High School of Demon Hunting-Chapter 28 - Captain of the Mist Ship_1

28: Chapter 28 Captain of the Mist Ship_1

28 -28 Captain of the Mist Ship_1

The life of a demon is always the same.

Avoiding the wizard’s hunting teams, capturing wizards, and continually avoiding the wizard’s hunting teams again.

In their spare time, the old demons would engage in discussions about their experiences in cooking wizard flesh, the young demons needed to take care of their own wild demons, while the female demons loved to gather, gossiping about the great demons that roamed the seas.

The name of the black ship is the Mist Ship, a warship personally constructed by the Sea Demon King.

Its captain, a legend among powerful demons, was often the subject of chatter among the female demons.

It was said that this captain was very young, a native breed demon, born a full-fledged True Monster, and now, not even a hundred years old, already standing at the very pinnacle of being a great demon.

The rumours stated that he once commanded the black ship to travel the four seas in a single day, killing thirteen wizard hunting teams, with all three of the team-leading mages meeting their end.

According to the whispers, he once entered the depths of the sea on a full moon night, challenging the ancient Sea Demon King, and emerging unscathed.

There was even a legend that he had once stood face to face with the president of the top magic university!

Now, this legend was standing right in front of Nikita.

Nikita slightly narrowed her eyes, quietly looking at the tall figure with his back to her, who had stopped beside a pillar.

“Don’t be shy, come closer so you can see clearly.

Whatever I show you is what I allow you to see,” a gentle voice continued to sound, seeming very tolerant.

Nikita was taken aback for a moment before obediently stepping forward.

The first rule of the demon clan is to remain respectful and awestruck in front of the powerful, obeying their will.

There was a large, wide plank leaning against the ship wall, supported by some sloping pieces of wood underneath.

The plank seemed stable.

On one side of the table close to the wall, a few dark earthen pots were strewn about, with smoke of different colors swaying a few inches from the mouth of the pots.

On the outer side, an ancient hide scroll lay unfolded, intricately decorated with gold and silver patterns.

A wooden plate was casually placed on the hide scroll.

The plate was of an ancient style, coated all over with dark purple lacquer.

A few complex floral patterns were outlined with silver near the rim; Nikita thought these patterns seemed to have the style of magical symbols.

Her eyes swept past the pots, the scroll, and the elaborate decorations, finally landing on the plate.

In it was an intact bloody brain, with two slender, dark spikes skillfully poking at the tiny folds on the brain.

They occasionally tapped lightly, and under the trembling of the brain, a wisp of silvery white, foggy substance was coaxed out and sucked into a pair of greenish-black lips floating in midair.

Nikita’s gaze trembled a bit.

After her gaze landed on those aqua lips and then swiftly slid down, she could only catch a glimpse of the corner of a white robe at the periphery of her vision.

The magical symbols on this robe must be quite significant.

She wondered to herself.

“Memories…

they are more fascinating than power.” The gentle voice revealed strong satisfaction.

Nikita knew he was talking about the silvery white vapor from just now.

This was an extremely popular beverage among high-ranked demons, much like the wine that wizards loved to drink.

However, this beverage wasn’t brewed from nectar and dew by the elves.

This drink was filled with the noble and blood-thirsty scent of demons.

It was made from the memory that flowed from warm human brains stimulated by demonic energy.

This drink was called ‘Memory’.

Memory was the vintage of time.

To wizards, nothing was more important than time.

Their power accumulated over time, their souls were purified in time, and memories were the most precious essences left behind by the winds of time.

These essences were the ultimate pleasure for high-ranking demons.

“This brain belongs to a little wizard we just captured yesterday.

It’s very fresh and very rare.

Especially those memories filled with struggles and power…

they taste incredibly sweet.” The gentle voice praised, with some reluctance.

“These days, the brains of wizards are becoming increasingly rare, especially those who have registered.

It’s such a pity.”

Nikita hastily pulled out a dark red pottery jar and respectfully handed it over:

“This is a memory I brewed using a Duoni person’s brain.

Although it doesn’t have the rich taste of a wizard’s memory, it is full of exotic flavor.

I hope you will find it acceptable.”

The Duoni people were an alien species, acknowledging the legitimate position of the wizard alliance, and they scorned demons.

Therefore, their flesh and souls were often treated as rare spoils of war, offered to the high-ranking demons.

“Don’t be afraid, lift your head.” The captain of the Mist Ship took the pottery jar, stroked the raised patterns on it with joy in his voice.

Nikita lifted her head to see those aqua-black lips, the tall nose above them, and the profound blood-red eyes.

In just a moment, she got lost in those pure eyes, and her demon power uncontrollably stagnated.

A barrage of memories, guarded by demonic energy in her mind, wildly surged forth.

All the memories were repeatedly telling the same story.

Survive.

Born in the North District of Beta Town and the child of Tricksters, Nikita knew from an early age the hardships of survival.

When the children of wizards rode brooms and flew swords for fun around the town, she could only look on enviously.

Then, she would once again follow her parents into the pitch-black Silent Forest to gather herbs, stealing a bit more time.

When she was six years old, both her parents were gone.

One was pulled to the bottom of the Silent River by a water ghost during a crossing; the other was wound up to the treetops by grey vines while venturing into the Silent Forest.

To her, the Silent Forest was then the embodiment of the God of Death.

As a child, her impression of living was the small piece of black bread given to her by a decrepit Trickster in the streets.

A small piece of black and exceedingly hard bread.

The old Trickster’s withered hand pinching her face.

Watching her push the black bread into her stomach through her tears.

Living was hard.

At the age of fifteen, she received an acceptance letter from a top university.

She moved into the university dormitory, no longer having to listen to rats fighting in a cramped attic.

She got to eat delicious food, with no need to risk venturing into the Silent Forest for a piece of bread.

She even had a boyfriend whose emerald-green eyes were always clear and reliable.

She began to fantasize about the future, about life.

At university, she lived happily.

In her senior year, on an internship assignment, once again, she stepped into the Silent Forest.

She was attacked by a group of wild demons.

By the time her mentor saved her, her eyes were already filled with blood.

She told her mentor, I want to survive.

Her mentor said, then run, run far, far away, run out of the Silent Forest, run to a place where there are no wizards.

And so she began to run.

The wizard’s hunting team was terrible, as they could always find solitary demons, either turning them into ash, or tying them up and taking them to dark, unknown places.

But what was more terrifying was that she could no longer restrain herself and started to see wizards as food.

There was no turning back.

But still, she was alive.

Not long ago, her mentor came to her with a six or seven-year-old girl.

The girl also wanted to survive.

She nodded her head, took the child back to the territory of the Demon King.

The little girl, however, didn’t transform.

She remained stranded between being half-wizard and half-demon.

The old demons in the territory were restless, wanting to take the child to the test bed; the young demons drooled at the prospect of tasting a little wizard; even her own companions were casting predatory glances at them.

And so, she took the little girl and once again ran away from the territory of the Demon King.

To survive.

Now, she has boarded this ship.

…

The captain blinked.

Nikita woke up as if from a dream.

She fearfully touched her face; it was damp.

With sweat, and also with tears.

The captain looked at her kindly, a slight smile at the corner of his mouth:

“Every fallen wizard has endured desperate struggles.

The blood of those they consume is slowly pumped from a crying heart.”