Headed by a Snake

"Look at this, LT! Ishmael!" Krysaos seethed, "This... this place! We should all be wealthy men!"

Tycondrius sighed. It seemed the real reason for the Captain's frustration stemmed from his greed.

Ishmael tilted his head and gestured for the Captain to continue.

Krysaos gnashed his teeth in frustration, "All these ships belong to pirates and merchants from all across the twelve seas!"

He kicked the lockbox away, toppling it and spilling its contents. Sea-decayed clothing, rusted and chipped weaponry, brittle coins, and dull gems that had lost their luster-- everything scattered on the deck was worthless.

"There's NNNNOTHING!!" Krysaos shouted, "It's all ROTTED and RUSTED to OBLIVION!!"

"It's quite natural," Tycon nodded... then shook his head, "Or unnatural, as it were-- but logical. The island is shrouded in death energy similar to the Jade Rabbit. As such, items decay at a faster rate in this place."

"This mana-sensitive shite AGAIN, Tycon?!?" Krysaos groaned, "Look, man. My mana sense isn't as good as yours. You gotta tell me these things."

"That's... an unreasonable demand," Tycon frowned, "I refuse."

"Oh, come onnnnn~!" Krysaos rolled his eyes.

"It's generally common sense-- at least for an adventurer," Tycon calmly gestured to the nearby wall. The island sands could be seen below, through a human-sized hole in the hull.

"Water and earth-type spells are easier to cast on a beach attuned to both the seawater and the sands. A raging volcano, inhabited by salamanders and fire slimes, is full of fire-type mana."

"And thus..." He took a breath, "an island with withered plants, the trees with villainous faces in the bark, and so-littered with broken ships and dead men... is rife with undeath."

"Sea god's pants pocket..." Krysaos allowed himself to collapse backward onto the canted deck floor, "I can't believe this shite..."

Ishmael looked to Tycon and gestured towards the Captain.

...Tycon twisted his lips to the side, "Speaking of deathly energies... are you well, Captain?"

"Huh?" The gentleman propped himself up... "Let me check."

Krysaos coughed, loudly and... wetly into his hand.

"Ayep, that's blood," He groaned... "We need to get the f*ck out of here... this place is gonna kill us."

"Just you, actually," Tycon smirked.

Ishmael shrugged but nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, whatever," Getting to his feet, Krysaos placed a hand on his growling stomach, "LT, how much more food do we have? I'm outta the jerky I stole from you the other sun."

"I was wondering where that went," Tycon frowned. "The answer is: not enough."

"Any ideas? Tycon? Ishmael?"

Contrary to Krysaos' words, the two of them both stared at Tycon expectantly.

...It was something he was used to, doing the 'thinking' during adventuring.

"I have a plan to at least provide us some direction," He gestured at the hole in the wall. "Let us descend to the beach, first."

Ishmael walked over to the hole and leapt out, dropping some eight fulms below.

Tycon followed him out, the sand dispersing the shock from the fall, decently enough.

...It took Krysaos several minutes to walk to where they had entered from, then he jogged over to reach them.

"I uh... I got bad knees," He muttered an excuse-- not that one was necessary.

It seemed Krysaos, the Bronze-Rank Buccaneer, was somewhat weak at feats of athleticism compared to a more martial Class.

Tycon made a mental note of it.

Flicking his wrist, he summoned and assembled two Tyrion pila.

"Since the sha-- no, since Ishmael is a shadow, unaffected by the water, and you, Captain, are likely undetectable by small marine life with your ⌈Water Sphere,⌋ I'd like the two of you to hunt for fish."

"Whoa-hoh!!!" Krysaos took a pilum while wearing his signature grin, "Nice thinking, LT! Now we won't starve, for sure."

...

Ishmael floated out of the water, his shoulders sagging and looking generally defeated.

"No luck, then?" Tycon asked.

The shadow heaved with an exaggerated sigh and shook his head.

Sea life... or something that resembled it. That's what Tycon needed.

The two of them made their way to where Krysaos was diving.

At initial glance, it seemed he'd found some success, and had arranged a score of fish in a small pile.

"Check. it. out!!" Krysaos grinned, "I'm pretty good at spear fishin', if I do say so, myself."

Tycon grimaced as he picked up and observed one of the 'creatures.'

"These are undead fish... not even fit for human consumption," He remarked... "Most of these are literal skeletons without an onze of meat."

"Well, yeah," Krysaos pursed his lips to the side. "Knowing you, you have some kind of weird plan or something you're not telling us."

He raised an eyebrow, "Or were you actually trying to feed us?"

The shadow waved his hands.

"Tyin' to feed me," Krysaos corrected himself. "And you, LT. You need food to live too, right?"

...It seemed in only so few suns, Krysaos had accurately gauged his thought processes.

Tycon was not offended.

"I need a strong source of death for a ritual I'd like to craft," He admitted. "I was hoping to find a medium-to-large-sized creature that could be killed, in order to release a burst of death mana."

There was a surprising amount of potential energy to be had from ritual sacrifice. It was the reason they were so... popular. However, the practice was considered savage by modern accounts... and was mostly used superficially, by small villages with livestock... or poorly, by villains attempting a ritual beyond their ability.

Krysaos covered his chest defensively, "Not gonna be me, guy."

For conscientious reasons, Tycon hoped to avoid using a sentient creature... and he was fairly certain if he botched the summoning, whatever he called would not be able to threaten him.

"Granted," He chuckled. "Your mana is integral to the operation."

Though the Captain did not have a caster Class, he was capable of Circle Magic, as previously displayed by his ⌈Water Sphere⌋ spell. He was more than capable of activating and supplying a ritual with his mana equivalent to a First-Circle spell... so long as Tycon modeled the spell circles with efficiency in mind.

"Well... I am something of a magic-caster," Krysaos mumbled.

He was still remaining vigilant, as was expected.

[More?] Ishmael signed, [or larger?]

"The latter," Tycon smiled politely. "If we cannot gather enough life energy to convert into the opposite, then we can search for a particularly powerful undead and utilize its essence."

He pointed deeper inland, at the imposing, dark-colored mountain, hazy through the fog, "We'll begin our search there."

"Y'know, this all sounds real f*ckin' shady, LT," Krysaos frowned.

"Brother-Captain," Tycon chuckled... "I'm a Lieutenant serving under the scourge of the Eastern Seas."

"HAH!" Krysaos slapped his thigh, "That's right. We're not supposed to be the good guys, after all."