Captain – Chapter 311 – A Curious Exchange

The reason a language can spread for thousands of years and become the common tongue of many countries is simple—it’s due to the power of the nation where the language originated.

This was how the Auran language spread.

Despite suffering several defeats in history, neither the Federation, which stood as an equal to the Empire, nor the Southern Islands, which had crushed the ambitions of two generations of imperial emperors, could deny Auran’s strength or its historical role as a hegemon.

Naturally, due to the Empire’s power and vast size, nearly all nations in known waters—except those poor, weak countries without the means—promoted Auran language education. Learning this additional language meant countless opportunities.

For this reason, even though the Mermaid’s crew came from all corners of the world, while some might not understand or write it, none would fail to understand spoken Auran or be unable to communicate, as this was the result of centuries of cultural influence.

When you’re born and everyone around you speaks Auran, it naturally becomes like another mother tongue through constant exposure.

Therefore, when initially discovering that the siren before her couldn’t understand Auran, Roy was quite surprised, since even in Captain Edward’s era, the Auran Empire was already the world’s strongest nation.

But quickly, the captain understood the reason and was no longer surprised.

The Auran Empire’s lineage had never been broken, so logically, the Auran language shouldn’t have disappeared either. Even with changes, it should still be broadly similar.

But reality proved otherwise. Many years ago, when the Auran Empire was defeated by Edward and faced both internal and external crises, the Stephen family, which had been the imperial royal family, was replaced by today’s Alexander family.

Rеαⅾ oո КаtRеαⅾіոgСαfe

Over these many years, to ensure imperial peace and eliminate the old royal family’s influence, changing the writing system was a crucial component.

So although today’s Auran language still existed and spread, it might not be the same language from the siren’s era—it was normal that she couldn’t understand it.

Afterward, Roy tried several times with somewhat unfamiliar Federation common language, spoke with a western Auran accent, and even used sign language, but still received no response from the siren. After racking her brains to no avail, she sighed helplessly, somewhat dejected.

Throughout this process, the siren watched her quietly, her eyes occasionally showing waves of curiosity and bewilderment alternately, but these emotions were fleeting, quickly returning to calmness—or perhaps a kind of patient goodwill.

Although the person before her was the descendant of her enemy, carrying the blood of that cold-blooded, terrifying figure, ultimately she was not him, so naturally the siren wouldn’t transfer her emotions onto her.

This principle seemed simple, clear, and quite convincing, but for others, it might not be easily accepted.

Just as there’s “love me, love my dog,” there’s also “hate me, hate my dog.”

But sirens were ultimately different. Whether in life form, hierarchy, or racial structure, they differed greatly from humans, so having such a view wasn’t surprising.

Yet this tolerant heart still couldn’t solve the language barrier.

As Roy walked back and forth anxiously, troubled by the inability to communicate, the raven that had been watching from her shoulder suddenly called out.

Rеаԁ on KatRеаԁіոɡСаfе

It didn’t say any words, just made an ordinary caw, as if greeting someone.

“Don’t mess around, I’m annoyed right now.”

Thinking Alfie was, as usual, bored and wanting permission to fly around, the captain glanced at it and reflexively refused. Then she realized the little creature wasn’t calling to her but facing the silent siren.

Blinking, Roy followed its gaze toward the siren, then widened her eyes slightly, finding that the siren was actually smiling faintly, as if acknowledging the raven.

In Bivis’s story, sirens were spirits of heaven and earth, bearing goodwill toward all living beings. For such a magical and wonderful existence to understand bird calls—far simpler than human language—didn’t seem particularly strange.

Understanding this logic, Roy’s eyes brightened slightly as she asked Alfie: “What did you just say to her?”

Although she spent day and night with the raven, most of their conversations were in Auran, and the captain couldn’t understand its language.

“Hello.”

Alfie fluttered its wings slightly and answered.

Stunned for a moment, Roy smiled bitterly and shook her head, thinking this was indeed the appropriate greeting for a first meeting. Then she thought again, figuring that since the siren understood bird calls, she might as well let Alfie act as a “translator,” having it convert Auran language into avian expression.

Rеaⅾ оn KаtRеαⅾіnɡСafе

“Tell her that I’m not a bad person and want to talk with her.”

Receiving the captain’s order, the raven tilted its head, seemingly troubled, then turned to the siren and repeated Roy’s words in Auran.

At this, the smile on the siren’s face disappeared, returning to a confused expression.

“I meant for you to use cawing, uh… raven language to communicate with her.”

Seeing this, Roy quickly added, but was met with Alfie’s troubled gaze, clearly conveying that it couldn’t do this.

Bird calls might have multiple meanings, but they certainly couldn’t match even a fraction of human language. Thus, translating Auran into bird calls was naturally impossible.

The captain understood its meaning, and the hope in her eyes turned to disappointment once more.

Without communication, the questions she had before coming here would remain unanswered, her prepared speech would be useless, not to mention finding a solution to save the siren’s life.

This sense of helplessness and despair was perhaps, as the scholar had said, the devil’s joke?

From the beginning, that devil had never intended to leave any hope, whether for the siren or for descendants who couldn’t bear to see her die.

Rеaԁ oո КαtReaԁiոɡСаfe

But… there was still some hope after all.

Roy sighed deeply, knowing that if she could control the situation, perhaps she could still make some attempts, but that depended on whether the other would cooperate.

With this thought, the captain hesitated no longer and extended her hand toward the siren, just like a noble young man opening a carriage door to welcome his dance partner.

Whether language was mutually intelligible or customs were similar, this gesture of reception couldn’t be easily misinterpreted.

So quite naturally, the siren understood.

She placed her somewhat cold hand in Roy’s, gently closing it, and stepped out of the crystal coffin, as if descending from the clouds to the mortal world.

Leading the young woman to the ice basin, the captain gave her a gentle, questioning look, but received only fear and sadness in return.

The siren, who had maintained calmness earlier, now trembled uncontrollably while looking at the ceremonial ice basin, either fearing death or seeing certain scenes from the past.

Like that devil.