Deep Sea Embers

It’s not easy to cook such a huge fish for lunch.

This was not only technical work but a physical one as well.

Fortunately, the fishing man’s sense of enthusiasm and mission for improving his diet drove Duncan to work with full motivation.

After a long struggle in the kitchen, he finally successfully removed the bone spurs on the neck of the ugly monster fish. Then with some stumble, he splits the fatty body into several pieces, leaving only the head that had no meat to the side.

I wonder what others will think if they saw a ghost captain working in the kitchen. Will they be so shocked and faint? Or will they drop their jaws and scream?

Duncan came up with these thoughts while splitting the flesh from the bones. It made him chuckle at the silliness but also a motivation for that day to come – inviting friends over to the ship, sharing a drink on a good afternoon day, and chatting away about various topics without being called a natural disaster. That’s the type of life he wants, not this lifeless solitude by himself.

After a simple cleaning of the catch, Duncan temporarily puts most of the fish into a barrel covered with sea salt before pushing the container into the warehouse. As for the remaining smaller fishes, he’s going to process them later by marinating and drying them against the breeze.

Unfortunately, no alcoholic spirits were found on the ship; otherwise, the fish could have been handled with more means.

It’s certainly a good thing to have fresh fish to eat every day, but Duncan knows that fishing depends on luck. Today’s harvest may be good, but the next time may not – it’s not like he’s going to know how to process the excess ingredients every time as well.

After all, he had no means to verify if the jerky and cheese in the inventory were special, or that the Vanished was doing the preservation with its ability. Also, he’s not going to take a gamble on the hard-earned fishes by letting them go bad. Dried fish still tasted better than jerky and cheese from a century ago.

Tossing the most tender pieces of fish into the simmering pot along with a piece of jerky, Duncan’s going to stew this until the meat falls apart.

Any real chef would lose their mind by now after witnessing the guy’s sinful creation. The most tender parts of a fish should be moderately fried to bring out its natural flavor – Duncan knew this as well – but he had to do this to ensure it was safe to eat.

Catching unknown things from the sea carried a risk regardless of the water quality, like parasites for example, or naturally toxic flesh of the fish. By fully cooking it to mush, this risk would be minimized to the lowest. Whether or not a “ghost captain” would be affected by these risks was another thing entirely, and he didn’t want to test that water.

After almost spending the entire afternoon away, Duncan finally got his belated “lunch” ready – a bowl of fish soup. But before he could poke his fork into the flesh and savor in the flavor, he blew it cold and placed it before Ai the dove.

Of course, doves don’t eat meat – but “Ai” could hardly be said to be a normal bird.

Duncan needs to satisfy his curiosity, and he has so many things to try on the Vanished.

As for what to do if this “abnormal dove” gets poisoned, he also had a plan in mind.

First of all, he handled the ingredients as much as possible, and letting Ai try was only a formality. Secondly, if Ai’s situation really does take a turn for the worse, he could immediately use the green fire to pull her back into the spirit form. Once in that state, decomposing her body and reforming it would be simple. In any case, the toxin would have no effect.

Ai tilted her head to watch Duncan’s gesture, and after confirming that the piece of fish was for herself, she pecked at the table and then glanced up to the ceiling. “Are your melons ripe?”

Duncan: “Just say you will eat it or not.”

Ai flapped her wings and copied Duncan’s tone, “Just say you will eat it or not!”

Then it lowered her head and pecked at the already cold fish. At a surprising speed, she unceremoniously wiped out the food so fast that it’s unsuitable for a bird!

After eating, Ai stretched her neck vigorously and then hopped around on the table with a pleasant air: “Tasty! Tasty!”

Duncan appeared stunned before sighing inwardly over the bird’s behavior.

After a while, he relaxed and began to dig into the meal with his pet, and indeed, it’s very tasty as Duncan had imagined.

……

As the setting sun draws closer to the walls of the city’s edge, things were as usual with the towering chimneys, pipes, and towers of the City-State of Pland being bathed in the setting golden glow of the evening.

There are chimes from the Storm Cathedral, the whistling of steam valves releasing their pressure after the factory closes, and the people returning to their homes to settle for the night. They all know, the exchange of day to night has begun, and the influences of the “depths” are coming. Thankfully the effects are mitigated if one stayed home end kept to a brightly lit place – gas lamps blessed by the clergy would effectively dispel the malice lurking in the shadows.

In any case, the Holy Storm Cathedra would continue to watch over the city-state of Pland during the time where civilization was at its weakest. Though there’s the occasional anomaly appearing in the city’s premises at times, but those are usually small and harmless problems.

Of course, there are always going to be fools who yearn for the darkness even under the watchful eye of the church. These are the idiots of society, the deplorable ones who drove themselves into a frenzy for a “glorious” age that’s to yet to come.

Fortunately in the city-states where the forces of order dominate, these subversive individuals often only manages to spend their time curled up in the shadows. Like tonight, in the abandoned sewers of Pland, several figures in black hoods are doing just that – curling up in the corner of a forgotten room and cursing at their luck.

“Damn those church hounds…” A weak and confused-looking thirty-year-old man was lying on the ground with his rags.

“We have lost a large number of our compatriots, and the emissary has died in the ceremony…” said another in a hoarse voice, “how can the sacred ceremony suddenly lose control…”

“That sacrifice… it’s because of that sacrifice. He is clearly a heretic…”

“All of you listen,” a black-robed suddenly gestured them to shush and cocked his ears up, “it’s the sound of the twilight bell and steam whistle.”

“…… It’s almost night,” the black-robed who was the first to curse said in a low voice before looking at a fellow “compatriot” who was lying motionless on a sheet. They’re all in pretty bad shape, but one was far worse than the rest, “Damn it… hopefully he will get through this night.”