The fog clung thick around the Haunted Ship.
Yuro's boots hit the wet deck with a muted thud.
A warning from the CSD had come early that morning.
"Investigate alone. Avoid unnecessary contact. He's… different," the message said.
The message had been short. No details. Only urgency.
Why the CSD would send him alone, he did not know.
He adjusted his grip on the katana at his side.
The air smelled of salt and rot.
A low creak ran through the hull. The ship was moving.
Not by wind. Not by crew. Something unnatural.
Yuro crouched low, scanning the deck with practiced eyes.
He had entered through a side hatch near the aft.
A small maintenance tunnel led him to the lower deck.
Sloshing water and rusted chains whispered under his boots.
A faint hum of life—or what had been life—echoed somewhere deeper.
"…Nothing seems alive…" he muttered, tension tightening his chest.
The sailing wheel jerked slightly. A shadow passed in the mist above.
Yuro froze. Every nerve screamed alert.
Then the figure appeared.
A young man. Brown hair, eyes entirely white. He steered casually as if the ship were his own.
Yuro exhaled slowly. "…I felt danger… but he seems harmless…"
He took a few steps forward. "Hey."
"…Back off, you jerk…" the man said.
Yuro's hand instinctively brushed against his katana.
The man laughed lightly. "Splendid work… I applaud myself."
"…The heck are you talking about, Middle-Aged-Man?" Yuro frowned.
"I was joking… youths these days…"
Yuro's tension didn't ease. "…Forget it… just tell me."
"…Where's Captain Sujo?"
The young man's expression shifted, just slightly. "…I am not Captain Sujo. I don't even know him."
Yuro's grip tightened. "…Captain Sujo De Alvaro."
Silence.
"…That means you're from the Country Safety Department, right?"
Yuro's eyes narrowed. "CSD has no business here. None of your concern."
"Relax," the man said. "…Without me, you can't even scratch him."
"…Just suffocate yourself. I can handle him alone," Yuro said.
"You'll need me—"
"This is a massacre. I'll kill everyone. You'll drown in the ocean," Yuro snapped.
He stepped closer. "…It'll be easier for you."
Then movement. Shadows flitted across the mist.
Zombies. Barehanded. Silent. Hungry.
Yuro crouched low, katana gleaming faintly.
The first charged. Fists swung like sledgehammers.
Yuro twisted, diagonal strike, bones snapping under steel.
Another lunged. He spun, reverse crescent strike, slicing across shoulder and collarbone.
The ship groaned under the weight of battle.
A third attacked from the railing. Yuro leapt back, flying side slash, cutting clean.
Moans echoed through the fog. His breath came ragged.
He ducked under a heavy swing. Low sweeping leg hook, tripping the zombie forward.
The deck was slick with seawater and rot.
Another swung wildly. Twin strike combo, left and right. Both fell.
Yuro's eyes narrowed. "…Every strike counts…"
A massive tanker zombie lunged with a chain.
He felt the weight of its swing, twisted, countered with rising dragon strike.
Purple flames flickered along his closed eyelids.
Energy surged, not destructive, but amplifying his strength, speed, focus.
Marks of violet outlined near his eyes.
City-level power hummed just beneath his control.
He had kept his eyes shut to contain the destruction.
Opening them would level the deck.
"…I can't risk it…" he muttered, slashing clean through the tanker zombie.
Bodies hit the deck. Water splashed. Fog churned.
Another zombie rushed. Yuro ducked, backheel strike, spinning midair, landing light.
He kicked off the railing, spinning side slash, taking down two at once.
Breath heaving. Blood streaked from a cut above his brow.
The remaining zombies hesitated only for a heartbeat.
Then a collective charge.
Yuro crouched. Katana raised.
His stance was precise. Balanced. Every muscle taut.
The fog swirled around him.
The moans grew louder. The deck vibrated with each step.
"…Bring it…" he whispered under his breath.
Purple marks still faint near his eyelids.
The ship creaked, chains rattled, and the first zombie lunged again.
All of them now.
Moving. Hungry. Relentless.
Yuro's chest heaved. He smiled grimly.
"…Let's see how far I can go…"
Katana poised. Muscles coiled. Eyes sharp.
The fog thickened.
Silence broken only by moans and the heavy slap of feet on wet wood.
Zombies charged together.
Blood streaked across the deck.
And Yuro stood in the center, battered, bloodied, katana ready, stance impossibly precise, preparing to face the storm.