Chapter Eleven: The Desert Island

An utterly ordinary three-masted sailboat skillfully maneuvered out of the horn-shaped riverbanks and plunged into the azure sea, cutting through the waves as it raced toward the vast south. The strong northern winds from the northern wastelands brought with them a biting chill, carrying snowflakes, making this winter seem especially early for Homer.

Cormer stood with his arms crossed, gazing ahead. The sea, the very waters that had given rise to the endless prosperity along the shores of the Great Continent, seemed to lie right at his feet.

Putting aside matters in Nicomedia for the time, Cormer tried hard to relax, but Lenta’s image kept popping into his mind, whether intentionally or not. To be honest, though Lenta’s plump and graceful figure was memorable, it wasn’t enough to make Cormer reluctant to leave Nicomedia and head south. Grace, Lomei, even Kakiya and Tracy were all no less attractive than Lenta. What attracted Cormer was Lenta’s heart—her unquenchable ambition.

What an interesting woman—interesting, calm, and wise. Her rate of growth was astonishing. If the original Lenta had carried a mask of hypocrisy and arrogance, lacking tact and depth, the current Lenta truly possessed the ability to stand on her own.

The ability to admit mistakes, to seek advice without shame, and to persevere—these were qualities Cormer rarely saw in others. Yet he had to admit that Lenta already possessed these essential traits of a politician. Don’t think that politicians are only skilled at deceit and manipulation; such people are not successful politicians but rather despised failures. To succeed, admirable qualities are indispensable.

Perhaps it was the bloodline of the Romanov and Anson families that gave her the political advantages of both clans.

Although Lenta was still a bit inexperienced in dealing with the Northern Alliance and the Church of Light, thinking back to himself a few years ago, hadn’t he also started from scratch with nothing? The relentless storms teach people many indelible memories and lessons. He believed Lenta would gradually mature.

Perhaps he should grant her more power and responsibility? Cormer asked himself silently.

Would that work? Cormer wasn’t sure.

The Romanov bloodline gave her many advantages but also increased risks and uncertainties. Playing this card meant considering what consequences it might bring—Cormer was well aware of that.

Poznan seemed a bit too small for Lenta. Komer could clearly remember the ambition and desire hidden in Lenta’s raised lips and shining eyes as they discussed strategies regarding Katyn; her tongue, which occasionally peeked out to lick her red lips, resembled that of a snake that chose its prey carefully. A snake? Then what was he? A farmer or a snake handler? Komer smiled thoughtfully. If he were satisfied with merely taking Nicosia under his control, then Lenta would need to be used wisely. But what if his ambitions went beyond Nicosia? Then Lenta would be a valuable asset—after all, it seemed there was no one better suited for that role in Nicosia. The cold wind blew mercilessly through Komer’s clothes, sharpening his thoughts. The Caucasus was his foundation in Nicosia, while Nicosia itself was the cornerstone for him to compete with other powers. As his status rose, those who had previously ignored him began to confront him. The Northern Alliance and the Church of Light were just the first to show up; as long as he continued to stand out, more enemies would emerge, even including his former allies. Komer adjusted his hair, which had become somewhat disheveled by the sea wind. What was meant to happen would happen—there were always many obstacles to overcome on the path to rise to power, and they wouldn’t go away on their own; only strong force could make them leave. It was over ten days later when Komer’s three-masted ship reached the island of Sifnos. Even before setting foot on Sifnos, Komer had heard many versions of legends about the island from various sources. Yet none of those legends matched the shock he felt upon disembarking. Such achievements in such a short time—despite Komer having always wondered why the Hayreddin fleet had consumed so much of his funds with no apparent return—now left him without a single worry. It was magnificent. Compared to the desolation he had seen when he first arrived on Sifnos, this was nothing short of a miracle created by the gods.

Komer had already spotted the dozens-of-meters-tall spiral lighthouse from a distance at sea, but only by standing on the dock at its base could one truly appreciate its grandeur. The lighthouse, entirely built of stone, featured a clever wind-shielding design to minimize the impact of violent hurricanes. Small windows were installed on each level, allowing observers to use mirrors to monitor the sea surface over vast distances.

Several embankments built using steep headlands served as excellent docking areas, with one every hundred meters or so. The ships lined up there, distinguished by their styles, clearly came from the coasts of the Abyssal Sea and the Midland Ocean. There were also some larger ships of unfamiliar design, which Komer guessed probably originated from the Storm Ocean region. The disappearance of Demisheme had greatly strengthened connections between the Storm Ocean, the Midland Ocean, and the Continent of Vastness, leading to a significant increase in ships traveling between these areas.

The originally rugged lowlands along the cliffs had been leveled, giving the impression of a natural plain. Numerous buildings of diverse styles had already risen around the central plain, with many more still under construction, as evidenced by the workers busy at the sites. Wide, flat stone paths extended from this slightly smaller square at the edge of the cliffs, clearly leading toward the island’s center. The constant flow of carriages on these paths proved that this square was merely a temporary stopover; the real grandeur lay in the island’s interior.

Was this the desolate island of Sifnos?