perhaps ‘bewitch’ isn’t the right term. The fact is, the power of faith is waning, an irreversible decline. The desperate Pope had little choice.”

“According to the initial plan, the remnants of the God of Separation sealed in the labyrinth’s depths wouldn’t escape. But with the Pope’s betrayal, the seal on the ninth floor was broken.”

“The emergence of the God of Separation’s remnants isn’t much of a concern for my sister personally. If she wishes, not even Pope Libra, armed with the remnants, would choose to face off against a fourth-level witch in a desperate battle.”

“But this isn’t just about her,” Shelia concluded solemnly. “This is Santos, the outlying island city, the home of Princess Ariel.”