Round Fifty: On the Road

The sea at night was eerily quiet. The hurricane currents that had been swirling in the oceans recently had ceased, dissipating with Zeusker’s re-imprisonment.
The northern trade routes, blocked by blizzards, were also beginning to recover. Though there were still many bandits and monsters lurking from shattered glaciers or deep within the World Spine—some of them particularly troublesome—thanks to the combined efforts of Deep Current City and other northern cities, the situation was moving in the direction the civilized races hoped for. At least the caravans were returning, carrying heavy goods along the roads covered in thick ice and snow, though both armed escorts and commodity prices had risen.
However, sea transportation had not yet resumed. After all, according to the normal seasonal cycle, winter had just begun. Although the weather had improved and some coastal areas had thawed under the influence of ocean currents, large floes of ice could still easily destroy any ship that came across them—let alone the icebergs drifting in from the north, which were like the teeth of the sea, moving death itself.
There was such an iceberg right now. The bright moonlight shone on its sharp peaks, and its irregular shape resembled a giant black shadow sailing under the moonlight, with the part hidden beneath the water being several times larger. It pushed through the icy waters without disturbance, not even disturbing the nearby ice floes, moving slowly along the massive undercurrents caused by temperature differences, indifferently pushing aside anything in its path—of course, not unscathed.
An unimaginable roar shattered the night. The thunderous sound flattened the waves, and a shrill, piercing scream approached rapidly, as if the air itself had become some solid mass torn apart by a sharp knife. In an instant, flames flashed along the side of the iceberg, sending countless shards of ice into the air and creating hemispherical waves behind it. Vast amounts of seawater turned into steam clouds, whipped up by the intense shockwaves, extending countless tendrils that enveloped the entire iceberg.
Steel winches taller than humans creaked as they adjusted the destructive machinery made of thick brass and steel. Simon stood at the side of the ship, stretched out his right arm, gave a thumbs-up, and squinted his eyes alternately before turning to shout at the sailors gathered around the cannons emitting hot smoke: “You idiots! Didn’t you hear what I said?”
The gunners busied themselves in chaos under his scolding, though most of them had no idea what to do. After all, the largest weapons they were familiar with were only giant crossbows and ship-based catapults—this complex device was far too advanced. Some even cried out in pain when they accidentally touched the still-hot cannon barrels, driving Simon to frustration.

He recovered quickly from his adventure in the frozen Arctic realms, though it was by far the most dangerous experience he had ever had. In fact, since encountering Morriel and Forty-Seven in the southern seas, he had faced ten times more danger than in the entire first half of his life—of course, if one excluded the endless struggle to avoid debts from being counted as “danger.”

Originally, as he sailed the magically repaired magic ship from the southern swamps toward Deep Current City, passing through many towns and enjoying the heartfelt awe of everyone who saw the ship, he even thought that the misfortune that had long plagued him might finally be tired. From the Dragon’s Jaw Strait to the Falling Star Sea in the east, from the Pearl Islands to the Glacial Seas in the north, no other ship could compare to this steel vessel—because it could not only navigate the oceans but also dominate the skies.

That’s why he greedily followed the orders of that mad old mage to find Forty-Seven, hoping he could help complete the final and most crucial step for the magic ship. Actually, he could have delayed it a bit longer… No, his greed never went so far as to want to possess the ship himself. But since this steel warrior surely wouldn’t aim to be a “merchant ship captain,” he certainly had no problem becoming the rightful agent of the magic ship.

Yet the reality now clearly deviated from his expectations. The Hermit Crab was originally an ancient three-masted sloop accidentally discovered by pirates. Perhaps due to some lost techniques, it could withstand fierce storms better than ordinary ships and even sail fast against the wind. After being transformed into a magic airship using the Agus Empire’s construction techniques, Simon could almost imagine it carrying precious smuggled goods across oceans and continents to reap huge profits for himself.

But not this ironclad warship where gun positions took up the cargo hold! Even if he were willing to betray his principles and become a full-fledged pirate, what would be left to salvage after such a bombardment? Still, Simon didn’t show any dissatisfaction. In fact, when he returned from the Arctic and found Forty-Seven unhappy, he wisely kept his complaints to himself—after all, if one was relying on someone else’s power, one had to be aware of one’s own limitations.

Forty-Seven was naturally unhappy. The God of Murder had practically urinated on his territory and written “Hirek was here” in big letters—how could he be happy?

“Respected Mr. Forty-Seven… um… Miss Morriel asks you to come over,” said Former Slave Sailor Twenty-Six, now representing Frees, as he emerged from the cabin. Although he looked much better in terms of clothing and complexion, resembling a young clerk, he was still quite nervous in the face of that stern expression.

“Alright, alright, go do what you’re supposed to do! Leave that thing alone!” Seeing Si Shi Qi turn and leave, Simon breathed a sigh of relief and shouted at his men to take their positions—though for now, the main task was simply cleaning the deck. As for that incredibly powerful cannon, it slowly descended amidst the metallic scraping sound of chains and gears. With the complex mechanisms retracting it into the hull, the bulky barrel began to level out, and the spiked iron armor on its muzzle, seemingly meant as decoration, gradually closed together—until with one final loud metallic crash, the carved head with its terrifying face snapped its jaws shut, swallowing the thick cannon barrel whole.

Moriel crossed her arms and gazed at the dim moonlight outside the window. Kairo, still lying in bed, remained unconscious, but his pale face was slowly regaining vitality, which gave Moriel a little more confidence.

