In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Gloriel soared across the sea toward the distant mountain range.

Devoid of a physical body, traversing the world in spiritual form imposed far too many limitations.

'Damn it. If only I'd managed to possess a descendant's body, I could have recovered some power.'

The fact that he had lost Julius—the body of his descendant—still infuriated him.

He had discovered that Julius was being held on a magic vessel near the Holy Capital and attempted to infiltrate it, but the defenses around the cabin were too powerful.

That creature had interfered.

Forcing his way in was possible, but it would have exposed him to that cursed monster.

He needed time for his soul to adjust to a new vessel—and he couldn't afford such a risk.

Gloriel—no, Lucian—shuddered at the memory of the creature.

'If it weren't for that damn monster… I should never have tried to show off back then.'

It was a regret that had haunted him for millennia.

He should have ended Arabella's life and slain her offspring in a single blow.

But his arrogance had led him to show off in front of Alfred, and that pride had been his downfall.

'I never imagined he'd make such a decision under those circumstances.'

Still, it hadn't been a complete loss.

The destination he was heading to now was one of the few things gained from that era.

Lucian burst into mad laughter as he soared over the mountain peaks.

Fortunately, Alfred and his grandson Michael had not pursued him.

'There's no way they'd guess I'm heading here.'

There had been a brief stir when some loggers, chopping trees near the range, swore they saw a flying ghost—but that was a minor nuisance.

Duke Capone stood before a mountain of loot and treasure, a broad grin stretched across his face.

Everyone else wore satisfied expressions—except Emperor Oswald of the Pamir Empire and Chancellor Guinness of the Pasha Kingdom.

Their forces had been far smaller than the others, so their share of the spoils was meager at best.

Both men smacked their lips in envy, eyeing the towers of riches amassed by the rest.

'If I'd known it would be this easy, I would've brought any half-decent warrior I could find.'

They were consumed with regret.

Watching their frustration, Duke Capone barely held back a scoff.

'Obtaining treasure is one thing—but keeping it safe is just as important. They still have a long way to go.'

He turned to admire the magic vessel that would carry him and his men home.

It wasn't just that Lania and Xerxe had claimed the lion's share of the wealth—he had made sure to protect what was his.

His gaze shifted toward the captured high priests of the Holy Nation, bound together in humiliating unity—pope, cardinals, and priests alike.

Noticing Capone's stare, Pope Allegro III raised his voice indignantly.

"What nation treats prisoners of war in such a disgraceful manner? I demand that we be released and treated in accordance with proper conventions!"

Capone scoffed dismissively.

Allegro hadn't expected better treatment; it was a hollow show meant to impress the other priests.

King Henry III spoke coldly, "You should be grateful we haven't executed you on the spot. After everything you've plotted against the continent, you're lucky to face a trial at all."

The holy men hung their heads.

Documents discovered in the Vatican's secret archives left no room for excuses.

The conspiracies they detailed were staggering—plots to assassinate monarchs, incite rebellions, provoke heretical uprisings, unleash locust swarms, even manipulate magical beasts.

If only they'd used that ingenuity for something else—they might've conquered the continent by now.

Should this evidence be made public, the damage to the Gloriel faith would be irreparable.

"Unbelievable. So much for preaching peace and love in the name of a monotheistic god. This is worse than any so-called heretic I've ever seen."

"Agreed. Honestly, even a dismemberment in the main square wouldn't be enough punishment."

"But I do wonder—what will become of the Holy Nation now that its entire leadership is captured?"

Greed briefly flickered across the faces of the assembled rulers before vanishing.

Claiming this prize outright was far too risky.

The Holy Nation's citizens were known for their fanaticism.

No ruler wanted to inherit fertile lands at the cost of governing a nation of zealots.

Duke Capone stroked his beard and replied in a leisurely tone,

"Well… either the people will purge the rot themselves, or uprisings will bring the place down.

Either way, it's an island far removed from the mainland. Nothing we need to concern ourselves with."

King Leopold asked again, his face clouded with worry.

"There is one thing that bothers me… We've yet to see any sign of the Sacred Sea Knights. If they were to launch guerrilla attacks on our fishing fleets or destroy coastal ports—"

Capone waved a hand with a confident smile.

"No need to worry. That matter is already being dealt with."

Ah—

Everyone's expression brightened.

If Michael was involved, then they could rest easy.

BOOM! BOOM!

The Sacred Sea Knights' magic ships raced across the calm ocean, pursuing enemy vessels.

The rising waves beneath them seemed to herald their impending victory.

Antonio looked upon his fleet with pride.

Dozens of ships, identical in design, sailed in formation. Their hulls were adorned in pristine white and gleaming gold, and brilliant sun emblems flapped from every mast.

In contrast, what did the enemy ships look like?

