Round 17: Deep Flow City

The Hermit Crab sailed steadily under the morning sun. The dawn light emitted by one of the twin suns was quite gentle, with a hint of chill in the air—clear signs they had reached the north.
Forty-seven had indeed caught a Ghost Face Crab, still in its larval stage. It was very displeased to be suddenly pulled away from the delicious sea algae and was desperately using its already hard and sharp pincers to attack the steel fingers poking at it.
“Why are you smiling stupidly?” Forty-seven suddenly turned to look at Twenty-Six, scaring him into a shiver.
“Is it that funny? Stick out your finger, hurry up,” Forty-seven threatened, holding up the ferocious Ghost Face Crab. Though this palm-sized monster couldn’t harm Forty-seven, an ordinary person’s finger could be severed if tightly grasped by it.
“Mr. Forty-seven, I’m not laughing at you…” Twenty-Six stammered in explanation but didn’t extend his hand as Forty-seven demanded. He already knew this terrifying armored guest wasn’t always true to his word: “I just thought of Deep Flow City because I was born there, so….”
“Deep Flow City? Then you’re returning to an old place too. Tell me more.” Forty-seven seemed quite interested in the place they were going to. He threw the Ghost Face Crab back into the sea, where its eerie shell flashed briefly before it vanished into the waves.
Twenty-Six tilted his head back, trying to recall: “Um… it was a very large city… I can’t remember exactly now. I was born a slave and worked as a runner for my master at the docks in Deep Flow City from a young age. I only remember there were always many people there—various kinds: mages, swordsmen, warriors, rangers, thieves, barbarians. Of course, there were also elves and dwarves and other races, even orcs…”
At the mention of orcs, Twenty-Six paused, seemingly remembering something: “But I’ve been away from there for almost ten years now. I’ve changed ships and masters many times and never had the chance to go back. I don’t know what Deep Flow City is like now… But, respected Mr. Forty-seven, it’s a good place. You’ll definitely like it.”
As he said this, a faint smile appeared on Twenty-Six’s thin face.
“Yes, I hope you’ll like Deep Flow City. Don’t turn it into ruins there.” Moriel wore a new robe with no magical enhancements. Its excellent warmth came from a fine, soft fleece lining, not those strange runes on the cuffs that any discerning eye could see were clearly stitched on by a swindler: “We need to be more cautious. Deep Flow City isn’t some remote backwater like Rain City. It’s the largest port in the north, perhaps even the largest in the entire continent…”
Forty-seven noticed that both Twenty-Six and Moriel became somewhat entranced whenever Deep Flow City was mentioned, as if the name itself held some kind of magic that made them unconsciously think of, long for, or perhaps avoid something.

“Yes, I’ve also heard many rumors about Deep Flow City. An excellent port, progressive systems, a powerful commercial city-state, an important trade hub—rare treasures from overseas, ores from the north, specialties from the south, everything you could want…” Chloe walked over; she seemed ready as well. Her fiery red hair fluttered in the sea breeze, staying neat despite the movement. She wore a new sword at her belt, its steel hilt gleaming brightly. Yet, like Moriel’s robe, it was just a cheap imitation meant to impress ordinary people—its materials and craftsmanship were merely passable. “We’ll be able to land at noon. Are you all ready to explore this magnificent city, friends?”
“What, can you even be a guide?” Forty-Seven moved his arms, his full armor moving smoothly with his movements, as if it were part of his skin. “Aren’t we just going our separate ways once we land?”
The female swordsman waved her hand stylishly. “Don’t be so stingy. We’ve shared hardships as adventurers! Since I have nothing much to do now, isn’t traveling together a great option?”
Moriel rolled his eyes, skeptical. Even if they had gone through the Great Vortex together, what did that mean? Chloe was still a stranger with an unknown background and suspicious motives.
Forty-Seven said nothing more, but suddenly felt a bit curious about Deep Flow City. A big city? Honestly, he had never truly experienced what a big-city life was like. So he gave up his fishing and other pastimes, stepped to the bow of the ship, and set sail with the Hermit Crab toward their destination.
Soon, he saw the coastline—and the marvels of the north: the countless spires of Deep Flow City.
The closer they got to Deep Flow City, the smaller the sea seemed. This was because the number of ships passing by there increased rapidly—ranging from small schooners to multi-masted sailing ships with several decks. Almost every type of ship you could imagine was here, including the oddly shaped Hermit Crab.
The hills surrounding Deep Flow City extended into the sea, forming a calm, deep-water bay—an ideal location for a port. The Hermit Crab entered this spacious and peaceful waters. Due to the dense array of sails that seemed to merge together, it was difficult to see the full extent of the port. Only the tall buildings rising above the sails silently conveyed the scale and prosperity of Deep Flow City.
The Hermit Crab waited for quite some time before finding a spot to dock. Following the signals from the pilot, it dropped anchor. The man in charge of registering ships on the dock examined it for a while before recognizing its unique design and approaching on his own. “Isn’t this the Hermit Crab? What a rare sight. From the look of it—did the navy scold you, so you came to Deep Flow City for refuge? Where’s the captain? Who’s the captain?”
Simon carefully stepped off the ship and onto the dock, pulling his hat brim down slightly. Only when he saw no one paying too much attention to him did he raise his hand to greet them. “Hey, Kakarot. Are you still working at the dock? You seem to be getting fitter by the day… Don’t you recognize an old friend? It’s Simon!”

