Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Balk did not respond, he just slowly raised his head.

Meryl reached out and pulled out a slender fishbone bottle from under the pillow.

The bottle was semi-transparent, and the liquid inside was an eerie green, viscous and slow-moving.

Balk’s fingers tightened, intuition screaming that this thing was very dangerous.

He held the bottle, pausing in mid-air: “This thing… it doesn’t seem like it’s meant to save a life.”

Meryl was in no hurry, she just placed the bottle by his lips.

Right then, a crashing sound came from outside the cabin door, footsteps chaotic, and the air reeking of alcohol.

“My prince!” The adjutant’s voice was low outside the door, but it could not conceal the panic, “Broken Tooth Jack drank too much! He’s causing trouble on deck, saying you… saying you’ve lost your teeth and should give up your place.”

That sentence hit like a dull punch, Balk’s chest tightened, his heart skipped a beat.

Jack, young and fierce, at the height of his prowess, also with the power of a mid-tier Extraordinary Knight.

Twenty years ago, such a character wasn’t worthy to even approach him.

Now? Balk suddenly realized he felt fear.

He wasn’t sure, unsure if he could really go to the deck and suppress that wild dog.

Meryl looked at him, her mouth barely detectable in a slight smile, leaning in close to his ear, gently biting his earlobe: “Hear that? That little dog wants to step on your head.”

“Drink it, for your dignity, for this ship. Don’t you want to crush his throat with your own hands? Don’t you want… to prove yourself again?”

She grasped Balk’s hand, guiding the bottle’s neck closer to his lips.

Outside the door, the insults grew clearer.

Balk closed his eyes, fear surging at the bottom of them, but swiftly crushed by something else.

He tilted his head back and swallowed the icy viscous liquid in one gulp.

The world suddenly sank.

His abdomen felt like it exploded in a burst of fire.

He felt his dried-up Fighting Energy being rudely filled, his heart pounding heavily, each pulse pushing a new surge of heat.

Exhaustion was shattered, dullness torn apart; he felt he could rip apart the deck.

But in reality, he suddenly arched his back, forcing out a shapeless, low growl from his throat.

The blood vessels beneath his skin rapidly darkened, bulging and twisting like living worms.

His nails shattered in an instant, new ones sprouting, pitch-black and sharp, pupils contracted, elongated.

It wasn’t returning to youth; it was something inside replacing him.

Balk walked out shirtless, draped in only a coat, torches on the deck swayed, heat mixed with a fishy smell wafting around.

Broken Tooth Jack was stepping on an old crew member, turned to see him, stunned for a moment, then grinned, “Old fool…”

The words weren’t finished, his vision blacked out.

Balk’s figure was already looming over him.

With one hand, he seized Jack’s throat, lifting him directly off the deck.

Fingers closed in, a crisp snapping sound.

Jack’s body instantly went limp, blood splattered on Balk’s face.

Deathly silence covered the deck.

Balk licked his lips, smiled: “Anyone else?”

The only answer was the sound of someone kneeling.

Laughing broadly, he turned around and went back to the captain’s cabin.

Candlelight still flickered.

Meryl waited for him on the bed, Balk pounced, his consciousness filled with desire.

In his feeling, it was conquest.

And in the shadows, Meryl’s legs turned into slippery tentacles, wrapping around layer by layer.

Suckers fit snugly, silently extracting the overflowing life.

Balk laughed wildly, reveling in the regained youth…

…

In the first few days after drinking the potion, Balk seemed like a coiled spring wound back up.

He was on the deck shirtless, facing the noon sunlight, wrestling with five robust sailors.

The planks creaked underfoot, a sailor’s wrist cracked crisply in his grip.

Balk laughed, the laughter loud yet carrying a dry hoarseness, like metal grinding against metal.

No one dared challenge this pirate king.

His skin was cold, against others it felt like a dead fish. Under the scorching sun, not a drop of sweat appeared.

And when the chef brought a delicious roast leg of lamb, Balk sniffed it, his face suddenly darkened.

He shouted the meat was spoiled, then killed the chef.

Late at night, a crew member saw him squatting in a corner of the deck, grabbing live fish from a barrel, devouring them whole with scales and innards.

Green bile trickled down the sides of his mouth, mixed with blood, yet he closed his eyes as if savoring fine wine.

On the sixth day, things changed.

That power was no longer stable, each fading came faster.

Even half a day without replenishment, his skin would begin to tighten and itch.

Balk was restless, fingers scratching back and forth on his chest and arms, nail beds filled with flesh and blood.

As dead skin peeled away, what was revealed wasn’t red new skin but a translucent, grayish-white hard layer that felt like an unformed shell.

He stared at that layer for a long while before shifting his gaze away.

When Meryl approached, her scent arrived first.

The fishy smell grew heavier, sickening to ordinary people.

But in Balk’s nose, it was a maddeningly sweet fragrance.

He buried his face in her hair, breathed greedily, like a drowning man grasping for the last breath of air.

He started to despise his own image, the figure in the mirror appearing bloated and inefficient to him.

Conversely, Meryl occasionally revealing her tentacles, mucus seemed more fluid, more logical to him.

“This is evolution.” He told himself.

On the twelfth day, the door was smashed open, the old adjutant rushed in with others, his face pale.

He had followed Balk for thirty years, yet at this moment, it was as if he was meeting the person before him for the first time.