The Clover is a modern ship that uses hybrid steam and sail power. It has three decks and can accommodate many passengers.
Now, at the entrance to the stairs leading to the upper deck, a group of people has gathered — a mix of passengers and sailors.
When Sifa and Joyce arrived, they saw a man wearing a standard boat cap of this era and a thick coat stained with blood. He spoke confidently and held a brass-colored revolver in his hand.
This was the captain of the Sativa, one of the heroes who had helped save Sifa and the others during the chaos.
If it weren't for the captain's foresight — quietly collecting clean water and food and storing them on the lower deck when he noticed signs of growing disorder on the ship — Sifa and the others wouldn't have lasted this long, let alone retained the physical strength they needed.
"Those lunatics can't hold on any longer," the captain said. "Without water or food, they've reached their limit. Unlike us, gentlemen, we still have the strength for a fierce battle.
"Now, we must charge forward. We must seize control of the Clover and punish those lunatics! Only then can we hope to see land and return home!"
With that, the captain put his hat on his revolver, glanced around the crowd, passed by Sifa and Joyce, and nodded.
"Don't be afraid, everyone," said a gentle but resolute voice.
Sifa saw a small man with a round, kind face. He seemed about the same age as Sifa and carried a touch of shyness in his manner, but he stood firm beside the captain, speaking with conviction.
"We are doing the right thing! You know what those lunatics have done these past days.
"They put bullets and swords into the bodies of our wives, friends — even our children!
"They've beheaded kind, restrained, and innocent people who clung to sanity. Even now, the heads of those poor souls still hang from the mast!
"They are lunatics. Criminals. Murderers. Evil! Tell me, gentlemen — do you still have mercy for such people?"
The crowd panted heavily, eyes red and wide, and roared like wild beasts:
"No! They all deserve to die!"
Sifa agreed. His blood boiled. He wanted to rush forward and kill the lunatics.
"Tell me, do you want to forgive them?"
"No way!"
"Tell me — what are you going to do?"
Xifa shouted with the others:
"Fight! Kill those lunatics!"
Idiot! A bunch of idiots!
Suddenly, Sifa snapped out of his excitement as though someone had spoken. He looked around, confused.
He saw no one suspicious.
But everyone around him seemed strangely frenzied — pupils dilated, fingers trembling, breath heavy, eyes crazed.
They looked like beasts!
A chill ran down Sifa's spine. A moment ago, he had been just like them.
Why was this happening?
Everyone seemed to have lost reason — how were they any different from the lunatics they hated?
Wait...
There are extraordinary powers in this world. Could this strange excitement be caused by some supernatural influence?
Could there be an extraordinary among us?
The captain's low shout broke his thoughts:
"Then what are we waiting for? Follow me! Let's punish those lunatics!"
He charged up the stairs, revolver in hand.
The men — Joyce among them — roared and followed, brandishing whatever weapons they had.
Tris suddenly stopped and looked back. Feeling his gaze, Sifa met his eyes.
The round-faced young man looked excited but controlled.
"Mr. Sifa, aren't you coming?"
"How could I not?"
Sifa forced his facial muscles to widen his eyes and raise the corners of his mouth into a crazed expression.
"I can't wait to kill those bastards!"
He rushed past Tris.
If there really is an extraordinary among us manipulating this, I need to be cautious… Sifa warned himself as he followed the others.
Before he reached the stairs, he heard gunshots, screams, and the sounds of battle above.
Sifa moved along the wall, using crates for cover, avoiding stray bullets.
Once sure no one was watching, he slipped into the cabin and found a lantern in the carpeted corridor.
He lit it. In the dim light, he saw dried, dark-red bloodstains on the carpets and walls.
He didn't join the fight but went deeper into the ship, entering a second-class cabin.
He shut the door, set down the lantern, and sat.
"This is madness."
He covered his forehead.
"Don't panic. Think through the countermeasures. Plan for the worst."
The worst: the madness on this ship is caused by some extraordinary force — a man-made disaster.
Kill them all!
Kill everyone but us! It's not safe!
We can smash their heads, shatter their brains, rip out their guts — isn't that fun?
What are you waiting for? Do it, Li Zexi!
In the dim light, Sifa's lips slowly curled into a smile, shadows dancing on his face.
Then his hand wiped downward, and his smile faded.
"As a man of higher education, I won't join either side of the lunacy.
"But I can't stop them. I'm just an ordinary person. Joining a battle with possible supernatural elements is suicide.
"I'll have to play dumb and keep myself safe until I can get off this ship…"
Suddenly, Sifa froze.
At the edge of the light, he saw dark red liquid silently spreading.
His gaze rose slowly to a wooden door.
It was slightly ajar. From the crack flowed dark blood, soaking the carpet and creeping toward him.
And then he heard a faint, inhuman sound from within.
Malice seemed to seep from that crack.
Sifa stood carefully, squeezing his revolver and lifting his lantern.
He didn't dare open the door, fearing it would trigger danger.
He slipped out, closed the cabin door, and breathed a sigh of relief.
But before he could relax, someone whispered from down the corridor:
"Master Sifa, is that you?"
Startled, Sifa raised the lantern. The light barely reached the figure in the dark.
The person held a lantern, too — low to the ground, lighting only his feet. His upper body remained hidden in shadow.
Then the man lifted his lantern, revealing a face with deep features but an ordinary appearance.
It was Jack — Sifa's personal servant.
Jack smiled stiffly, showing his teeth.
"Jack?"
"It's me," Jack said. His smile didn't waver. "Master Sifa, come with me. I know a safe place."
Sifa stepped back.
"I'm not going anywhere, Jack."
"Master is still as stubborn as ever. Always refusing advice, always going his own way, always thinking he knows better…"
Jack spoke quickly, his smile twisting.
"You're so annoying, Sifa Disraeli! You're a bastard! Scum! Bastard! Scum!"
"From the day you defiled Rachel, do you have any idea how much I've wanted to kill you? No—killing you would be far too easy!"
"I want to hack you to pieces, feed your flesh to the fish, and throw your bones to the hungry dogs. You deserve it—damn it, you deserve it!"
Of course, Sifa knew who Rachel was—that was the maid who had been harmed by the original 'him.'
Judging from this incident, Sifa had to admit: the young master he'd replaced wasn't a good person. But that had nothing to do with him now… Sifa felt a bit helpless, thinking that sooner or later he'd have to clean up the mess left behind by the body's original owner. The thought made him want to give a bitter smile.
Suddenly, Jack raised his other hand.
There was a revolver in it.
Bang!
Jack's head snapped backward. His forehead burst open at the sound of the gunshot echoing through the hallway. Blood and bits of bone splattered everywhere…
Only as a thin wisp of smoke rose from the muzzle of his snake-scale revolver did Sifa realize—he had pulled the trigger. He had shot and killed his servant!
His body had moved faster than his mind. A single shot, deadly accurate. Was the original owner's marksmanship really this good?
Well, I suppose this scum noble had at least one useful skill… Sifa smiled bitterly to himself. And then, out of the corner of his eye—
He saw a cold glint of white steel slicing through the air behind Jack, aimed straight at him!
There was someone else behind the servant!