As he sank deeper and deeper into the cold, salty waters, Alger didn't let gravity alone be what drove him downward.
With a simple movement of his hands and legs, the pirate accelerated to a speed he deemed acceptable. With a kick of his legs, the distance between him and the Burnt Witch shortened considerably.
There was almost no resistance from the water as he moved. As a Seafarer, his affinity with the water had undergone an equitative change from when he was a Sailor.
He was even more loved by the oceans; embraced by their waters or near them, he would receive a general boost to his abilities. Movement was naturally one of them.
From this Sequence onwards, unless he faced another Beyonder of the Sailor Pathway, he had no rival in the waters.
The midday sunlight pierced through the thin blue veil of the waves, illuminating the corals and sea anemones on the seabed. Among them, various marine animals swam slowly.
Sensing his presence, they took a moment to observe him before parting and slipping into their hiding places among the multicolored corals.
Alger Wilson only sped up; a streak almost seemed to form around him. The man did not head directly for his target, but deliberately swam away from the island until the pier supports disappeared.
This took him 10 minutes, but it wasn't a problem. If he wanted to, he could easily stay underwater for over half an hour.
After a while, the pirate stopped abruptly, the water around him rippling slightly.
The pirate's gaze rose.
More than 100 meters above him, the solitary mast of a ship floated calmly.
Even if he'd kept his eyes closed the entire time it took him to get here, he knew that was Bloodhound Chris's ship. Once he'd already determined its location at sea, finding it was simple.
Alger didn't rush to approach. With gentle but fluid movements, he ascended, leaving the depths behind.
Breaking the surface with his head, the pirate saw once again that the entrance he had planned to use was still available.
It was normal for ships to have some method of ventilation on their voyages across the sea, whether long or short. This was to prevent bad odors caused by either condensation or humidity.
For pirate ships, which weren't designed for comfort like other vessels, these vents were the gun ports.
Two long rows on both sides of the ship, with as many units as you wanted to keep open at once, it was obvious they'd become makeshift windows when it came time to air out the ship.
Given the poor internal ventilation on these, this was the best option available.
Noticing one of these open vents on the side, a few meters from the water, the blue-haired head went back under.
A few seconds later, Alger leaped out of the water, soaring through the air and easily reaching the frame with his right hand.
His free hand made a simple waving motion, and the thin layer of water vanished, drying his clothes—though they were now wrinkled.
Having done that, the man didn't rush to enter. He peeked his head in slightly, observing the interior.
Several ropes hung from the ceiling, along with hammocks. Cannons mounted on carts, secured with rigging. Some ammunition on the sides of these, as well as simple, unlit oil lamps.
Seeing this, Alger clicked his tongue to himself.
'Is this the setup of someone with the potential to be a vice admiral? What a joke.'
More than one cannon was too close to another, with barely two steps separating them. If both were to fire at the same time, they would undoubtedly collide, damaging each other in the process. Even the rigging looked loose and old, clearly in need of maintenance.
If this were on the Blue Avenger, whoever was responsible would be spending a nice little while with the fish.
'There's more order in a drunken baboon's cave…' Suppressing a growl and a grimace, he took a breath and stepped inside.
His boots hit the wooden floor with a soft thud.
Carefully, the man moved across the gun deck, making sure to stay in the darkest corners.
The sound and vibration from above helped him locate those who had stayed behind to watch the ship.
The stowaway Alger wasn't worried about them. Noting their positions, he moved cautiously through the space, his eyes darting from one corner to another, but after a moment, he turned his attention forward and pressed on.
He made his way to the stairs he'd seen earlier and carefully descended to the ship's lowest level.
The dim light from the open gun ports didn't reach this far, nor were there any lamps due to what was stored here. Thus, darkness reigned.
Apparently unaffected by this, the Seafarer extended his hand slightly. Then, the darkness was pushed back by a soft blue light emanating from his palm. It was just enough to see where he was going and avoid stepping on any sound traps that might alert the ship's crew to his presence.
'There shouldn't be anyone down here, so there shouldn't be much danger, but when you're dealing with lunatics, you can never be sure what they'll do…' Alger could only regret a little that he didn't have time to wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness instead of using this light.
But, knowing it was necessary—and that the longer he stayed here, the more dangerous it would be—he hurried through the dark corridors.
Despite the musty smell of the place, the bodily fluids, and other waste, another scent stood out. So, he headed straight for the bow.
A few meters from reaching his goal, Alger paused for a moment.
To his right, a door with thick iron bars greeted him. This allowed him to see what lay behind it, thanks to the light in his hands, though with some difficulty.
As he approached, Alger increased the intensity of the light in his hands slightly, revealing what was hidden in the darkness.
From the walls of the room, chains as thick as the door's bars extended, ending in even thicker shackles. Dark stains covered nearly the entire floor, and there were scratches on the walls.
Expressionless but with a slightly darker gaze, the blue-haired man surveyed the empty room.
'There's no one here.'
Bloodhound Chris wasn't exactly known for taking prisoners, but a pirate would always be a pirate. Especially one with a bounty of 6,500 pounds.
'May the skies be clear on your journey…' Closing his eyes and offering a quick prayer for the poor souls who had passed through here, the light in his hands dimmed and the room returned to darkness.
