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　　　Do not learn, do not look, do not provoke.

　　　There is very little we can do about it—under no circumstances should you intervene.

　　　No matter what compassion you may feel, it is never a justification for sacrificing countless lives.

“―――”

The hastily scrawled letters, spanning several pages, were perfectly legible. Unlike the unreadable text on the stone tablets, I could understand these words clearly—and because of that, the writer’s intense emotions resonated with me.

Anger, regret, repentance, despair… countless negative emotions were embedded in the writing.

Some parts of the ink were smudged, likely by tears. This writer must have… ‘failed.’

“When exactly was this book written?”
“More than a hundred years ago. Though it remains in pristine condition thanks to preservation magic etched into it.”
“I can see that. It’s been well taken care of.”

As I touched the book, I barely noticed the faint magical reaction. A protective magic circle was engraved into the cover, shielding it from all forms of damage. Under different circumstances, I’d love to peel it off and analyze the structural formula, but considering the author’s bitter feelings, I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

The only thing I could do was inherit the knowledge left behind in this book.

From here on, I had to read it with respect—this writer’s obsession with the ghost ship, a madness so deep it consumed them.

――――――――…………
――――……
――…

People of the Umravolf family, we have failed.

It is the grotesque result of human sins. It cannot be sunk, nor can it be saved.

The ghost ship is nothing more than a vessel of curse poison. Involving yourself with it will drag you into the vortex of that curse as well.

That is why, do not learn, do not look, do not provoke.

There is very little we can do about it—under no circumstances should you intervene.

No matter what compassion you may feel, it is never a justification for sacrificing countless lives.

From what I confirmed, the ghost ship appears, at first glance, to be exactly what its name suggests: a “ship.”

If you ignore the writhing, tentacle-like masses of curses that constantly move across its surface, you could mistake it for a common galleon.

However, the internal space… who knows what it’s like now? No one who has boarded it has ever returned alive to tell the tale.

And yet, the most terrifying thing is that there are countless humans squirming inside that ship.

They communicate, they react, they even appear to feel pain. But under no circumstances should you consider them alive or attempt to save them.

The curse spread by the ghost ship is contagious. Anyone who comes into contact with it is beyond saving. Even if that person is your blood relative.

Though they may act as if they’re conscious, there is no dignity left in the victims. Even if you crush their limbs, brain, and heart, they continue to move—there is no humanity left in those lumps of flesh.

This curse is overwhelmingly powerful. Only sorcerers of the Saint class can hope to neutralize it.

If there were a curse stronger than that of the ghost ship, one would need an evil god’s blessing to achieve it—its existence is that unnatural.

It is inconceivable that it could have formed naturally. I believe the ghost ship is a curse created by human hands.

Yet, no matter how much I searched through the history accumulated by the Umravolf family, I could not find an answer.

We were simply tasked, generation after generation, with “sealing and monitoring its information.” There was no further explanation beyond that.

I could never accept that. It was like carrying a ticking bomb, observing it endlessly, without ever knowing when it might explode.

That is why, driven by foolish and ignorant righteousness, I once thought I could free the people trapped by that curse.

As a result, I failed. My price for this was cutting away more than half of a contaminated city and sinking it into the sea.

The mistake began when I attempted to cleanse a cursed fragment that had broken off from the ship and washed ashore.

Do not learn, do not look, do not provoke. There is only malice within the ghost ship. It consumes human “goodness.”

Faith, forgiveness, love, laughter—everything that is natural to humans, all their kindness is stolen, leaving behind only husks of flesh that it uses as limbs.

What remains, after it has taken all the good that a human should possess, is nothing but pure, undiluted curse.

That is the most repulsive curse in existence. Inside the ship, those once-humans who have had their goodness stolen likely curse, despise, and kill each other, all while devouring the last traces of goodness they can find in one another.

A curse sharpened by pure malice is no longer something humans can hope to control.

We have failed, and there will never be a single instance where we succeed.

It doesn’t matter who or for what reason someone built that evil.

Humanity will never again reclaim the seas. There will be no more voyages across the oceans. Just remember that—and live in terror.

People of the Umravolf family, or whoever may read this after we are long gone—just… give up.

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