The Pseudo-Human and the Sea

It was finally here! The wind they had all anticipated was finally about to reach the Seven Cities. Not a moment too soon, not a moment too late, but right fucking now—leaving everyone, who had just been rolling up their sleeves in preparation for infighting, in a rather awkward spot. If only it had come a bit earlier or later, it would have been vastly better than now! Had it come earlier, they could have rallied their forces and joined hands to face an external threat, repelling the disaster wind from afar and fending off Ji Jue at their doorstep. Had it come later, they could have banded together to look inward, brawling a few rounds first to elect an alliance leader and settle that nagging concern... Yet this sudden arrival derailed everyone's plans entirely. Caught completely between two stools. It had all the unique beauty of an adjusted workday—where a holiday didn't feel like a break, and work didn't feel like real work. Over the course of a single afternoon, news of the impending disaster wind spread across the entire Endless Sea through observatories, maritime bureaus, and other monitoring bodies of the Federation and the Empire. The atmosphere across islands large and small shifted abruptly, steeped in a sudden gloom and tension. Supplies on the market grew scarce and prices climbed, though most people had already stocked up beforehand, so no major chaos erupted. Meanwhile, within the Seven Cities Council in Pucheng, the seated high-ranking officials wore complicated expressions. Not necessarily of fear or anxiety, but rather— Irritation. What a nuisance! Life was going just fine, and suddenly a disaster wind had to spawn, disrupting everyone's moneymaking plans. Anyone would be annoyed. Could this goddamned disaster wind just not blow for once? Amid the noisy clamor of complaints, Ji Jue remained silent. He scratched his chin for a good while before turning to Minkler beside him, unable to suppress his bafflement. "Wait, are you guys not nervous at all?" "Nervous?" Minkler sighed, suppressing a scoff. "Isn't this already nervous enough? Besides, a disaster wind hits every ten or twenty years. Everyone's used to it." Times had changed. In the past, as the sacrificial supreme commander of the Seven Cities Joint Defense Fleet, Minkler would have taken the blame, resigned, and possibly ended up in court if the response went poorly. Not to mention the death warrant that was the patriarch's ring hanging over his head. His life back then had hung by a thread. Now, however, he had transformed from a wage laborer into a boss—the Master of Xiangzhou, the head of the Chopra family. What right did a Seven Cities court have to touch him? What was more, he had commandeered the Seven Cities Joint Defense for his own ends, running it like the Chopra family's private property. If, according to custom, every family dispatched elites for a coordinated defense this time, he would stand to gain an enormous advantage. Of course, when the time came to vie for command, another round of schemes, backstabbing, and infighting would be inevitable. Such was the Seven Cities; such was the Endless Sea. Everyone was blatantly a petty parasite, yet they were all remarkably candid about it, never bothering to put on an act. As for... the price? A price existed, but it was paid by the cannon fodder below. For the lords, it was only a matter of making more profit or making less. With an amateur circus like this, even if Minkler wanted to change things, it was futile. In a cesspool this foul, paying out death gratuities in full, tossing in a few extra subsidies, and supplying decent gear instead of trash was already enough to be hailed as a benevolent commander who treated his soldiers like sons. After all, the Seven Cities occupied a blessed position. The disaster wind moved like ocean currents; it didn't ravage the entire Endless Sea all at once, always hitting with varying priorities, sequences, and intensities. The areas it struck hardest were mostly remote waters and uninhabited desolate isles. The Seven Cities happened to lie in the path of secondary branches and aftershocks, meaning that whenever calamity beasts stirred and aberrations ran rampant, the fallout never exceeded manageable limits. Some bruises and broken bones were inevitable, but severe depletion of strength was out of the question. It was only natural for people to be somewhat optimistic. Furthermore, uniting the strength of all seven families, they possessed creations like the lighthouse. Once activated, it could minimize the aftershocks of the disaster wind to the greatest possible extent. It simply burned through such staggering amounts of materials and spiritus that it was reserved only for emergencies, leaving them to grit their teeth and endure the rest of the time. Still, most of the time, the aftershocks spawned only small fry. At most, they came in greater numbers and took a bit of effort to clean