Inside the shell, Ambrose felt nothing but an overwhelming thrust. The shrill scream of air scraped against the mithril casing that enveloped him.

He was certain he was moving at supersonic speed, but had no way of being more precise than that.

Fortunately, he had replaced his body with one forged of mithril. Otherwise, the instant the shell left the barrel, his bones would have been pulverized into powder.

The projectile tore through the sky in a perfect arc, landing more than a hundred kilometers away.

Ambrose crawled out of the silver shell and examined himself.

There were a few minor malfunctions. Being fired out of a cannon was no gentle affair, and several internal components had loosened or warped.

But it wasn't a serious issue. He was running on dual cores now. Even a skeleton missing half its bones could function under the propulsion of dark magic. A few bent parts were trivial to fix.

He rose into the air to survey the terrain, recalculated his direction, and hauled out a second magitech cannon.

This one was a disposable edition that would fall apart after the first shot. It was cheap to build, if nothing else.

In the past, Ambrose might have hesitated to waste the gold. Now, though, he had plenty of it. Disposable cannons were fine.

He reloaded the mithril shell: this, at least, was expensive and reusable. He intended to sit inside it and repeatedly launch himself toward his destination.

The second shot fired. Ambrose spiraled skyward once more.

The shell landed within the predicted range. He calculated the angle again, assembled another disposable cannon, and repeated the process.

By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, most of his stockpile of low-grade materials had been used up. He had lost count of how many times he had been fired across the sky. But at last, he saw the vast ocean.

The setting sun spilled across the water, waves fragmenting the light into molten gold. It was breathtaking.

Ambrose pulled out the Necromantic Codex and wrote in the group chat, [Megaman Tiga: The sea at sunset is truly beautiful. Haven't seen it in years.]

[Human-Hater: *******!]

[Megaman Tiga: What's your problem? I just said the sea looks nice. How is that offending you?!]

[Human-Hater: Bastard! I'm a vampire! And you're talking to me about sunsets?!]

Ambrose: "..."

He had forgotten that detail. At the legendary rank, most undead were barely affected by sunlight. Ambrose could stroll beneath the blazing sun without issue. Vampires could not. To them, sunlight was a lethal poison. Even a legendary vampire would turn to ash under direct exposure.

[Black Rose: You've reached the coast already? How are you that fast?]

Not long ago, Ambrose had said he was in the capital of the Lyon Empire. Even if he had teleported directly to the Emerald Dreamwood, he shouldn't have been able to reach the sea so quickly. Flying wouldn't have sufficed.

[Megaman Tiga: I just arrived. I used a little trick to speed up my travel.]

Black Rose sent him a private message. [Black Rose: You arrived earlier than expected. The emissary Mute sent to receive you likely hasn't reached the shore yet. You may need to wait a day or two.]

[Megaman Tiga: An emissary? Mute sounds like an influential figure. What exactly does she do? An undead living in the sea—what's her race?]

[Black Rose: She didn't elaborate. My guess? If it's the sea, perhaps something related to the merfolk.]

Merfolk?

Kouto, shagin, tritons, rocas... There were countless aquatic races, with vast differences in strength and alignment. Which kind was Mute? And why call herself Mute, to begin with?

Unfortunately, Black Rose knew no further details except that Mute seemed very eager to host Ambrose, so much so that she had already sealed off the sea region where the divine artifact lay.

Such a grand gesture likely meant that she was no less than a queen-tier figure among her people.

Since he had to wait anyway, Ambrose decided to repair his body properly.

After repeated artillery launches, even his mithril plating had begun to suffer. Cracks and distortions riddled his frame, requiring immediate restoration.

He retreated into his extradimensional space and began a comprehensive overhaul.

Luckily, he had purchased surplus mithril. Once forged, the metal was extraordinarily difficult to melt down and recast, so repairing it without spare material would have been troublesome.

After half a day of dismantling and patching, Ambrose emerged anew, restored to pristine condition.

He also draped himself in a black cloak, lest his silvery-white armor draw unnecessary attention.

Night fell. The shoreline darkened, but it was far from silent.

With the rising tide came strange shapes emerging from the surf: creatures with oversized fish heads, thin limbs, and swollen bellies. They were grotesque, like carp whose fins had twisted into arms and legs.

Ambrose recognized the kouto at once.

Was the emissary sent by Mute a kouto?

