Chapter 176: The Merfolk (3)

Where have I seen that before?

Ketal’s thoughts churned as he gazed at the scene unfolding before him. He struggled to pinpoint why the sight felt so oddly familiar.

Was it during one of those raid dungeons? I can’t remember exactly...

That was rare for him. Every major incident he’d experienced since stepping outside of the White Snowfield, every brush with death and every strange encounter, was stored in his memory in vivid detail.

Yet, right now, no matter how hard he tried to recall, the answer evaded him. Not remembering was a foreign feeling, and Ketal did not like it. It gnawed at him, a small but persistent splinter in the back of his mind.

His reverie was interrupted as the massive leader of the sea primates, having gorged itself, finally lumbered away from the freshly ravaged carcass.

No sooner had the leader withdrawn than the rest of the horde surged forward, eyes wild with hunger. They moved as one—a mass of writhing limbs, fur, and teeth—diving on what remained of the enormous whale.

The sound was sickening, echoing through the area like the snapping of dry bones beneath winter ice. In a matter of moments, the gigantic whale was completely devoured. Not even a single bone remained to mark its passing. The appetite of the sea apes was monstrous, unfathomable.

With their bellies full, the apes no longer rampaged in a wild frenzy. Instead, they scattered throughout the sunken city, their movements deliberate and predatory, but no longer desperate. Aquaz’s eyes narrowed, the faint light of divine power flickering around her.

“It doesn’t seem like they’re just destroying the city for fun,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

The apes had begun to tear down the homes and coral structures of the merfolk. At first glance, it looked like senseless destruction—mindless beasts venting their rage on whatever they encountered.

But Ketal saw something more. The apes didn’t simply smash and scatter. They moved with intention, gathering the pieces of broken coral, torn kelp, and shattered shells. They piled the debris methodically, occasionally pausing to rearrange or inspect their growing hoard. It became clear that this was not random chaos.

Then, with a gasp, Aquaz pointed. “Look there.”

“They’re building something,” Ketal replied, his voice calm but tinged with intrigue. “Those apes are constructing new homes out of the ruins. The merfolk’s dwellings were always too small for creatures of their size.”

He drifted closer, careful not to attract attention. Now, Ketal could see the outlines of crude structures taking shape—a wall here, a roof there, built from scavenged remains. The apes seemed to have an innate sense for construction, their hands moving with surprising skill as they stacked coral slabs and wove strands of kelp into binding ropes.

“They’re not just passing through,” he murmured as he observed. “They mean to claim this city as their own. They’re making a new village, right here, on the bones of the old.”

Behind him, Kukulitan was visibly trembling. “They’re... trying to plant themselves here? They want to stay?”

Ketal nodded. “That’s right. They’re turning your city into their home. They’ve torn down what belonged to the merfolk and are replacing it with something that fits them.”

“But... then what about the survivors?” Kukulitan asked Ketal, his voice cracking. The memory of the massacre was still fresh in his mind.

He knew many of his people had gone into hiding when the apes attacked, seeking shelter in the last intact buildings, using the coral tunnels and dark corners as their final refuge. But if the apes were systematically dismantling everything and rebuilding, then the few remaining safe havens would soon disappear. The survivors, already on the brink of despair, would be exposed.

“Is there any way to check if they’re still alive?” Kukulitan’s words were barely more than a whisper, burdened by desperation.

Aquaz hesitated. She was powerful, her divine abilities a beacon of hope in many situations, but even she had limits.

“It’s... not so simple,” she finally admitted. “Divine power is incredibly versatile, but it isn’t all-seeing. In a place like this, shrouded in water and shadow, even the Sun God’s light can’t illuminate every corner.”

She glanced at Baker, but he also shook his head. “My magic is made for combat, not reconnaissance. If we were on land, I might sense traces of life or magic. But underwater? The water muffles everything. My spells don’t work as they should here.”

Kukulitan’s face paled further. Even the hope that their powerful visitors might save his people was slipping away. He clutched his hands together. “Then... we really don’t know if anyone survived?”

Ketal, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke. “There’s no need to worry. Many of your people are still alive.” His voice was soft, almost casual, as though he were talking about the weather. But it cut through the despair like a ray of sunlight. The others stared at him, uncertain if they had heard correctly.

“Alive? You mean it?” Kukulitan pressed, his eyes wide with hope and doubt in equal measure.