up—nothing truly catastrophic. Ji Jue frowned. "What if you run into real trouble?" "Then you spend money," Minkler said with open hands, offering the standard procedure. If some colossal monstrosity actually drifted toward the Seven Cities, catching their scent and stubbornly refusing to change course, they would just pool their funds to hire an expert to drive the filth away or eliminate it outright. Beyond that, most situations fell well within the defensive capacity of the Seven Cities. This meeting in Pucheng, aside from making advance preparations and aligning attitudes, spent most of its time discussing how to minimize losses and cut costs. "..." After listening for ten minutes, Ji Jue felt completely drained. He could not resist interrupting the ongoing discussion. "Since this involves the disaster wind, wouldn't it be better to be prepared for the worst? "Shouldn't everyone take this more seriously?" A sudden hush fell over the room. Everyone looked startled, exchanging glances before turning wary, suspecting that Ji Jue was looking for another excuse to stir up trouble. Yet after raising the question, Ji Jue said nothing more, lapsing into silence. Once the others caught on, realization dawned, and light chuckles broke out across the table. "Hahaha, Mr. Ji might not be familiar with how things work in the Seven Cities." The president of the Dan Island Council waved a hand. "It's just a disaster wind. No need to fret." "If you find your forces lacking, we at Yamen can certainly lend a hand." "It's only a single disaster wind. No need to tremble in fear. Relax, relax." "Just a bit of wind and frost, nothing more." "Is that so?" Amid the casual laughter, Ji Jue smiled as well and nodded. "Then I suppose I was overthinking it." *Fuck, I can't take this anymore.* *A pack of vermin. I ought to burn you all to ash!* He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. *Calm down, Ji Jue. Stay calm. Don't lower yourself to idiots.* With massive storms looming, they remained this undisciplined. No wonder they kept squabbling endlessly in this muddy pit, their minds occupied with nothing beyond saving a bit more, earning a bit more, and setting up their rivals to pay higher costs and suffer heavier losses. Ji Jue felt an acute stress reaction building inside him. After all, artificers lived by the principle of being prepared for every eventuality; Ji Jue, in particular, felt suffocated if he lacked a backup plan. Back in a workshop or laboratory, if an apprentice dared treat safety protocols as a joke, a master or advisor would have slapped them across the face on the spot. Unfortunately, politics had never been bound by physics—it could even afford to ignore physics altogether. As Ji Jue fell silent, the meeting grew lively once more. People had already begun eagerly discussing potential spoils, as if preparing for a grand hunt. After all, beside losses, the disaster wind brought harvest! After every disaster wind, organizations from all over would descend upon the Endless Sea waving checkbooks, aggressively purchasing materials left behind by countless calamity beasts and aberrations. For medicines, artifacts, occult rituals, and offerings—the demand was massive! The flesh, bones, and unique biological products of many calamity beasts were virtually impossible to buy at ordinary times, but as soon as the wind passed, it was an immediate clearance sale. Among all the wealthy spenders, the biggest and most extravagant were the Federation and the Empire. At the same time, the artificer associations and grandmasters had enormous demand, often on a scale even more exaggerated. Money flowed like water, pouring in from all directions. As a result, even after deducting casualties, combat losses, and compensation for the lower ranks, each family could turn a handsome profit through other channels. In a sense, the Seven Cities Joint Defense had been established precisely to handle the dirty, exhausting work of salvaging materials. Its operational priority often surpassed the defense of the Seven Cities themselves. As for the lives of commoners—it didn't matter. They only needed to believe they were being protected. Besides, the lords were merciful enough not to let them all die off. Moments like this were prime opportunities for factions to display their power, foundations, tactics, and capabilities! Consequently, everyone was already sharpening their blades, bursting with anticipation. "Mr. Ji? Mr. Ji?" Ji Jue heard his name called around the long table. He looked up, found all eyes on him, and immediately offered a smile. "Hm? My apologies, I've been staying up late recently and drifted off. "What were you saying?" "Nothing much, just something we were discussing—" The president of Dancheng, who had spearheaded the proposal, smiled genially. "We might as well use this disaster wind as an opportunity to drill our forces and tidy up order. "Based on our yields from this disaster wind, we can set up an internal ranking. It would be a bit of fun, wouldn't it?" "Sounds entertaining enough," Ji Jue agreed with a nod. "And what do you think?" the president pressed. "I have no objections. I agree with everything. Whatever works for you." Ji Jue smiled, nodding repeatedly and clapping in praise. "What a brilliant idea. Why didn't I think of that?" *You bunch of old bastards, still plotting to rank your seats and fight for the head of the table, aren't you?