He observed them more carefully. No. These creatures were not here to greet anyone. They scrambled onto the beach and began frantically digging.

One shellfish after another was unearthed. Claws pried effortlessly into seams, cracking open sturdy shells to devour the soft flesh inside. The emptied shells were collected rather than discarded.

They possessed uncanny senses. No matter how deeply buried the shellfish were, they could precisely locate and excavate them.

After feasting, the kouto piled sand into a bizarre tower, decorating it with shells and seaweed. From afar, it resembled a distorted human woman, draped in shells, bearing the head and claws of a lobster.

This was the Sea Mother Blobdilpulp, goddess of the kouto. She was hideous, matching the aesthetics of her worshipers, and would easily rank among the top three ugliest deities.

According to ancient texts, this so-called Sea Mother had not originally existed. Her "true form" had been a broken human statue discovered by kouto. They had prayed before it for years, adorning it with marine life. Over time, their devotion gave birth to a goddess.

She was a deity born purely of faith.

This was the unique trait of the kouto: god creation.

Unlike most intelligent races, whose beliefs were shaped by culture and upbringing, kouto seemed born with an urgent need to worship something. Humans chose their gods freely. Even elves required education to revere their pantheon. The drow were indoctrinated to serve their Spider Queen.

Without such conditioning, most intelligent beings would be natural unbelievers.

Not the kouto.

Most were of limited intellect and lacked a cohesive tradition. Some worshipped common deep-sea monstrosities as gods. Others deified any sufficiently powerful being they encountered. Their faith was so fervent that even mortals could perceive and harness it.

Many races had exploited this. Mind flayers, for instance, enslaved entire tribes of kouto, feeding upon their faith. Weaker monsters had tricked small tribes into worshipping them, with astonishing success.

Yet there was a catch. Kouto shaped their gods according to their imagination. If you did not resemble their mental image of divinity, they might attempt to "correct" you.

Blobdilpulp's twisted form was the result of their peculiar aesthetic.

Other gods dared not accept these "high-quality devotees," lest their warped faith distort them in turn.

With the sand-goddess complete, the kouto began their ritual worship.

Ancient, discordant chants rose from their throats. Crimson light shimmered visibly and flowed into the statue, their faith made tangible.

Ambrose felt a twinge of envy. If he had such believers, the Golden Throne might enjoy a stable supply of gold. As a lich, he wouldn't mind becoming a bit more grotesque. He could simply craft a "body" that suited kouto tastes.

Ambrose was the sort to act on impulse. He began considering how to trick these kouto into becoming his followers.

Unfortunately, his knowledge of them was limited. Catering to their preferences without any intelligence would be difficult.

"How did those mind flayers deceive them? Direct mental domination?"

He was about to consult his records for useful references when the statue on the beach began to change.

The crimson faith saturated it, staining it as though it had been soaked in blood.

A malevolent aura emanated from within.

"Is the Sea Mother descending? Surely not. She's not powerful enough to manifest so easily."

If any religion could summon its deity by piling shells into an ugly sand effigy, theology everywhere would collapse.

Ambrose quickly determined this was no god. There was no divine pressure, no transcendent majesty beyond mortal existence—only raw bloodlust and brutality.

As the crimson hue fully enveloped the statue, its abdomen swelled grotesquely.

Then, a sharp scythe pierced through the sand effigy's belly.

A hunched, diminutive figure crawled out, a small creature wearing a red cap, shorter even than a dwarf.

This was a redcap.

When murder is committed with overwhelming intent, where blood soaks the ground, a redcap may be born.

They resembled twisted, hunchbacked gnomes, but were, in truth, monsters from the Feywild. Upon birth, they hunted the murderer whose killing intent birthed them: their creator. Even after their creator was slain, they would remain in the world, driven by an insatiable bloodlust.

But they were not mindless. On the contrary, redcaps could orchestrate elaborate, meticulous killings. To them, murder was as ceremonial as blowing out birthday candles.

Ambrose smiled the moment he saw it.

Someone had beaten him to the punch and tricked the kouto into worship, which meant that stealing them away would be far easier.

When gods desired followers, nothing was more straightforward than a divine fight.

Still, if Mute were a merfolk herself, could she be connected to these kouto? Ambrose dismissed the thought. They had already been deceived by a redcap. Even if Mute were one of them, he would simply be avenging her.

It would be wasteful not to seize such abundant faith energy that lay right before his eyes.