The Rich Cultivator

The creaking wooden steps led the pirate below the deck, balancing a plate of stale bread and a cup of water. The ship’s cell was a dank, cramped space, lit dimly by a flickering lantern. Approaching the prisoner, the pirate noticed the man’s parched lips and sunken eyes, a clear sign of severe dehydration. "Please," the prisoner croaked, "let me out. I’m dying."

The pirate’s brows furrowed, a mix of confusion and concern sweeping over his face. He’d only been in the cell a day, yet his condition had deteriorated rapidly. As the pirate stood there, uncertain, the thud of heavy footsteps echoed behind him. The vice-captain of the Silver Eye Pirates emerged—a towering giant, easily seven feet tall, his presence alone commanding respect and fear.

"What’s going on here?" the giant’s voice boomed, causing the pirate to step aside. With one swift motion, the giant unlocked the cell, his large hands carefully examining the prisoner. "He’s on the brink of death," he muttered, a note of suspicion lacing his tone. "Someone must have infiltrated our ship and extracted information from him."

With a nod, the giant, whose form began to shimmer and shrink, transformed into a small, stout dwarf. He scurried off to inform Captain Silver Eye of the situation. The captain, a man whose eyes gleamed with an eerie silver hue, listened intently. "This is the work of Isadora Nightkiss," he declared. "She must be after the Half-Angel as well."

"What’s our move, Captain?" the vice-captain inquired, his voice tinged with a mix of fear and admiration for Isadora’s audacity.

Captain Silver Eye’s gaze hardened, his silver eyes flashing with anger. "That vixen dares to infiltrate our ship and dispose of our prisoner. The Federation has been looking for her, yes? Let’s tip them off—tell them she’s heading to Rich Berg Island to rob."

"And what about the White Merchant Group?" the vice-captain pressed.

"Rich Berg Island," the captain repeated, his tone leaving no room for further questioning. The vice-captain nodded, understanding the captain’s unsaid words.

┉┈ ◈ ◉ ◈ ┈┉

Three weeks had passed since Astrid boarded Tyler’s ship. The ship cut through the waters, its sails billowing in the wind. Inside, life bustled as usual. Lily Gomes sat in a corner, engrossed in her studies. Nearby, Astrid guided Silvia through the intricacies of magecraft, while Mana meticulously tallied the ship’s supplies. Mathilda, immersed in her alchemical experiments, hummed cheerfully, knowing she had an endless supply of ingredients thanks to Tyler and Mana’s magical capabilities.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sea in shades of orange and pink, a small boat approached the ship, bobbing gently in the waves. A single lantern flickered at its bow, revealing a figure rowing steadily. The person wore a cowboy hat, a short leather jacket, and even shorter shorts, their tanned skin glowing under the moonlight. This was Isadora Nightkiss, the infamous "Manhunter."