Chapter 402

The barnacle-like protrusions grow upwards, adhering steadily.

The barnacles are spaced far apart, not closely knit, but positioned perfectly to be grasped by hand. When one barnacle is held with one hand, another easily comes within reach, making this setup ideal for climbing upward. Stepping on a lower barnacle and grasping a higher one feels like riding a ladder, extremely convenient.

For short intervals, the arms bend; for longer ones, they stretch out.

If the gap is too wide, arms extend fully to grip, and if that isn’t possible, pressing bodies against barnacles and smearing sticky blood allows for a firm grip akin to steel.

And how comfortably this is done, ascending as if climbing a ladder. bodies roll over with ease onto the deck in a fluid motion.

Gulp.

Gulp.

A ghostly arm ascends.

Like a water snake slithering upward, the elongated arm wriggles, sweeping across the deck. Behind it, the bloated body undulates grotesquely, confirming its existence as a meat chunk, moving with an unnatural twisting motion. Its gangly limbs shift, elongating and transforming into rope-like structures.

The long arms secure a firm grip, fixing the body in place, while the legs form a makeshift ladder for other ghosts to climb aboard. This setup works wonderfully.

Gulp.

Gulp.

The sound of a ghost’s palms.

The sound of a ghost’s soles.

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

The sound of waves lapping against the ship, causing it to rock. The ghost’s bloated belly bounces with the movement, producing a dull sound, though lacking significant elasticity but reminiscent of rubber.

Can such an entity truly exist in this world?

Since it can be seen, it must exist.

And because it can be seen, it can influence this world.

Splendid, how splendid.

[Hehehehe.]

Water ghosts climb aboard, a delightful sight.

[The smell of humans, their scent is strong and pungent yet oddly tempting. Unpowdered, it isn’t too overpowering, but soaked in sweat, it’s quite noxious. A bite will surely release a fishy stench. However, their blood is warm, perfect for warming the body. Drinking it gives a sensation similar to imbibing liquor—the stomach grows warm.]

[Stretch it out, stretch all the way. Swallowed in one gulp, do not let go until you’re full.]

The sound of water splashing.

The sound of wet skin scraping against the floor.

The sound of skin sticking and peeling away.

Chunks of melted flesh fall to the floor, emitting a revolting stench. The decaying bodies drag themselves about with a feeble shuffle, their movements resembling squirming rotten grapes or fat ants bustling about.

But their faces bear obsession, resolve, and greed.

The resolve to turn living people into ghosts like themselves.

The greed to drink the blood and tear the flesh of the living.

They search for people, swarming across the deck, where they soon find them.

[Oh, look, there’s a person!]

[Amazingly steady despite the rocking ship.]

[Let’s go, let’s taste that meat.]

[Human flesh has a triangular texture. Ripping it apart once, twice, thrice, would be most enjoyable.]

A person.

There is a person.

The water ghosts have found their prey.

Where their gazes fall, patrol soldiers stand. At first glance, they seem to be on patrol, but in reality, they seem distracted by something else entirely. The senior soldier seems intent on bullying the junior one, while the junior soldier, maintaining a rigid posture, endures all the punches and curses without complaint.

Why they behave this way is unclear.

Perhaps the junior one has dozed off, angering the senior to the point of fiery rage, or perhaps corruption within the military is playing out here. The tension over trespassing foreign waters might be causing stress that the soldier is lashing out upon the junior, or maybe the junior has carelessly pointed a weapon at the senior, causing this reaction.

It could be the fault of either the senior or the junior.

At present, no one knows how this situation arose.

But one thing is certain.

They are not properly patrolling.

Had they been focused, they would have noticed the ghosts boarding.

The inattentive patrols have allowed the water ghosts to climb aboard without hindrance, to seize the deck, and continue to board without interference.

However, had those two been vigilant, the outcome might not have changed.

Had they been highly focused while patrolling, Jinseong would have quickly intervened and incapacitated the ghosts instead of leaving them to the soldiers.

But fortunately, those two were not focused. They allowed ample time for the deck to turn into a ghost den and failed to notice the silent advance of the ghosts.

And thus, the result is tragic.

Thud!

Flop.

Moving silently, a ghost slaps the heads of the two soldiers with its waterlogged palms, which double as whips and cudgels, possessing enough blunt force to easily knock someone unconscious.

The palms strike the heads of the soldiers with such force that they roll their eyes back, bash their heads against the wall, and cause their skulls to crack. Blood pours from the fractured skulls as the ghost eagerly latches on and drinks deeply. Simultaneously, as though its bloodlust isn’t quenched, it extends its arms to throttle them.

“Kwaah!”

A massive palm grips the throat.

Another hand reaches up and wraps around the throat.

Yet another hand climbs up.

More hands follow.

Layer upon layer of hands, like ropes, binding with murderous intent.

[Delicious. How could I have not known such a thing could be this sweet!]

[It warms me! My cold body burns with warmth, oh, how satisfying! There’s nothing like satisfying hunger this way!]

[Let’s go, quickly! Surely, there are people below making noises. My belly feels empty for days, like only a shell remains. If it weren’t filled, I’d be like a flag flapping in the wind—empty. ]

[Hehe, is there enough to go around?]

That way, two died.

Two soldiers died.

Drained of blood and marked by ghostly blue handprints on their necks, they died with tongues sticking out. Even in unconsciousness, their eyes rolled back, indicating they felt the pain; their orifices leaked filth. Their bodies twitch, as if electrified, and each bite from the ghost causes them to spasm. Chunks of flesh cling to the ghostly tongues and palates, creating a horrific scene that feels far removed from human experience, like a vision of hell.

The ghosts move on.

Hungry ghosts.

Ghosts that tear humans apart and kill without hesitation.

Ghosts shuffle forward.

Gulp.

Gulp.

Slurp.

Using their water-bloated palms and soles, they walk, squeezing through narrow passageways. Their inflated bodies flatten, their limbs helping to maneuver. They crawl like snails in the hallway, pressing against the ceilings, walls, and floors, at times walking upside down.

Limbs wrapping around their bulk, they roll through like balls, stretch out like inchworms through the cramped corridors.

In endless lines, they proceed.

What they leave behind is only the foul stench of water and their discarded flesh.

This revolting odor serves as a warning of their intrusion aboard the ship.

Yet even recognizing the warning comes too late.

The ship is small, and the passageways are limited.

If only they could have made it to the deck.

Then they could have jumped into the sea, called for help, or summoned other ships for aid.

Instead, these soldiers are trapped like ants in an anthill.

And into this anthill, creatures march in lines now.

Their lives are now in the hands of these ghosts.