CHAPTER 415: 415. VEINS PEAK

Even before the sun had fully risen, Veins Peak was already alive with motion and energy. The skies buzzed with immortal practitioners soaring between floating platforms, while docks echoed with the clamor of goods being loaded and unloaded.

Dozens of ships—merchant vessels, adventurer craft, and even some infamous pirate ships—lined the massive port, giving the island an air of both chaos and importance.

Beastmen with fur-covered arms hoisted crates alongside fishmen carrying barrels with their slippery hands.

Birdfolk fluttered down from the skies with scrolls and supplies, and even a few elves moved gracefully between the crowds, their elegance stark against the noisy bustle.

At the heart of the island stood the tall mountain. From a distance, it looked like a divine monument cleaved by the heavens themselves. Cracks like giant veins ran down its stone surface, pulsing with an ancient glow. It stood as both a symbol of mystery and majesty. According to the Myth, the veins were created by a God from Ancient Times and brings Lucks to the person visits there.

"Do you think the fake Phantom Pirates will show up?" asked a young immortal practitioner, sweat running down his forehead as he carried a stack of spirit-infused crates.

"I don’t know," his older friend replied while adjusting the heavy barrel in his arms. "There’s only five months left until the real event. I just hope they appear before then. I could use a good show."

Their conversation was cut short as a sudden commotion broke out along the docks. People stopped mid-task, some dropping tools and cargo, and rushed to the shoreline. Even airbound practitioners paused mid-flight to glance toward the horizon.

Something was coming.

Fast.

A ship—black as night and seemingly shrouded in its own storm of darkness—was speeding toward the island at an incredible pace. The morning light had only just begun to break across the waters, but the approaching vessel remained cloaked in an ominous gloom.

It moved like a phantom adrift, cloaked in shadows — as if the very essence of night had taken the shape of a ship

The onlookers murmured in disbelief.

Many ships were equipped with movement arrays that allowed for high-speed travel, but those were rarely used except in emergencies due to the immense cost and strain they placed on the ship’s structure. Also while using these types of arrays, they also had to activate many arrays to stabilize the internal of the ship which also burns money.

"That ship—! If it doesn’t slow down, it’s going to ram the dock!" someone shouted.

Elite-level warriors began backing away, though they kept within viewing range, unwilling to miss the spectacle. Dozens activated their spiritual communication devices, eager to record what could become the day’s headline event.

Hovering in the air above the port, a Master-ranked mage on a levitating broom extended his staff and yelled, "Slow your speed immediately! You’re violating port safety protocols!"

When there was no response, the mage conjured a wave spell, raising a massive surge of water to halt the vessel.

Suddenly, a glowing whip crackled out of nowhere—wreathed in lightning—and slashed through the incoming wave like butter. The mage was struck mid-air and sent hurtling back to the dock, where he crashed into a stack of cargo.

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

The ship—still not slowing—drew closer, now a blur of motion and shadow.

But just as impact seemed inevitable, something strange happened.

The ship began to sink—not into the ocean—but into its own shadow. The hull dissolved into the darkness beneath it, like a ghost vanishing from reality. Water rippled around the fading vessel, but no debris remained. No splash. No crash.

Then, with a gust of wind and a flicker of Auras and Pranas, several figures leapt from the shadow and landed lightly on the dock.

Beautiful girls in striking, diverse costumes turned every head — men and women alike. Their outfits radiated exactly what they intended: an aura of mystery and allure, equal parts dangerous and seductive.

At the center stood a man, calm and commanding, a trident slung across his back. His mask bore the haunting duality of black and white—a phantom’s face split between shadow and light.

"It’s them..." someone in the crowd whispered. "The fake Phantom Pirates..."

"No way. That’s them? Are you sure that they’re are the ’Fake’ one?" someone else asked.

"I have seen the bounty poster of Phantom Blackwood before. It’s the same person."

The masked pirates didn’t respond. In fact, they didn’t stay at all. Within seconds of landing, the entire group disappeared—melting into the shadows like mist.

Everyone was left staring.

---

"They didn’t even pay the docking fees," said one of the dock attendants, frowning at his fee ledger.