After that brief stop, Alger finally arrived where he wanted to be.
Opening the door, the azure light in his hand spread through the room in small particles. It illuminated several thick barrels which, unlike the disorder of the cannons, were neatly stacked, one on top of the other.
Closing the door behind him and walking over to one of the barrels that showed the most signs of use, he lifted the lid slightly. Black powder greeted the pirate's eyes.
The corners of the blue-haired man's lips turned up. This was exactly what he was looking for and the reason he had decided to sneak onto the Burnt Witch.
The gunpowder store.
Stealing the artifact had never been part of his plans.
Stealing it was too risky. Not only was he certain the artifact was always in Bloodhound Chris's possession, but Alger was also largely unaware of the artifact's abilities.
As far as he knew, the artifact was called Promises of Starry Nights and could resist curses related to the Blood Moon.
He didn't even know what it looked like.
Only because he had been constantly searching for an artifact with the qualities Chariot sought for several months had he managed to gather a bit of information when one was purchased through his contacts.
With all that in mind, confronting Bloodhound Chris was far too risky.
That was why the first thing he had to do was create conditions where the advantage was on his side.
Covering the powder keg again, Alger moved to the side and knelt down.
Pressing his hand against the wood, he felt around several spots for a while until his hand stopped.
The gentle movement of water reached his palm through the wood in a soft whisper, like a lover calling him back into their arms.
'This is the weakest point…' Nodding slightly, Alger drew his sword and, enveloping it in his spirituality, carved several symbols into the wood.
Soon, a corner of the room was covered with crashing waves, tridents, and cauldrons.
All of these symbols were of the water domain and stemmed from the knowledge brought by the potion. Their purpose was to cause the water on the other side to slowly begin 'dissolving' the wood of the bow.
This wouldn't cause the hull to develop holes; it would just weaken the wood to a certain extent. That was the best he could do just by carving symbols.
While using special ingredients, as well as rituals, would make the effect more powerful, he didn't consider it necessary.
Besides, if he were to use them, they would be much harder to hide than what he was doing now. The spirituality of these would leave an easily detectable trail and would be discovered.
What he needed was discretion, and these symbols met the requirements. The spirituality infused into them would only last a few hours before dissipating into the surroundings; the only evidence left would be the symbols carved into the wood, which were easy to hide.
The gunpowder store was not only in the deepest part of the ship but also below the waterline, making it extremely safe from enemy fire.
Of course, if the wood was weak, being underwater would be of no use.
A solid hit from a cannonball would set everything ablaze.
Once Alger was satisfied with his work, he covered the symbols he had carved with one of the many rags in the room, ordered some barrels to conceal them, and moved several of them closer to the future weak spot.
Surveying his work and making sure nothing looked out of the ordinary, the man breathed a small sigh.
The azure particles of light that filled the room faded in an instant. This time, darkness remained supreme. Having already traveled the path, a constant source of light was no longer necessary.
Returning the way he had come to the gun decks, he was about to reach one of the open gun ports when the heavy stomp of boots stopped him.
Alger Wilson quickly hid in a corner behind some cannons.
Thud Thud Thud
Coming down the stairs, a man in a coat and a yellowed shirt moved with a slight stoop.
Watching him from his hiding spot, the blue-haired man cursed under his breath.
'Bloodhound Chris?! Wasn't he supposed to stay in the bars and not come back until late at night?'
This was bad.
With slow movements, his hand moved toward the hilt of his sword.
Pausing on the second-to-last step, the Burnt Witch's captain's cold gaze swept across the gun deck, pure malice churning beneath it.
"Grrr…" Faint growls escaped his mouth, revealing sharp, yellowed teeth.
Pausing for a moment, he raised a hand and scratched his neck hard, leaving long, deep, dripping red lines.
The wounds didn't seem to bother him in the least; Chris's expression remained aggressive.
As the collar of his shirt slowly stained red, he lifted his chin slightly and closed his eyes.
Sniff Sniff-
Clack
Something moved, causing the wood to creak. The disheveled man's reaction was immediate.
In a great leap that was more like that of an animal than a man, the distance from the staircase to some barrels on the side was covered.
Crash! Snap!
With a furious howl, he swung his arm, and the heavy cannons were violently pushed aside, snapping the ropes that bound them.
In the space revealed, there was no one, only an old rope that appeared to have fallen from the ceiling.
Observing this, the man's expression turned ferocious, his pupils narrowing and his teeth lengthening.
Looking up, his raspy voice echoed off the walls of the room.
"IDIOTS! COME AND CLEAN UP NOW!"
Several sailors came down to the gun deck carrying buckets and brooms, visibly pale and sweating.
Breathing somewhat heavily, he scratched his neck again. This caused more red lines to appear and stained his shirt with blood.
"FAST, I SAID!" Chris ordered impatiently, kicking a bucket so it flew through the air.
The bucket flew out through one of the open gun ports, disappearing into the sea.
Sinking quickly into the water, Alger swam away in a blur, sheathing his sword.
'Really, you can't predict a lunatic…' Clicking his tongue to himself, the Seafarer focused on getting away as fast as he could.
Although Bloodhound Chris's sudden appearance had been unpleasant, Alger had already achieved what he wanted.
Now, all that remained was to wait for the Burnt Witch to set sail.