* An internal ranking? They called it a bit of fun, but their eyes were fixed on the seat of the alliance leader, hoping to seize the upper hand for the struggles ahead. Pick the foremost champion of the Seven Cities first—then when the chance arose to advance, wouldn't changing the title follow naturally? Leader of the Seven Cities Alliance. How sweet that sounded. As for how many casualties and how much damage their subordinates would suffer in pursuit of greater yields, that was entirely outside their concern. Those who proclaimed they would "spare no cost" were rarely part of the cost. When the meeting concluded, the person who had gained the "most," in a certain sense, was actually Fernan, who had sat at the head of the table as a mere ornament, not uttering a single word from beginning to end! Everyone agreed that reckless moves were ill-advised at this crucial juncture, and that a seasoned, respected acting speaker was still needed to steady the situation and bridge the Seven Cities. Holding the post, dedicating his final strength—was that not magnificent? Put simply, an immediate execution had been commuted to a suspended death sentence. Instead of "get out right this instant," it had become "take the blame after the disaster wind, and then get out"—perhaps even using his own corpse to plug the holes in the Seven Cities' defenses. What made it sadder than Minkler's past predicament was that Fernan was doing it willingly. To preserve the achievements of a lifetime, whether out of obsession or something else, he willingly sat upon this pyre, remaining silent as they wrapped chain after chain around him, etching out the conclusion of his road to ruin. From beginning to end, he did not utter a word. When the meeting ended and everyone dusted off their coats to leave, Fernan remained in his chair, quietly staring at the document on the table. The contingency defense plan for the disaster wind, which not a single person had taken seriously. Ji Jue paused in his step, glanced over, and asked out of the blue, "Why don't you leave?" Fernan's hand trembled slightly over the paper. Without turning his head, he asked in return, "To flee in the face of peril—is that how a true man acts?" "Oh." Ji Jue withdrew his gaze. "Then I wish you luck." He turned and walked away. If the grand purge on Luo Island had taught Ji Jue anything, it was that people were rarely as important as they imagined themselves to be. The world spun just the same without any single person. Without Ji Jue, the world remained the world; without Fernan, the Seven Cities remained the Seven Cities. Yet if certain vermin were wiped out— The world would undoubtedly be a much better place! "Sooner or later, I'll butcher every last one of you useless bastards." Ji Jue smiled, waving goodbye to the departing attendees in the distance. "Huh?" Trailing beside him, Minkler turned back in confusion, not catching the words. "I said, if there are any meetings like this in the future, just go in my place," Ji Jue said with a dismissive wave. "It's a waste of time." He strode away. He couldn't care less about what others did, but Xiangzhou and Luo Island were on his plate; there was no room for outsiders to lecture him. Whether it was wasted effort or unwarranted panic didn't matter. He had no intention of pinning the safety of his factory compounds on the regular patterns of a disaster wind, especially when the Profound might well be pulling strings from the shadows. Others had never seen the Worm, but he knew it intimately. How could human eyes ever perceive the vast expanse of the Nether Sea? If the calamity beast in the Haze Workshop had been completed without restrictions, it could have blasted the defenseless Luo Island into the sky in less than half a day. A frog at the bottom of a well, having never seen the outside world, mistook the flicker of the well's opening for the sun. Regardless of how the others consoled their citizens, rallied morale, raised bounties, or handed out wage increases, the Luo Island and Xiangzhou under Ji Jue's control prepared strictly in accordance with the disaster-prevention standards of the Federation. With Ji Jue's signature, massive shipments of supplies began pouring in steadily from Haizhou, disregarding the surging prices, stockpiling on a benchmark sufficient to sustain Luo Island and Xiangzhou for half a year. Beyond that, the impact of the disaster wind was felt in every quarter. The most direct and immediate consequence was a catastrophic