The sea was unnaturally still.
No waves. No wind. No motion.
The boat drifted like a forgotten leaf on glass, suspended in an eerie calm.
Mo Zhenyu hammered the final brace into the jagged remains of the mast, sweat streaking down his temple. The silence was driving him mad. Or maybe it was the diet.
"I still can't believe you boasted so much about your secret technique," he muttered, pausing to glance at Fan He. "And yet here we are—motionless for two hours. You can't even stir a puddle."
Fan He, sprawled near the rudder and clutching an empty energy gourd, looked thoroughly wronged. "Lure Current consumes a lot of astral energy, okay? I'm only at the peak of the Star Forging realm. I can sustain it for maybe an hour—tops."
Zhenyu raised a brow. "And then you need six hours to recover. Very efficient."
"Not all of us store ink and magic in our eyeballs," Fan He shot back, dragging a hand through his tangled hair.
Mo Zhenyu grunted and returned to his work. The mast was nearly functional, but the sail was ragged. They were days from Hanboia Holm, and with no wind, every hour felt like purgatory.
Worse, they were down to their last two fish cakes.
If he had to smell one more...
Suddenly, the air shifted.
Zhenyu's vision narrowed, the Heavenly Eye activating without conscious thought. A glint on the horizon caught his attention—a dark silhouette slicing the sea with unnatural speed. He zoomed in.
Steel plating. Cracked hulls. A black flag flapping against a rusted mast. And emblazoned on it—a white crossed clover leaf.
His blood went cold.
"What does a crossed clover leaf mean?" he asked casually, too casually.
Fan He flinched. "That's the mark of the Exiled. Criminals banished by the Fuodan Kingdom. They can't stay on land too long or the fire-brand curses burn their skin, so they live at sea—pirates, raiders, monsters in all but name."
Zhenyu didn't look away from the ship.
"They'll be on us in under thirty minutes."
Fan He froze. "They're coming here?"
Mo Zhenyu turned. "Running straight at us."
Fan He was already on his feet. "Shit. We need to run. Now."
He slammed his palm onto the deck, summoning his fishing rod artifact. The stars of his Fish Constellation pulsed to life behind him, casting faint blue light over the deck.
"Lure Current!" he shouted, thrusting the rod forward.
The rod pierced the deck and glowed. The line unraveled, extending into the still ocean—and then pulsed once, twice, then exploded with motion.
The dead sea beneath the boat began to churn, as if awakened from a cursed sleep. Currents twisted unnaturally around the hull, forming a swirling ring of water that slowly built momentum.
Mo Zhenyu felt the boat lurch. "Good. Just keep the flow steady."
Fan He gritted his teeth. "If they get within range, we're finished."
Behind them, the Exiled ship grew larger. Closer. Its hull screeched against the water, jagged like a beast's maw. Iron hooks gleamed along the sides—boarding gear. Cannons swiveled into place, metal mechanisms hissing with ancient alchemy.
Then came the horn.
A deep, gurgling blare that sent birds scattering from the clouds and churned the very air.
Fan He pushed more astral energy into the rod, sweat now pouring from his brow. "Come on... come on...!"
The water surged.
A vortex formed beneath their boat—then launched them forward like a slingshot.
The sail flared, catching just enough of the new current to stabilize the course. The boat hurtled forward, skimming across the sea like a stone.
"They're gaining!" Zhenyu shouted.
Fan He's voice cracked from strain. "I need a ripple ridge—I can amplify the flow off it!"
Zhenyu scanned ahead. A string of sharp, coral-like crests jutted from the water to the east.
"There!" he pointed. "Bank left!"
Fan He turned the rudder and shifted the current. The boat tilted as the flow curved. Behind them, the Exiled ship followed, but its massive frame lagged on the tight turn.
Fan He braced his legs and cried out, "Current Lock!"
The vortex beneath their hull split into three—one for each side, and one to brace the rear. Their ship rocketed forward, faster than Zhenyu had thought possible.
The Exiled ship lost a shot—BOOM!
A cannonball shrieked past the stern, missing them by meters. Wood splinters flew.
Another blast—closer.
But they were past the reef now. The current hit the edge of a natural pressure ridge, and Fan He used it like a ramp, redirecting the flow up and over.
The boat lifted slightly off the water.
"Too fast!" Zhenyu called.
"Just hold on!"
Fan He's rod flashed white-hot—and with one final burst of force, their boat exploded through the last wave and into the open sea beyond the reefs.
The Exiled ship tried to follow, but the same coral spires tore into their hull, scraping metal with an unholy screech.
Zhenyu turned just in time to see the lead cannon collapse sideways, and one of the Exiles thrown into the sea.
Silence.
Then the wind. Finally, the breeze returned.
Fan He slumped to his knees, the rod flickering out as his constellation dimmed behind him.
They were safe for now. Zhenyu exhaled slowly. "You're still inefficient," he muttered.
Fan He gave a weak chuckle. "But alive." Mo Zhenyu didn't answer. He just turned toward the horizon.
Hanboia Holm wasn't far now. But trouble, it seemed, was already at their heels. It won't take long for the exiled to fix their ship and raid the surrounding islands. He would have to think about a contingency plan, he thought, as the Holm appeared in his field of view.