"Pay what?" another laughed, pointing at the water. "For a shadow?"

In the harbor, the only trace of the mysterious ship was its shadow floating atop the water— perfectly still and ominously intact.

"Is it invisible?" asked a man with duck-like features—webbed feet and a beak that clicked nervously. He bent down and poked at the surface where the shadow lay.

Nothing.

Another man nudged him forward with a grin. "Go check it out, then."

With an annoyed squawk, the duck-man cursed under his breath and leapt into the water, vanishing beneath the ripples.

For a few moments, the crowd leaned forward, waiting.

Then—

"BOO!"

The duck-man’s head popped out of the water with a mischievous grin, sending a few spectators stumbling back in surprise.

"Hahaha! Gotcha! There’s nothing underwater—it’s just a shadow. No ship. No magic barrier. Just the freakiest damn shadow I’ve ever seen!"

Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd, though many continued to eye the water with suspicion and awe.

Within moments, the news spread like wildfire across the port:

The so-called Fake Phantom Pirates had arrived in the Northern Waters — And their debut? Anything but Ordinary.

And many couldn’t help but wonder, – Are they really the ’Fake’ Phantoms?

---

Many people tried to contact the Fake Phantom Pirates, hoping to make connections with the shadowy newcomers who had arrived in such a dramatic fashion. But no one could find a trace of them. It was as if they had vanished into thin air — disappearing like true phantoms in the night. Even though it’s morning.

"Exactly as planned," a middle-aged man said casually, strolling through the lively streets of Veins Peak. "They know we’re here now. That’s all that matters. Let’s enjoy some sightseeing and maybe attend the auction without anyone bothering us."

He looked like just another adventurer, surrounded by a group of seemingly ordinary girls. Their clothes were simple, practical. No flashy gear. No masks. No telltale signs of infamy.

They were none other than Tyler and the girls.

After their dramatic entrance, the crew had quickly changed appearances using the Phantom Masks — artifacts capable of suppressing their presence and altering their looks— to blend in with the crowd. From pirates to humble adventurers, just like that.

"Boss, why didn’t you pay the docking fee?" Darla asked with a tilt of her head. For Tyler, that amount of money was barely pocket change.

"Oh, I forgot," Tyler replied with a shrug. "Also, wouldn’t it be a bit anticlimactic if I disappeared in shadows, only to show up again just to pay some toll?" He chuckled. "Our goal was simple—make a bold entrance, stir up the crowd, and let word spread. Now we wait for the real Phantom Pirates to show up, then steal their thunder."

Lily, Mathilda, Mana, and Darla all nodded in agreement. Su Fei, dressed modestly, followed silently, munching on some dried fruit. Mana also joined her.

"But I was hoping for a little action," Lily grumbled, hands in her pockets. "Tyler, can’t you use your abnormal luck to find us someone to beat up? Something fun?"

"Do you think it works like that?" Tyler muttered.

"Just try."

"Hmph... I wish some idiots would show up so we could vent," Tyler said aloud, throwing his arms up. "See? Nothing happ—"

Before he could finish, a group of rough-looking men stepped into their path. Clad in mismatched armor, they had rusted metal chains around their waists and carried sticks lined with barbed wire. Clearly some local thugs, probably extorting newcomers.

The street around them cleared quickly. Vendors and travelers turned away, pretending not to notice. No one wanted trouble with Street gangs who bullies weak looking tourists.

"Follow us to the alley," the gang leader growled. "Now."

The Girls was dumbfounded and glanced at Tyler.

"...This feels staged," Tyler muttered.

Without protest, the group followed the gang down a narrow alley tucked behind a spice shop. Not long after, muffled grunts and loud cracks echoed faintly into the street. A few bystanders heard the noise, but no one dared get involved.

Minutes later, Tyler and his crew emerged from the alley looking unbothered, dusting off their clothes as if they had just come from lunch.

Curiosity eventually got the better of some onlookers. A couple of people crept toward the alley and peeked in.

What they found made them freeze.

The gang members were scattered across the ground, bruised and groaning. The gang leader himself was lying face down, one of his own barbed sticks lodged into his rear end like a flag of shame.