plunge in tourist numbers. In particular, after Luo Island announced it would progressively enforce martial law and raise its security level, tourists seeking leisure in the Thousand Islands promptly redirected their trips toward other city-states. With the local tourism industry entering a swift depression, complaints rose incessantly. Having once earned easy money, they were now reduced to tightening screws on assembly lines just to scrape by. Even if no riots broke out, couldn't people voice their displeasure? Those complaining that the new administrator was too harsh and tyrannical never stopped to consider that had Ji Jue truly been a cruel tyrant, they wouldn't even have the chance to tighten screws in a factory, let alone find the leisure to complain online. As for anyone daring to lead trouble, they were promptly sent to become coworkers with the Sukarno family. At least those people seemed quite cheerful at work, overflowing with gratitude. With the service sector languishing, the dominant shipping sector fared no better. During a disaster wind, critical maritime transport for the Federation and the Empire could deploy warship escorts or rely on airships. Though affected, the disruption remained minor, resulting only in lower efficiency and higher costs. For the scattered city-states of the Thousand Islands, however, one had to pay protection fees just to use monopolized sea routes. Profits cratered, leaving them to scavenge scraps beneath the table after the Federation and Empire had taken the lion's share. Those who avoided protected routes had to rely on experience, ancestral charts, or sheer suicidal grit. Consequently, the moment the omens appeared, people plunged into a final frenzy, overloading vessels and overworking crews in a race against time to prepare for the bleak months ahead. At the same time, an even greater madness gripped the fishing industry. Deep-sea trawling! The harbinger of a disaster wind was an explosive population boom among marine life. At times like this, in resource-dense waters, a single casual net cast could fill a cargo hold to bursting. Once the disaster wind truly began blowing, the surge would become even more absurd, though the fish would lose all commercial value. Under the influence of aberrations, their tissues would carry varying amounts of toxins, harmful if consumed in excess. Besides, humans wouldn't even get the chance to eat them; it would be a feeding frenzy for calamity beasts. After the disaster wind passed, the sea would fall into complete desolation, withering as though locked in winter. If they didn't haul in their catch now, there wouldn't be another chance for half a year! Numerous fishing companies seized the final days before the omens faded. Countless vessels departed port in unison, joining in the final revelry before the storm. On Luo Island, there was a company whose owner pawned everything and took out massive loans to assemble a large fleet. He staked it all on a gamble, steering toward the northern seas to harvest king crabs accelerated to maturity by the disaster wind! Over the course of a week, everything went smoothly, and they turned back laden with a full catch. Unfortunately, the champagne had been popped too early. They had departed as an imposing, spirited armada, but returned as a miserable trickle of wailing survivors. Fewer than two ships returned. The rest had sunk! "Fish! It was full of fish! Too many fish!" Stinking of liquor, the shattered captain spasmed uncontrollably the moment he recalled what he had witnessed, his expression twitching as if his soul remained trapped in that night of despair. "Fish everywhere... everywhere..." On a stormy night split by lightning, the wind howled and the sea boiled. Flashes of electricity illuminated countless swarming scales beneath the waves. And along with them, hideous, grotesque silhouettes— Merfolk! A companion species of calamity beasts and the most common aberrations in the sea. Hatchlings started at six meters long; adults measured fifteen to twenty meters, weighed multiple tons, and preyed on virtually anything that moved! On their journey back with a full cargo, along a route that should have remained safe and stable, the fishing fleet had been completely wiped out. And from Ji Jue's own inquiries, more grim reports were arriving continuously from afar. The omens, which should have lasted over two weeks, had barely persisted for six days before widespread sightings and attacks by merfolk erupted across the eastern Endless Sea. Nourished by the overflowing schools of fish and glutted on nature's bounty, countless hatchlings had emerged and grown at terrifying speed, hunting schools of fish in ravenous hunger as their numbers swelled. Several packs had already ridden the ocean currents, devouring their way straight forward— Like an unforeseen elbow strike, shattering the fragile bubble of revelry, barreling straight toward the face of the Seven Cities!