“Simon?” The ship registrar named Kakarot chewed on tobacco, glancing at Simon and the few people following him who didn’t look like sailors at all. Frowning, he turned his head and spat a long stream of saliva into the sea before wiping away the residue from his beard. “…Simon? Hah, it’s really you. Did you finally manage to steal the Hermit Crab? It’s been a few years—seems you still haven’t gotten rid of that life as a sea vagrant.”
Kakarot’s tone carried an air of urban superiority. Though Simon was an experienced captain and perhaps a skilled warrior, he still spoke arrogantly. “I heard you couldn’t stay here, so you ran to the Pearl Islands to scrape by, right? Come on, register you and your crew in this book. Deep Flow City isn’t a place where pirates can wander around freely… Well, maybe I should consider quarantining you for half a month to check for any infectious diseases…”
“Hahaha, stop joking. Who said those in the Pearl Islands are pirates? I’ve always been a legitimate businessman. Besides, weren’t you also from the South?” Simon laughed as he reached out to take the quill, scribbled a few words in the book, and handed it back—simultaneously slipping a beautifully engraved gold coin into Kakarot’s palm. “They’re my guests, coming to Deep Flow City for fun. They’re all noble and decent people… I’ll invite you for a drink tonight—don’t refuse!”
Kakarot snorted and gave up on insisting on quarantine. His gaze lingered for a moment on the tall, red-haired female swordsman’s chest before being drawn to the warrior clad in full heavy armor. The exquisite armor was clearly top-quality, lacking the bulky feel of ordinary full-body armor—it fit perfectly as if it grew from the body. These novices would probably be beaten up, stripped of their armor, and thrown into the gutter within three days, right?
His malicious assumptions stopped when he saw the female mage behind the armored warrior. Moriel’s strange magical tattoos gave her an unnatural expression. Was… was she a red-robed mage? Another red-robed mage had arrived in the city?
“Alright, Kakarot. I’m going to explore the city first. I’ll come back to see you later!” Simon patted the registrar’s shoulder, but Kakarot didn’t even respond, just staring at Moriel as if thinking about what to say to her.
“Alright, Kakarot. I’m going to the city too. Give my regards to Vegeta!” 47 also patted his shoulder. The force of the punch, as if struck by a hammer, nearly made the registrar cry out. He angrily raised his head, only to be surprised to find 47’s face so uniformly dense and with a strange metallic sheen that he forgot to ask who this Vegeta was—was he made of iron?

The group entered Deepstream City’s dock area, where the bustling noise immediately enveloped them. Though it seemed no different from Vatan City’s dock area—the sea breeze, fishy smell, and the unique atmosphere of sailors and dockworkers filling the senses of those who had just landed—Moriel could sense a sense of freedom and prosperity here, though it was also a bit more chaotic. There were as many taverns and stalls as there were shops, offering places for entertainment and small trades; or tall warehouses where porters carried heavy goods onto ships or off them, with guards armed and ready to deal with thieves. The crowded streets were filled with merchants, sailors, and various mercenaries and adventurers, but almost everyone turned to stare at Moriel and her group, not just because of Forty-Seven and his armor, but perhaps even more so because of the female mage.

“Ah, well, though it’s hard to part,” Simon said insincerely to Moriel and the others, “our journey together will be a wonderful memory for me. But now I need to go to the commercial district to buy some supplies and leave. So, let’s say goodbye here…”

“Thump!” A fat hand wearing three or four gemstone rings slapped Simon’s shoulder, producing a sharp sound.

Simon flinched, letting out a painful “Ow!” “Who is it? What do you want—”

But when he turned to see who it was, his face suddenly paled, as if recalling some embarrassing past experience. His lips moved a few times, but he was stuck in an awkward situation, not knowing how to phrase his words.

“Simon! It’s you! I didn’t believe it when Mann came to tell me! You scoundrel are still alive, and you dare to return to Deepstream City? Why didn’t all the disasters of the Storm Ocean happen to you, so that your stinking corpse could be torn to pieces by sharks? That way, you’d have done a good deed by feeding their families! No, it won’t be that easy—sharks will get diarrhea from eating your rotten organs! I’ll pull out your intestines and lay them out on the ground to form the word ‘compensation’! Maybe then your dishonest head will learn to be smarter! A few years ago, you vanished with my goods—entire ships full of priceless premium spices! Do you know how close you came to ruining me? The capital, the profits, plus the rising market prices over the years—bastard, if not for you, how much more could I have made from those goods? I could have used that money to invest in a business I’d already identified, and made even more! I could have even bought a big shop in Deepstream City’s commercial district! You can’t get away—you must compensate me! Oh, and interest, plus spiritual compensation for deceiving me. Let me calculate… Wait, where are you going? Stop! Mann, stop him! If you don’t give me an explanation today, I’ll tear you apart and sell you to the orcs—not a single bone left!”

