QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 392: Naia

Chapter 391:

Naia

I can’t believe he was this easy.

I thought the prince would put up more of a fight. He’s supposedly enamored with the rmaid—follows her around the ship like a lovesick puppy, watches her swim for hours, sighs when she leaves the room. I assud he’d have so loyalty. So decency.

Clearly, I was wrong.

He had no qualms about physical pleasures with .

None at all.

He barely hesitated.

How would that even work with a rmaid?

Well she does change into a human, I suppose.

But the prince? Average. At best. I’ve eaten better n—figuratively and literally. He’s not special. Not morable. Not worth the effort I put into seducing him.

I’m almost disappointed.

I walk across the deck, my beads clicking softly with each step. The afternoon sun is warm.

The prince’s n keep to themselves. My father sharpens his knives in the corner, his eyes fixed on .

I ignore him.

The parrot is watching.

It’s always watching.

We all know it—the bird is the Captain’s eyes and ears. Her spy. Her ssenger. Her weapon.

It’s not normal.

Firstly, it never eats. I’ve never seen it take a single bite of food, never seen it drink water, never seen it do anything but watch. Secondly, the colors of its feathers are odd—too bright, too purple, too perfect. No bird in nature looks like that.

Thirdly, it’s extrely silent.

Most birds chirp. Squawk. Make noise.

Not this one.

Only when it’s giving out orders—the Captain’s orders,does a peep of sound co from the bird.

It’s supernatural.

The Captain has sent it flying into storms. Into raging fires. Into battles that should have killed any living creature.

It cos back.

Every ti.

Fine. Unscathed. Watching.

And its na.

404.

That’s also weird.

What is it? A code na? A secret? So language I don’t understand?

They say 404 translates into sothing horrible in the Devil’s language. I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know if anything the sailors whisper about the Captain is true.

But I know what I saw.

There was a priest. When we traversed the English waters. He heard rumors—whispers of a devil on pirate seas—and he ca to find us.

To save us.

He stood on the deck, tall and stern, his black robes billowing in the wind. He held a cross in one hand and a Bible in the other. He spoke of damnation. Of hellfire. Of souls that would burn for eternity if they did not repent.

The Captain listened.

Politely.

With a smile on her face.

Fangs in her smile.

I’d never noticed them before—the sharpness of her canines, the points that glinted when she spoke. But that night, under the lantern light, I saw them clearly.

Claws too.

They ca out from her palms—long, curved, deadly.

She just showed them.

The priest scread.

The Captain said sothing,I don’t rember what. The words didn’t make sense. The language was wrong. The sound was wrong.

And then the bird responded.

[Affirmative, Host.]

It was not the mocking parrot tone.

This was different. Otherworldly. Uncomfortable.

The sound scraped against my ears. Against my soul.

I have never felt more fear in my life.

The crew thinks the Captain is scary. They whisper about her at night, speculate about her origins, her powers, her nature. So think she’s a devil. So think she’s a ghost. So think she’s sothing worse—sothing that has no na in any language they know.

But I’m certain of sothing they’re not.

She’s a hundred tis more terrifying than they believe.

Sotis I wonder.

What did the bird an by its words? Host? Like a body inhabited. Like a vessel commanded. Like sothing using the Captain for purposes none of us can fathom.

Is the Captain really a devil?

Might be.

But what is a devil doing on human lands? What business does a creature of hell have on the mortal sea, hunting rmaids, collecting debts, waiting?

That night, when I conducted the spell—when I reached through the threads of fate, when sothing reached back—I got my answer.

We’ve always known the Captain was searching for rmaids. She’s been doing it for years—sailing from port to port, interrogating sailors, following rumors. We theorized maybe she wanted a pet. Or to eat one. Or to plunder rfolk treasures.

But I know now.

The Captain is searching for her.

The bird flies away. Toward the flagpost at the top of the ship—the crow’s nest, where the Captain likes to spend her ti. I watch it go. A flash of purple against the blue sky.

I wonder.

What kind of being could have enamored an entity such as the Captain? What kind of creature could inspire that kind of devotion? That kind of obsession?

I shake my head.

So questions are too dangerous to ask.

I spot movent in the corner of my eye. The old man—the prince’s shadow, the one who follows him everywhere, the one who looks like he’s never known a day of fun in his life.

He’s standing by the railing, staring out at the water, his shoulders slumped, his expression gray.

His hair is white, his beard is unkempt, his clothes are rumpled—he looks like he’s been wearing the sa coat for weeks.

He looks like he’s never known a day of fun in his life.

He needs to relax.

I’ll help him relax.

I sway toward him, rolling my hips, letting my beads click with each step. So of the crew notice who I’m going after. They shake their heads. They know . They know what I’m about to do.

I don’t care.

What can I say? I love pleasures of the flesh. And nothing tells you more about a man than what he’s like in matters of the chamber.

Not his words. Not his deeds. Not his reputation.

Him. Unmasked. Unard. Weak.

It’s not the act itself—anyone can perform. It’s the eyes. The monts between. The way they look at you when they think no one is watching. That’s when you see who they really are.

I learned that years ago from the countless n I’ve welcod into my bed, my body, my web.

The prince, for all his bravado, is just an insecure child. He fucks like he’s proving sothing—to himself, to , to the ghost of his brother.

Most pirates are the sa. Scared little boys overcompensating.

I wonder what this old man is really like.