Confronted by the phenomenon unfolding, Fang Senyan kept his composure. Following Kri’s earlier guidance, he tossed a prepared apple, a strip of bacon, and two dozen rye breads into the water before him. A peculiar sound then resonated in the air, reminiscent of the gentle strumming of a Greek harp, mingling with the sudden appearance of dark shapes darting beneath the surface. These shadows moved with incredible speed, like broad, black ribbons cutting swiftly through the water. Watching them, Fang Senyan felt a surge of extreme danger, a sense that even mere contact would bring dire consequences. He recognized this as a high-perception warning and instinctively stepped back, positioning himself to dive behind the nearby rocks at a moment’s notice.

Fortunately, the shadows showed no intention of coming ashore. After devouring the food Fang Senyan had offered, they dissolved one by one. The silver light shimmering on the sea surface began to fade, just as a derelict bottle, thickly coated in moss and algae, drifted rapidly toward him from the distance. As Fang Senyan retrieved the bottle, the silver glow vanished instantly, and the scene reverted to the previous state of a raging storm.

Fang Senyan was reluctant to linger by the shore; walking alone on such a dark night made him too conspicuous. He made his way to a tavern and, slapping two pounds onto the bar, requested a room from the bartender. Since this establishment served as a combination supermarket, inn, and even a brothel, the bartender showed no surprise. He led Fang Senyan around a corner near the back door and into a private room.

The room seemed deliberately styled after a ship's cabin, likely catering to its clientele of pirates and sailors. A decoration resembling a ship's wheel hung on the wall, the window was a typical small oval, and nearby sat a set of hand-thrown darts, currently quite fashionable. On the wooden stool beside the bed were distinct scorch marks, presumably left by the carelessly set-down pipe of a previous guest. Commendably, the gray, striped linen sheets, though appearing worn, were impeccably clean and carried the fresh scent of sun-dried laundry.

Fang Senyan sat down on the ** and began to examine the bottle he had recovered. It was a dark brown vessel with a narrow neck and a rounded body, sealed with a thick layer of wax to keep the cork dry. The bottle’s surface was no longer smooth; it was encrusted with barnacles and seaweed, giving it a deliberately rough texture to the touch. What surprised Fang Senyan even more was the extreme cold radiating from it—as if it had just been pulled from a freezer—creating the illusion that the heat in his very marrow was being leached away.

According to Kri, opening the bottle would immediately terminate the mission and summon a malevolent spirit. This wraith would exist in an ethereal state, impervious to any form of physical attack. Its purpose was to curse the opener, causing a cumulative loss of 100 Health Points over five minutes before dissipating. Kri’s team had suffered a casualty when an overeager member broke the seal, bringing the curse upon himself.

This unfortunate soul had been a pickpocket before entering the Nightmare Space, boasting the dexterity of a master who could pull ten one-pound coins from a vat of boiling oil without injury. His Agility, deliberately maximized, exceeded twenty points, yet his Stamina was barely that of an average person. Cursed, the man was beside himself with rage, trying every method imaginable, only to watch helplessly as he bled out slowly over five minutes. The near-collapse of his spirit before death was unimaginable.

After this incident, no one dared to open the bottle rashly. Through extensive probing, Kri’s team finally discovered an old man named Russell within Fort Tuthaga who showed great interest in the artifact. This elder held a respected position within the fortress, akin to a trusted steward. He emerged every morning at nine to procure groceries and other necessities. Handing the bottle to him guaranteed a substantial reward of twenty pounds (local currency, non-transferable) and secured his friendship, which in turn granted permission to freely enter the outer perimeter of Fort Tuthaga under the guise of visiting Mr. Russell. This access was not without merit; Kri mentioned that using a whetstone found in Tuthaga Port could permanently increase a weapon’s damage by 1-1, along with the chance to receive other, more profound missions.

However, Fang Senyan had no intention of following Kri’s prescribed path any further.

