It took one whole month for the Harbour Guards to gather enough parts—scrounging materials from every wreckage in the giant remipede, near and far, to cobble their warship back together.
Marisol was no shipwright, though she’d worked her fair share of part-time construction jobs back in the desert town, so she spent today the same way she spent most other days in the past month: tending to the bonfire and cooking some form of breakfast-lunch-dinner, crabs and mushroom and other crustaceans and all the like. Captain Enrique had a pocket watch to tell the time with, but it broke down some time ago. Even the Archive wasn’t completely sure if it was day or night on the surface.
Their sleep schedules were all screwed, anyways. The Harbour Guards took turns repelling the walls of water, and sometimes she’d try to help, too, but the fact was she was the only decent cook in the group. Terrible food meant terrible morale, so she’d been experimenting with a hundred different ways to cook the same food over and over just to keep their palates fresh—and, to that end, today was the day even the Archive ran out of new methods to cook crabs over a small fire.
Thankfully, today was the last day they’d be inside the giant remipede.
How many points do I have, Archive? she thought, sitting curled up on a wooden beam as she poked the bonfire with a stick. The last rack of crab legs was still cooking, so she might as well finish it if everybody else was already sick of eating crabs. She knew she sure was, but the points would always be useful.
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[Name: Marisol Vellamira]
[Class: Water Strider]
[Points: 156]
[Hexichor Art: ???]
[Hexichor Aura: 718/724(99%)]
[Strength: 5, Speed: 6 (+2), Toughness: 3 (+1), Dexterity: 2, Perceptivity: 3]
[// MUTATION TREE]
[T1 Mutation | Striding Glaives]
[T2 Mutations | Ripple Sensors | Hydrofuge Spines | Ripple Returner | Filtrating Gills]
[T3 Mutations | Preapical Claws | Gliding Wings | Segmented Setae | Recalibrated Weight] 150P
[// EQUIPPED Hexsteel]
[Ghost Crab Scarf (Quality = D)(Spd +2/2)(Tou +1/1)(Hexichor –76)]
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… I can unlock one tier three mutation, huh?
[Indeed,] the Archive said, appearing atop her shoulder. [All four mutations are not particularly powerful by themselves, but paired with later mutations, they could prove rather useful in certain scenarios. You are free to pick whichever one you would like to unlock first, but if you would prefer to increase your attribute levels instead, that is also a valid option.]
She paused for a moment, glancing at her status screen as she turned the rack of crab legs over. My attribute levels feel high enough for the situation I’m in, so I’m thinking a tier three mutation would be more… useful? What do you think?
[Well, from tier three onwards, each mutation will take some time to manifest on your body, so given that you have the time to be sitting around right now, I would recommend unlocking a tier three mutation.]
Ah. She tilted her head back, wincing as she recalled the conversation. You did say something like that when we first talked, huh? Mutations are permanent once I unlock them, so the stronger mutations that change more parts of my body are only gonna be more and more painful to unlock from now on.
[Correct. With that said, here are my suggested options. Pick one from three:]
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[T3 Mutation: Preapical Claws]
[Brief Description: You will grow retractable claws on the sides of your forearms that can extend out of your elbows. Scales with strength and toughness. This is a passive mutation. Extending the claws will not drain your Hexichor Aura]
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[The first of three is simple enough to understand,] the Archive said, crawling down to her left forearm and tapping it with a tiny leg. [The normal human forearm has two bones: the ulna and the radius. If you unlock preapical claws, you will grow a third bone that can whip out your elbows like a blade. Much like your glaives, they will regenerate if they are sliced off, though you have yet to unlock the regeneration mutation unique to your class. That should be in tier five.]
She mulled over the mutation, imagined blades sticking out her elbows, and immediately brightened up at the thought.
That sounds cool! Blades coming out of my arms? How sharp are they?
[The sharpness scales with your strength level, so with a strength level of five, they will be able to cut through items with a toughness level of five.]
Cool! Then, let’s go–
[Please refrain from deciding so quickly. Here are your second and third options:]
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[T3 Mutation: Gliding Wings]
[Brief Description: You will grow short wings between your shoulder blades. However, this is a channeled mutation. Gliding with these wings will continuously drain your Hexichor Aura, so you cannot glide indefinitely]
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[T3 Mutation: Segmented Setae]
[Brief Description: You will grow microscopic spines across your skin that will allow you to cling to and walk on walls. However, this is a channeled mutation. Sticking to walls will continuously drain your Hexichor Aura, so you cannot defy gravity indefinitely]
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[The other two are quite self-explanatory as well: gliding wings will let you glide, while segmented setae will allow you to walk on walls and ceilings,] the Archive said plainly. [Please note that the wings of the water strider class cannot be used to 'fly'. Because water striders experience wing dimorphism—meaning, water striders have varying wing lengths depending on the season—we, the Archives of the Altered Hexsteel Systems, decided to not give water strider class users the ability to fly at all. Rather than a mutation that only functions five months in a year, we would rather water strider class users have a more well-rounded mutation that works all-year-long.]