Ketal nodded. “Yes. There are merfolk still alive in the city. They’re hiding in the seaweed forests, among the tangled coral, where the apes don’t look. By my estimate, at least three hundred.”

Kukulitan turned and peered at the city, but no matter how he strained his eyes, he couldn’t spot a single living merfolk.

“How do you know?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Can you sense their presence?”

Ketal chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No. Even I couldn’t cover the whole city with just my senses, not down here. That’s not how I know.”

“Then... how?” Kukulitan asked him, unable to hide his anxiety.

“I can hear them,” Ketal said simply.

“...Hear them?” Kukulitan echoed.

Ketal nodded again. “That’s right. I can hear the sound of merfolk whispering to each other, shifting through the weeds, even the tiny movements they make as they hide. I counted at least three hundred distinct sounds, all coming from different spots. And that’s just the ones who are moving. If you add in the ones who are completely still, there might be even more.”

Aquaz and Baker exchanged glances, both recognizing the implications of Ketal’s words. Baker’s eyebrows furrowed, a skeptical look on his face.

“You can hear that?” Aquaz murmured.

“I sure can. Is that strange?” Ketal replied nonchalantly.

“I feel like you’re more strange than those apes...,” Baker murmured under his breath.

***

Kukulitan shook his head. “Are you sure you aren’t just hearing the ocean currents, or the sounds of the apes?”

Ketal smiled. “There’s a mermaid named Rafarira, isn’t there? She’s hiding with another mermaid, Keimeir. The two of them are trying to share scraps of food. They’re both getting hungry.”

Kukulitan’s mouth fell open in shock. His heart hammered in his chest.

“How—how did you know that?” he whispered, voice hoarse. The others looked at Ketal with newfound respect, even awe.

Baker, who had been silent for a while, now eyed Ketal with thinly veiled suspicion.

In this world, it was not impossible for someone attuned to Myst to perceive the truth of things at a distance. But Ketal had never shown a hint of such mystical talent. He moved with brute force, relying on the strength of his body alone. And yet here he was, listening to secrets that even he couldn’t hear.

Who is this barbarian?

Baker wondered. He tried to find a difference between Ketal and the monstrous apes, who could see for miles, but it was difficult.

Is he really human... or something else? Could he be from the Demon Realm, just like those apes?

For the moment, though, they had something to act on. Ketal’s information changed everything. Now, they knew there were still survivors to save.

Aquaz quickly calculated their odds. “So, how many apes are there in total?”

Ketal replied instantly. “Thirty inside the city. Counting the scouts and wanderers, about forty in total.”

“Now that we know their numbers, we need to find out what they’re truly capable of,” Aquaz said. “If we’re to rescue the survivors, we can’t go in blind. We have to know exactly how tough these creatures are and what their weaknesses might be.”

Baker nodded. “Let’s capture one and test its abilities.”

Ketal didn’t hesitate. “I’ll lure one over here.”

Kukulitan looked deeply uneasy. “Are you sure that’s safe? Those apes are incredibly fast, even underwater. Shouldn’t we face them together, as a group?”

But Aquaz raised a hand, signaling for calm. “Just watch. You’ll see.”

The outskirts of the merfolk city were littered with apes wandering alone, either scouting or perhaps just curious. Ketal picked out one that seemed particularly isolated and approached it.

As he passed, the ape spotted him and immediately gave chase.

Water exploded around as the ape darted after Ketal, its body undulating with raw power. Its claws slashed through the water, desperate to grab hold, but Ketal was always a step ahead. He let the ape get close—almost within reach—then darted away, leaving it floundering in his wake.

Kukulitan stared in disbelief. “It can’t catch him? The ape... it can’t catch up to a

human

?”

Merfolk were the swiftest swimmers in the ocean, with bodies built for slicing through water. Even among them, Kukulitan was renowned for his speed. And yet, during the attack, the apes had swept through the city, catching even the fastest of merfolk with ease. Kukulitan himself had barely escaped.

But now, the ape struggled to close the distance with Ketal, its powerful body rendered almost sluggish by comparison.

“It doesn’t seem like he’s using any Myst. But how...?” Kukulitan murmured, squinting.

Kukulitan shook his head in amazement. Most people who specialized in one sense—like hearing—tended to be weak in other ways. Their strengths were narrow, their weaknesses glaring. He had assumed Ketal was the same: someone with sharp ears, but otherwise average. But Ketal’s performance forced him to reconsider.