Firstly, Kri himself was no saint. He had previously exploited a loophole in the contract, cleverly omitting the necessity of building rapport with the stingy Mogul, thereby creating a significant nuisance for Fang Senyan. According to principles of psychology, vigilance is lowest when success is closest. Therefore, continuing along the established route meant risking a direct collision with a trap Kri had likely set again.

More importantly, the rewards awaiting him on the standard path held no attraction for Fang Senyan. Thanks to Armand’s generous distribution of spoils, Fang Senyan’s current sterling total was already well into the triple digits; a mere twenty pounds held little appeal. As for the supposed opportunities within the outer grounds of Fort Tuthaga—for the Helmsman of the Bell and Goblet and the direct murderer of the fort master’s wife—frequent ingress and egress to that location was far from advisable. The potential troubles likely outweighed any meager benefits.

Thus, Fang Senyan decided to try the alternative branch route—the one Kri and his team had abandoned after hitting a dead end: opening the bottle!

The Wraith’s curse sounded vicious, but fortunately, the rate of life drain posed no real threat to Fang Senyan. If he were currently on deck wearing the ‘Pirate Chieftain’ title, his maximum health could reach a staggering 190 points; even now, he stood at 170 HP. Losing 100 points over five minutes was virtually effortless for him—and this didn't even account for the damage resistance conferred by his high maximum health pool.

After carefully weighing the pros and cons, Fang Senyan steadily picked up the derelict bottle, allowing the intermittent chill radiating from it to wick away his body heat. He then retrieved the nearby candlestick, first touching the flame with his finger as if testing its temperature, before carefully applying the bottleneck to the candlelight, evenly baking the thick, solid wax seal until it began to melt away.

As the flame warmed it, the wax seal around the bottle’s lip started to liquefy, dripping onto the tabletop one drop at a time. A faint, sweet aroma had subtly permeated the air. Watching the process, Fang Senyan was suddenly reminded of a ‘haunted house’ story his Fourth Uncle used to tell him about his own father’s youth. The story recounted how his great-grandfather, traveling with a partner in his merchant days, encountered a small cabin in the darkening mountains. The cabin was empty, save for an evil, headless statue in the main hall. Yet, rice, firewood, and bedding were all present. Despite the unsettling atmosphere, being famished after a day’s travel and caught in a downpour, they decided to spend the night there.

Naturally, the merchants intended to start a fire, cook, and sleep early. However, the cabin lacked a chimney, causing the cooking smoke to billow everywhere. Before they could even finish preparing their meal, they saw terrifying specters rushing at them from all directions. In their panic, they fled desperately; two companions fell to their deaths from a cliff edge on the slick path. Later, they heard from an experienced traveler that the cabin was likely a trap set by bandits, and the flaw lay in the firewood they used for cooking.

That wood must have been treated with a preparation derived from poisonous mushrooms found in the Ailao Mountains—a hallucinogen, in modern terms. Inhaling the smoke produced upon burning would induce hallucinations. Combined with the grim surroundings and the psychological suggestion of the evil, headless statue, terrifying visions were inevitable.

Now, seeing the melted wax oil and the sudden, faint scent in the air, Fang Senyan felt a creeping sense of foreboding. In this era, the most common way to open such a bottle would be to use fire to melt the seal—making it highly probable that some trap was embedded within. He immediately pulled the bottle away from the candle flame and opened the window, taking several deep breaths of fresh air. Whether it was psychosomatic or not, Fang Senyan felt his mind clear instantly.

Although he received no notification from the Nightmare Imprint regarding an attack, his persistent sense of unease prompted him to quickly check his personal attributes. He immediately located the source of his disquiet! Beneath his personal stats was a clear line of text:

“When your attacks hit an enemy, there is a 14% chance of being nullified.”

However, it was clear this annoying effect was rapidly fading. After reading the line and examining his condition more closely, he found no other abnormalities besides this accursed debuff (Harmful Sustained Effect). The chance of attack nullification had already dropped to 13%. It seemed likely that within a minute, this debuff would vanish as silently as it had appeared, without alarming anyone.