Her eyes lit up, nevertheless, at the description of the other two mutations. So you’re saying I can still kinda fly.
[No. You can glide.]
That’s just flying with slightly less control.
[Let us see if you can still say that in the face of a wind-controlling moth, which will make certain you never get to glide in the direction you want–]
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Oh, but the other mutation that lets me walk on walls sounds cool as well, she thought, scratching the back of her head as she hummed in indecision. I think… hm. So there’s one mutation that’ll let me cut crabs open easier–
[–an offensive option, yes–]
–one mutation that’ll make my silhouette look prettier and more flowy when I’m dancing–
[–an emergency escape option through the air, yes–]
–and one mutation that’ll let me do more impressive dance techniques, like running up and then backflipping off a wall–
[–do you realise these mutations were designed to assist you in battle–]
–but if I can only pick one to help us get out of this remipede safe and sound, there’s only one real option, right?
She finished her thought the moment she smelled something sizzling in the air, and she immediately panicked, yanking the rack of burnt crab legs off the fire. A couple Harbour Guards laughed atop the ship they’d righted and were still patching up—she shot them all a squint as she munched on the legs, knowing she’d only be getting a few more points for her troubles. Not nearly enough to unlock another tier three mutation.
Even still, the best option was obvious, and the Archive had nothing to say in response to her decision.
Unlock the third tier three mutation for me.
And put the rest of my points into Hexichor Aura, yeah?
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[T3 Mutation Unlocked: Segmented Setae]
[Hexichor Aura: 724 → 730]
[Points: 156 → 0]
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She immediately felt tingly all over, as if a thousand invisible tweezers were stabbing into her skin and plucking out hairs she didn’t even know she had, but it wasn’t really painful—she wasn’t looking forward to unlocking the higher tier mutations, nevertheless.
[Just sit here for the time being. Give or take a minute and you will be able to walk on walls.]
Alright.
One minute was just about long enough for them to gather one last time, too, so she was delighted to hear Captain Enrique shouting at all his men to stand around her bonfire. He had impeccable timing as always. One by one, the forty burly men finished off the last of their tasks before jumping down onto their favourite coral chunks, making sure they were within her line of sight as she wolfed down the last of her crab legs.
Captain Enrique was the last to jump down next to her, and he gestured in front of her with a proud grin on his face.
… It was something to be proud of.
A month ago, they’d all been huddled behind a half-broken ship that’d been knocked flat onto its sides, but their resourcefulness had to be commended. The giant warship’s hull was a mosaic of timbers, planks, and metal plates scrapped from wreckage all around. The triple masts were repaired and lashed with thick, sinewy ropes. The old tattered sails that bore the Harbour Guards’ emblem were replaced by shiny, silvery fabrics they wove together out of giant fish scales. Thirty black cannons lined the gunports on both sides of the ship, and they’d made sure to load all of them with as many anti-chitin cannonballs as they could scrounge from the other ships before them.
They’d not done the repairs while the ship was lying on its side, of course. The Harbour Guards had yanked the warship upright and kept it upright with dozens of ropes wrapped around coral moors, and now that it was standing tall and strong, its Deepwater Legion architecture influence was all but apparent; the ship was sleek and elongated, tapering into a sharp prow with the bowsprit jutting forward like a pointed sword.
Cool ship.
[Functional.]
Aesthetic.
[Efficient.]
The whole ship was thirty metres long and twice as tall—it looked every bit a warship the likes of which Marisol had seen in picture books since she was a child, and while she’d been excited to explore the Marauders’ warship that the children painstakingly repaired for her, that was nothing compared to the real deal.
She felt like breaking into a stupid grin.
If there was any ship that could possibly break through the giant remipede, it would be the warship in front of her.
“... We good to go, boss?” Enrique asked.
She shot the captain a cheery thumbs-up in response, and that was all the Harbour Guards needed to cheer up a frenzy. All forty of them rolled up their mats, picked up their wine barrels, and tossed every crate of food they’d taken out of the ship back onto the ship. They moved with vigour and efficiency like she’d never seen them before—they were raring to go, hearts pounding in sync, because damn if all they did was dance to the tune of the bug they were stuck in.