“Is he really human?” Kukulitan asked Aquaz.

“He is... probably,” Aquaz replied, still unable to make sense of what was happening in front of her.

Finally, Ketal stopped just in front of the group, the ape hot on his heels but unable to lay a hand on him.

“I brought one,” Ketal announced.

Aquaz, without hesitation, lifted her staff and invoked a spell. “Material, Chapter 4, Verse 2—let your holy light embrace the guilty.”

A column of blinding light descended, trapping the ape within its shimmering walls. The creature’s eyes widened in confusion. It threw itself against the sides, pounding with fists and howling, but its cries were muffled, the light absorbing every sound.

The barrier was unbreakable—far stronger than anything the merfolk had managed.

Aquaz explained, “Before, the apes managed to break through my shield, but that was a lower-level invocation. This scripture, with more verses, is much more powerful.”

While she observed the captive, something else caught her attention. “There’s no Myst at all. These apes aren’t using any spiritual power. Their strength is purely physical.”

She glanced at Ketal, searching his face for answers.

He noticed her stare. “Is something wrong?”

Aquaz looked away quickly, suddenly unsure. “No, it’s nothing.”

Ketal drifted closer to the ape, stopping only a few feet away. Even at this distance, he showed no fear. He studied the creature, noting every muscle, every twitch of its body.

“Hello there. I’m Ketal,” he said, trying to sound friendly.

The ape responded with an ear-splitting screech, slamming its fists into the ground.

“Guess it’s not much for conversation,” Ketal sighed.

Baker chuckled. “Did you really expect to have a philosophical debate with that thing?”

“I was hoping.”

Ketal had talked to Nano before, and Nano was able to answer him.

“Baker,” Ketal called, stepping aside.

Baker summoned a blade of mana, razor-sharp and shimmering with energy. He slashed at the ape, leaving shallow wounds along its arms and chest.

The ape howled in pain, but the wounds were minor.

Aquaz followed up, raising her hand once more. “Spear of Light!”

A glowing spear materialized and shot through the water, impaling the ape’s limbs and pinning it to the seafloor. It thrashed, but the spear held firm, radiating a steady, relentless energy.

“This much divine power is enough to injure them,” Aquaz observed. She realized a strong enough Transcendent should be able to kill or wound these apes without much trouble.

With the initial experiment complete, Aquaz drew closer, gathering her divine power and stepping inside the column of light. The ape tried to lunge at her, but its body was completely restrained.

“What are you doing?” Ketal asked her.

“I’m going to use divine energy to read its emotions. It’s similar to discerning lies, except in this case, I’ll sense what it’s feeling directly. Normally, if the target had Myst, it could resist, but this one has none.”

She placed her hand gently atop the ape’s head.

The effect was instantaneous. The ape’s muscles bulged, its eyes rolled back, and it let out a furious, guttural roar that rattled the very ground. The spear of light creaked, cracks spiderwebbing along its shaft.

“Watch out!” Ketal shouted.

Before the ape could break free, Ketal slammed its head into the earth, pinning it with one powerful hand. The ground trembled with the impact.

Aquaz staggered back, breathless. “Th-thank you...”

Ketal nodded. “It seems they can unleash a sudden burst of strength in moments of desperation—a sort of last resort. We’ll have to watch for that.”

The ape continued to struggle, but Ketal’s grip was unyielding.

He watched the creature, feeling the raw power in its body, but also sensing a strange emptiness beneath it all.

Is this all the Demon Realm has to offer?

he wondered.

After facing Nano and all the horrors of the White Snowfield, I expected something more.

“Let’s finish this,” Aquaz said, recovering her composure.

She placed her hand on the ape’s head once more, her eyes closing as she reached for its emotions.

After a long moment, she opened her eyes. “I can feel its feelings—anger, frustration, hunger... and...”

Her voice caught.

“...Fear.”

Baker frowned. “Fear? That thing doesn’t look scared to me.”

The ape was still struggling, its face contorted in rage, not fear.

“It’s not a new feeling,” Aquaz clarified. “This fear is old—it’s been there for a while, long before we met it. But... why would a creature like this, who’s ruled the sea for weeks, ever feel fear?”

None of them had an answer. But a sense of unease spread through the group.