Dull black vessels flying ragged pirate flags.

They were clearly trying to mimic magic vessels, but to Antonio's eye, they were nothing but mass-produced imitations.

Had it been one of the true magic vessels passed down by the Nyangnyangi family, his assessment might have changed.

But the ships before him were merely rough prototypes crafted by Leonardo.

They were bait—decoys meant to lure the Sacred Sea Knights.

Unaware of this truth, Antonio shouted triumphantly.

Who would imagine such a grand-scale con had been meticulously planned?

Even for mass-produced ships, each would've required hundreds of thousands of gold to construct.

"Load the cannons! Fire before they slip away!"

At his command, the knights stationed on deck began loading the magical cannons in unison.

Brilliant magic circles formed, the cannon muzzles glowing dark with concentrated energy.

With a deafening roar, a volley of cannon fire surged toward the pirate ships.

Standing at the ship's rail, Antonio burst into laughter.

Watching the shells strike the enemy hulls felt like a decade's worth of frustration washing away.

"You damned pirates. After all your slithering escapes, look at you now!"

The pirates who had repeatedly raided the Gloriel vessels had finally been cornered.

He was completely unaware that his homeland was already burning behind him.

As cannon fire rained down, the pirate ships began to turn tail and flee.

Even so, watching twenty black-hulled vessels wheel in unison was a rather impressive sight.

"Ha! Look at that! And they call those magic vessels? What a joke!"

Antonio laughed heartily.

Though he was inwardly a bit surprised.

A pirate group equipped with twenty magic vessels—even if they were knockoffs—was no small matter.

He was itching to capture them and uncover whoever was behind it all.

As the admiral gave the order, the Sacred Sea Knights raised their sails and surged across the ocean.

Their advance was swift and confident.

But soon, they encountered a problem.

Suddenly, the sky darkened. Thunder crashed across a previously clear sky.

The sunlit sea vanished, replaced by heavy, humid air.

The winds grew fierce, and towering waves began to rise—higher and higher.

Had Antonio's fleet not been comprised mostly of magic vessels, several ships would've capsized already.

CRAAACK!

Lightning ripped across the sky, and massive columns of seawater exploded upward.

The strange thing was that only Antonio's side was being battered by the storm.

The waters around the retreating pirate ships remained eerily calm.

Antonio gritted his teeth.

"Is this… the work of the Pamir Empire? Damn them. Was hoarding all that grain not enough? Now they resort to this?"

His age and experience told him at once—it had to be the work of a shaman.

He quickly gave new orders.

"Shamans have limits! Everyone, hold your ground! Use every ounce of the ships' power!"

Antonio's judgment wasn't wrong.

No ordinary shaman could maintain such a powerful weather spell for more than 30 minutes.

But… his opponent was far from ordinary.

The next day.

Antonio stood at the railing, dazed and hollow-eyed.

He was the only one still standing. The rest of the Sacred Sea Knights lay sprawled across the deck, vomiting bile.

Torn sails flapped overhead. Brave knights screamed as waves crashed over the deck.

One knight was swept overboard, and despite everyone's frantic efforts to toss ropes, he was lost to the sea.

"Why… why won't the storm stop…?"

Seven of their magic vessels had already been sunk.

The most infuriating part?

As soon as a ship went under, a dragon would appear and snatch it away.

Though submerged, the vessels remained structurally intact—representing a massive loss.

'Greedy beast… Where in the world did that thing come from?'

Antonio had no idea.

He'd been so reclusive for so long, he didn't even know that the enemy—Michael—had a dragon at his command.

Even if he had, he wouldn't have believed that dragon was the one causing the devastation.

After all, dragons were infamous for disobeying their riders.

He naturally assumed it was a wild dragon, lured by greed.

Meanwhile, Michael soared above the storm on Marcus, riding the wind above the clouds.

It was a slight waste of time, but he needed to wait a little longer to catch Gloriel.

Marcus looked back with a grumbling expression.

[Michael, why don't we just wipe them out all at once?]

Michael replied with a calm smile,

"The Sacred Sea Knights are an ancient and secretive organization. Their fleet includes magic vessels from the Sphinx clan. There's no need to waste energy unnecessarily. Besides, once a magic vessel's power is absorbed, it becomes unusable."

Marcus nodded, understanding.

[Ah, got it. If that's the case, then it's fine.]

Alfred chuckled and praised his grandson.

"Well thought out. You'll need all your strength for Gloriel. And you're making extra profit along the way—this'll do wonders for Xerxes' navy. But are you holding up alright?"

Michael smiled softly.

Trailing a fleet while sustaining a typhoon? It no longer even fazed him.

"I'm fine, Grandpa. Want to place a bet on how long they'll last?"

Antonio, utterly exhausted, finally raised a white flag from the railing—fifteen hours later.