“Ha, Captain Simon, it seems your ability to incur debts is even better than your sailing skills. I now wonder if there are creditors everywhere in the abyss!” Chloe gloated nearby, while Moriel couldn’t help but laugh at Simon’s now miserable expression after he had once appeared so gentlemanly. Yet that plump merchant was indeed quite remarkable—he wore an elegant yet simple long coat, but his neck, wrists, and even waist were adorned with vulgar yet expensive jewelry. His thick lips moved nonstop, spouting accusations and curses at Simon at a pace that seemed even faster than Chloe’s agility or Moriel’s instant magic.

“Oh, come on, I had no choice at the time! And it was just ordinary spices, not an entire ship’s worth…”

Simon tried to defend himself weakly, but his words were immediately drowned out by the fat merchant’s furious tirade: “Stop making excuses and excuses, you sneaky guy! I won’t fall for your tricks a second time! Don’t have any ulterior motives, Simon. You’re a merchant—business must be conducted with morality, honesty, and by following rules. Dishonesty and fraud are shameful. The contract you wrote yourself is still in my safe at home. Do you want me to show it to you? Or have you completely turned into a pirate in the Pearl Islands? Oh, if that’s the case, Simon, I’ll send you to the city guards right now. By tomorrow, you’ll be hanged at the dock, with seabirds pecking out your eyes and tongue… Don’t look around. Even with those companions behind you, I, Freys, am not afraid. Humans follow reason, and Deepstream City follows the law!”

“Oh, we have nothing to do with this guy,” Chloe said, waving her hands to distance herself and Simon. “Goodbye, Mr. Simon. Weren’t you going to buy some supplies?”

“Ha! You still want to buy things? Let me tell you—until you pay off my debts, every penny you have belongs to me. How did you get here? Do you have a ship? I’ll apply to the Merchant Alliance to confiscate your ship…”

Moriel stepped forward, only to find Forty-Seven watching with interest as Freys, the fat merchant, tightly grasped Simon. “Hey, what’s there to see? What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Merchant, you’re even fatter and talk even more nonsense!” Freys raised his eyes to look for the person speaking to him. When he saw Forty-Seven staring at him, his eyes narrowed further. Simon also stared at Forty-Seven in surprise—he had never heard this fierce and terrifying steel warrior address anyone as “sir” before.

“Forty-Seven, do you know him?” Moriel’s question reached Freys’ ears. The fat flesh on his face seemed to tremble slightly as he immediately left Simon behind and stepped forward.

“Mr. Forty-Seven? Mr. Forty-Seven! Whatever god it is, I must thank him! I’ve missed you so much, Mr. Forty-Seven! Hahaha, I didn’t recognize you just now—you’ve changed a lot! So handsome! Great to see you here!” Freys’s face beamed like a giant sunflower, and he even reached out with his thick hands to pat Forty-Seven on the shoulder. This gesture surprised both Simon and the other two ladies. It was understandable for a merchant to change from a fierce look to a friendly one so quickly, but the fact that he did it to Forty-Seven, and even dared to pat him so warmly without any consequences, was truly unusual.

“It’s only been a short while since we last met… Tell me, did you eat all the elf biscuits you brought back from the Forest of Slumber by yourself?” Forty-Seven grabbed Freys’s gold necklace adorned with large rubies. “I think you’re even heavier than me now!”

“Ouch, please don’t pull! I’ll take it off myself…” Freys removed the necklace from his neck. “Top-quality rubies—perfect for decorating a belt! It would look absolutely magnificent! Before I introduce them, these two beautiful ladies are…”

When he saw Moriel with the tattoos unique to red-robed mages on her face, his gaze narrowed slightly.

“Alright, stop stealing others’ things.” When Freys heard Moriel’s words and saw Forty-Seven actually return the necklace, his eyes narrowed sharply—reading people’s expressions was a basic skill for a merchant.

“Oh, come on, Mr. Forty-Seven, these two beautiful ladies, if you don’t mind, please come to my house. I’m half a Deepflow City native after all… You haven’t eaten yet, have you? It’s already afternoon—please let me treat you. Mann, go back first. Hurry, prepare the best…”

Since Forty-Seven showed no objection, Moriel and Chloe certainly had no problem accepting a free meal.

“Hey! And you too, don’t try to sneak away!” Freys didn’t let Simon, who wanted to slip away, get away. His face instantly changed from that of a sunflower to that of glacial snow. “Come with us. This time, I won’t let you get away! You two, keep an eye on him!”