The Harbour Guards had a reason to return to the surface, and so did she.
Without a word, Captain Enrique offered her a hand off the wooden beam she was sitting on, and she took it—only to be immediately tossed fifteen metres up onto the warship’s deck, his superhuman strength kicking in with a laugh. She landed perfectly on the tip of her glaives, of course, and shot him a thumbs-down as the Harbour Guards around her laughed. They were busy with all manners of tasks; some were knotting off the corners of the sails, some were hacking off the mooring lines with their cutlasses, but everyone knew their task. They’d been briefed dozens of times over the past month, and while most of them had been understandably nervous, they’d grown more comfortable with her plan over time.
Maybe they simply had no other choice but to be comfortable with their only plan, but whatever the case was, her role wasn’t down here on the warship’s upper deck.
[For the record, I do think this is the most reckless and dangerous plan you have concocted by far.]
Thank you.
The Archive looked at her weirdly.
[... Exhilaration masochist.]
She squinted back at the Archive pointedly.
Coward.
[Realist.]
What’s the percentage?
[A hundred percent chance of either life or death.]
You're useless as always.
While Captain Enrique jumped up himself and manned the steering wheel, shouting at his men to hasten their preparations, she began climbing the ratlines. The ropes swayed and wobbled as she tried not to touch them with her glaives, and it was a bit scary, but eventually she reached the crow’s nest at the very top of the front sail—overlooking the rest of the remipede’s stomach from far, far above ground.
The ship was pointed towards the giant remipede’s teeth, and the last wall of water hit around twenty minutes ago.
So, with ten minutes left to spare, she sat down on the crow’s nest and let her glaives kick back and forth over the edge as she took out her mama’s book.
“To el borde Vellamira, Marisol, my only little runaway.”
“Captain Antonio was wrong. He said the round trip would only take two months, but you must be more than two months away from home if you’re reading the third chapter.”
“I’m sure the future me who gave you this book told you it would be a trip longer than two months, and I’m also sure the future you told me it wouldn’t take longer than two months, so I’ll say this here and now: I told you so.”
“I’m always right, you little rascal. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Marisol snorted immediately upon reading the letter on the first page of the third chapter, and she felt a little teary-eyed as she flipped to the next page; had it really been more than two months since she left home for the Whirlpool City?
A lot had gone wrong, and she was sure her mama wouldn’t believe her if she said she was swallowed by a giant bug.
“I reckon, if you’re reading this, that you’re either still on Antonio’s ship or stuck in transit inside the Whirlpool City.”
“I don’t know if the city’s still brimming with crowds and performers on the streets, but if you’ve been away from home for more than two months already, I also reckon you’re running out of silvers. You saved up ten years for just enough to afford a two-month round trip and a vial of healing seawater, after all. Maybe you’ve been begging or working menial jobs for silvers the past month, but I just can’t stand the thought of a Vellamira sleeping out on those cold, damp streets.”
“So here’s a technique for you to woo a bigger crowd than any other street performer in the city—but use it sparingly, alright?”
“It can hurt your crowd if you’re not careful, and you don’t want to be on the bad side of the Imperators.”
She chuckled softly again as she flipped to the next page, and from there on until the chapter four lock, it was all diagrams and drawings of the technique she was fairly certain about even before she read it—she’d seen her mama perform this technique a few times when she was a lot younger, but, compared to the speed of the Storm Stride, the power of the War Jump, and the control of the Silent Step, it didn’t seem completely impossible to adapt the technique for the obstacles in her way.
If anything, she was excited feeling the ground rumble.
What could I do with this technique, I wonder…
The bioluminescent lights dimmed as the fleshy walls undulated one last time. Four hundred metres in front of her, the giant remipede opened its mouth to swallow a gargantuan wall of water, and Captain Enrique roared for his men to get into position beneath her.
… Archive?
[Yes?]
Update that objective, won’t you?
The wall of water charged in, making the remipede rumble as it neared the stern of the warship.
Marisol dragged a glaive back, a small, nervous grin coming onto her face.
It’ll be a messy kill.
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[Objective #9: Escape from the giant remipede before you get digested]
[Objective #9: Slay the Giant Remipede]
[Time Limit: 10 minutes]
[Reward: 5000 points, 500x Remipede Phyllopodia, 4x Remipede Venom Mandibles, 2x Remipede Olfactory Nerve Centres]
[Failure: Glorious death]