Veripuncture

Liu Zhenhan sat slumped in the water-filled sarcophagus, the brine soaking through his wolfskin breeches as he resolved to confront Fergurson Xu. Life's cruel irony struck him like a harpoon to the gut—he'd anticipated poisoned daggers, naval ambushes, even sorcerous curses from the wily scholar, but never this vulgar alchemical warfare that turned his cabin into a den of primal urges.

His calloused hands trembled with suppressed rage. Part of him yearned to pummel the old fox's scholarly facade into the deck planks, yet an insidious thread of gratitude wove through his fury. For a man whose reflection usually evoked comparisons to shipwrecked trolls, this sudden... attention... from multiple women sparked conflicting emotions best left unexamined.

"Damn that alchemist and his snake-oil potions," Liu growled, adjusting his wolfskin mantle like armor. The cabin door creaked open to reveal Xu leaning casually against the tortoiseshell relic, his silk robes fluttering with calculated nonchalance.

"Lord Li Cha," the scholar greeted, fingers steepled in mock reverence. "I trust my... hospitality... has proven satisfactory?"

The salt-laced wind carried the stench of hypocrisy. Liu's jaw worked soundlessly before words erupted like cannon fire: "You meddling fossil! Since when do scholars peddle brothel tricks?"

Xu's smile could've frozen the Mariana Trench. "Consider it... cultural exchange. Our Eastern methods for your Western... enthusiasm." His gaze dropped meaningfully to Liu's disheveled attire. "Though perhaps we should discuss terms?"

"Terms?" Liu's bark of laughter startled nesting gulls. "You spike my rations, turn my cabin into a... a..." Words failed him as memories of tangled limbs and shimmering scales resurfaced.

"An investment!" Xu spread his arms like a carnival barker. "The Pan-Ta warriors, their womenfolk, even that tempestuous mermaid—all yours! In exchange for..." His eyes glinted as he tapped the tortoiseshell. "...certain organic artifacts."

The revelation hung between them like executioner's blade. Liu's mind raced—visions of armored colossi clashing with sea monsters warred against the scholar's serpentine grin. Below decks, the rhythmic thump of panda warriors' training drills underscored their negotiations.

"Your metal titans..." Liu began, fingers brushing the wolf pelt's coarse fur.

"Stay with me," Xu interjected sharply, jade rings clinking. "Four guardian golems remain operational. Their power could make you warlord of the Beamon steppes!"

Liu's retort died as realization struck—the old alchemist wasn't bargaining; he was sculpting a puppet king. The Pan-Ta crew, the clam-shelled maiden, even the fiery mermaid princess—all became chess pieces in Xu's millennia-old gambit for immortality.

"Gold then!" The scholar's voice turned wheedling. "A king's ransom from your future fiefdom! Enough to charter ships, rebuild laboratories..."

Liu's gaze drifted to the horizon where storm clouds brewed. Somewhere beneath those ink-black waves, leviathan shadows circled. His choice crystallized—play the fool in Xu's game, or become the storm that shattered ancient schemes.

"Keep your alchemical whores," Liu spat, turning toward the armory. "But the golems... and three barrels of that crimson elixir."

Xu's triumphant chuckle followed him. "A bargain, my lord! Though might I suggest—"

The cabin door slammed, cutting off negotiations. Liu's footsteps echoed through the suddenly fragile peace, each thud counting down to inevitable carnage. On the quarterdeck, Guð sharpened his trident with methodical strokes, the rasp of steel on whetstone sounding like war drums in the gathering dark.