Though Archer couldn't be said to have any charismatic personality, one might call him universally disliked by both man and beast. 

If Ren's rabies was a matter of twisted logic from overusing stale memes and playing too much Genshin Impact, then Archer was the pure, unadulterated, preservative-free, authentic Western Continent brand of idiocy—combining emotional instability, quick temper, social obliviousness, stubbornness, and pretentiousness into one complete package.

What made it truly infuriating was that the bastard wasn't bad-looking by Western Continent standards—the rugged handsomeness of a 1960s Hollywood Western outsider, with chiseled features, brooding eyes, and a tendency to act profound at the slightest provocation while chain-smoking and drinking.

"I changed my mind. Not going anymore."

Fen instantly lost interest upon seeing Archer would be joining them. He'd originally planned to procure some spellcasting materials in town, but something had been nagging at him—like forgetting something important.

His gaze drifted toward Morrison. This half-disfigured man was undoubtedly one of the ship's most formidable fighters—perhaps even remove the "one of." The most dangerous individual aboard, with no visible upper limit to his capabilities. He'd never been pushed in a fight, always ending battles within moments with terrifying efficiency—as unfathomable as the abyss.

Take yesterday for instance. Those money vault enforcers hadn't been pushovers—you had to be tough to operate escorts in the chaotic Beima Principality. Yet Morrison's bizarre throwing knives hit like cannon fire, his twin daggers moving like ghostly apparitions, and those two whips of his essentially made him a walking meat grinder. 

If Predators were called "Little Kill-brother," then Morrison could slaughter Xenomorphs before breakfast.

Following Fen's gaze, Li Site caught his meaning. Kill-brother was an eccentric who defied common sense—capable of anything, including murdering the entire crew and fleeing. Having Fen keep watch while subtly pressuring others wasn't a bad idea.

"Suit yourself."

Li Site prepared to find another poor sap to suffer Archer's company—enduring him alone would be torture.

"Hey, if the captain says go, we all go! Come on First Mate, why you staring at Morrison? Something between you two? Whatever happened last night—I forgot everything."

Archer took several swigs of liquor, utterly clueless about the strange atmosphere aboard since morning.

Li Site nearly spat blood. Low emotional intelligence version: "Are you worried Morrison might betray us and kill everyone?" High emotional intelligence version: "I forgot everything about last night."

Morrison, currently examining a matchlock rifle, glanced over sharply when hearing his name.

Fen's fists clenched.

"Never mind. Let's go—changed my mind again."

Fen realized Li Site was right—you couldn't watch everyone constantly. He'd been too tense. 

Perfect vigilance was impossible. Sometimes you had to gamble—the worst outcome being death, nothing more. 

With Ox aboard—that freakishly strong fishman could handle major threats. As a Class-A war criminal with nowhere else to go, he wouldn't flee.

"I'm coming too."

As quartermaster, Wolman was easily the ship's idlest crewman—his "supply officer" title being purely ceremonial. Who'd dare steal from a pirate ship's stores? First they'd lose hands, then become fish food.

"You should rest. No fighting this trip—your size basically announces we're Black Sails Pirates."

Li Site vetoed immediately. Wolman had become the crew's poster boy—mention Black Sails and people pictured this hulking black figure. The wanted posters depicted him as downright monstrous—a spiked, horned black lizard of terrifying visage.

Moreover, Wolman's race had an atrocious reputation.

If the Arlan Emperor had done anything positive, it was solving the southern wetlands' nonhuman invasions—fully suppressing the region into an autonomous zone.

This territory rivaling a nation's size was the primary habitat of dragonkin. With limited arable land and scarce edible wildlife in the marshes, population growth inevitably led to the Malthusian trap—entire communities turning to banditry and invading neighbors.

The miasma-filled, perpetually rainy wetlands made military campaigns disastrous—more soldiers died from fever and poison than combat.

Thus the region was nearly impregnable while its inhabitants could raid freely.

Major conflicts erupted every few years, forcing neighboring nations to strengthen border defenses at tremendous cost.

Only the Arlan Emperor's divine intervention over a decade ago brought respite.

Now the Empire's rare propaganda victory, touted as "Imperial Majesty."

Dragonkin were universally despised—though in reality, people gave them wide berth. Even after peaceful decades, the stigma remained—especially after recent rebellions cemented their reputation as inherently evil.

"Right, someone your size should stay put."

Archer chimed in loudly.

"I'd like to volunteer."

Haywood spoke up. After so many years, he'd spent little time inland.

Heaven's Port welcomed all—money talked. Haywood had grown bored of it, rarely visiting mainland cities.

"I'll call you boss." Li Site was stunned—Haywood's demonic nature must remain hidden. "Absolutely not. Anyone but you—go find some shade on deck."

Between bounty hunters, navy, and now the Thieves' Guild, they had enemies everywhere.

Adding the Church's fanatics to that?

Might as well rename the ship "Gaixia" and be completely surrounded.

Li Site would rather provoke the vilest thieves than Western Continent's millennia-old religious institutions.

You might not understand what "divine conception" entails.

We'd describe such people with two words: ultimate zealots.

Li Site often mocked Western religions—where faith literally enhanced combat power. Their airtight theology could turn believers into blood-raging berserkers.

An anti-superstition campaign would solve everything.

Pity actual magic existed here—making that impossible.

Western Continent lacked traditional "heal with prayer" clerics—otherwise Micah's medical skills would be worthless fish food.

Perhaps such miracles existed among high-ranking priests—far beyond their pay grade.

Adventurer Guild "clerics" were just unaffiliated believers—lucky to know a buff or two.

Real Church clerics? Full plate armor, mace-wielding, utterly deranged fanatics coming for you—try not to panic.

"Alright, just us three then. Let's move."

Li Site descended the gangway while discussing new crew recruitment.

Last time they'd hired a tough guy who led a mutiny—talk about a toad skydiving with delusions of grandeur.