Now, every inch of the captain’s cabin—from the floor to the walls—was covered with mysterious patterns and symbols. They were interconnected and nested within each other, forming a web of lines and spells, an ocean of magic.

Even though she had started preparing after Xirek left, and with the help of two archmages and the Red Robe mages from Deep Flow City, it still took her a considerable amount of time to complete this task, not to mention all the adjustments and checks required. The reason she didn’t choose the better-equipped Crystal Tower for this work was purely out of Moriel’s selfishness. The female mage wasn’t willing to let Xinbu or Daeruo get too deeply involved in the ritual to balance Kairo’s divine power. After all, there was a widely spread rumor that Xinbu was the daughter of the Magic Goddess; even if not, they must have a very close relationship. And Daeruo was her brother-in-law… From any perspective, Moriel thought it would be too bad to involve more gods in matters related to Kairo and Lady Mist.

Let alone those female paladins—another reason the Revenge Ship stayed at sea rather than entering Deep Flow City’s harbor was to keep their distance from them.

O’Sullivan sat in a high-backed chair fixed to the wall, his hands tightly shackled with magically enchanted platinum chains. His head was bowed, and he appeared listless. Xirek didn’t care whether he had any objections to becoming a vessel for divine power. To dilute the power of murdering the prince to a level Kairo could tolerate, they repeated the ritual over and over, slowly extracting the divine power remaining in the count’s body, like peeling back layers of silk, and turning it into a gentle stream to flow into Kairo’s body, neutralizing Lady Mist’s influence.

This was clearly a very unpleasant experience for O’Sullivan, but Moriel didn’t have time to worry about his feelings now. It was a rare chance to get some proper rest tonight—days of intense work had left the female mage nearly exhausted. Thankfully, the work related to transferring divine power was finally coming to an end. Though there were still some issues unresolved, such as…

The sea water gently lapped against the Revenge Ship’s waterline. The fact that such a huge iron mass could float at all was already astonishing to many. Wave after wave. The gentle evening breeze suddenly became damp.

Si Shi Qi entered the captain’s cabin. O’Sullivan barely lifted his head to glance at him, his expression grim. But Si Shi Qi paid him no attention.

“If you keep fiddling with those cannons every day, I’ll go insane soon.” Moriel turned around, rubbing her temples. “Are you planning to use this thing to storm Xyrik’s throne?”
“Of course not.” Forty-Seven glanced around the captain’s cabin, noticing the water stains seeping in through the windows. “There’s time enough. What’s the matter? Has some lady lost her patience?”
“Patience? Some guy who thinks in terms of bearings and gears wants to talk to me about patience?”
Before Moriel could answer, a voice drifted in with the night breeze through the porthole.
Outside was a deep azure blue—the sea stood like a wall, without a single ripple, like a large piece of jelly. A pitch-black stain was spreading rapidly within it.
This strange sight lasted only a short while before the dark water rushed in through the window. Yet even the lights in the captain’s cabin remained on, and the pages of the book on the table stayed dry.
A tall, graceful figure stood before Moriel and Forty-Seven, her wide skirt swirling and rippling like water. She was entirely made of water, even her waterfall-like long hair. Only her two dark green eyes glowed fiercely as she stared at them, mainly at Forty-Seven.
Princess Olydra of the Water Elementals.
“I’m here to claim my reward, you dry boy!” She stepped closer, leaving large water marks wherever she passed, which were quickly absorbed back into her layered skirt.
“Is that so? I have the feeling you still haven’t finished what you set out to do.” Forty-Seven glanced at Kayro.
Olydra looked down at him; she was now almost touching the ceiling. “You know nothing! For such a trivial matter, I even lost part of my power to help that half-dead girl! It’s over now—don’t try to order me around anymore! It’s your turn to do what you promised me!”
Moriel bowed slightly. “Indeed. I’m very grateful for your help, Queen of the Black Tides.”
A crucial part of the mage’s ritual required a powerful being capable of wielding divine power, or something close to it, as an intermediary. It might be foolish, but Moriel couldn’t think of any other suitable solution—Himb wasn’t an option, nor the female paladin of the Lord of Glory. Forty-Seven himself couldn’t handle such a task. But when he recommended Princess Olydra of the Water Elementals, Moriel agreed immediately, without even asking about the details of their deal.
“Your gratitude is nothing but hypocritical.” Olydra waved her hand dismissively. “Alright! You metal boy, let’s wrap this up quickly—do you plan to default?”
“I never default. It’s just that sometimes my creditors choose to give up on their claims.” Seeing Moriel agree, Forty-Seven extended his right hand.

Several snake-like things bulged on his body, impossible to hide even by armor. They writhed like living things, spreading up his arm toward his right hand, and Moriel could even hear the grating sound of metal muscles rubbing against each other. Forty-Seven’s eyes burned like two pools of blood-red lava, and the deck beneath his feet hissed with blue smoke, yet his outstretched right arm was covered in frost.

“That’s it?” Olydra looked at Forty-Seven’s frozen, empty right hand, her anger noticeably lessening.

“How much do you think I could have left? Hurry up.” Forty-Seven seemed strained, which was quite rare.

Olydra also stretched out her hand and shook it with Forty-Seven.

The Water Element Princess recoiled sharply, a wave of boiling steam erupting from her body to form a blurred image of herself before vanishing with a pop, scorching Moriel’s skin red.

The Queen of the Black Tides stepped back a few steps, bringing herself to roughly Moriel’s height, her dark green eyes unblinking.

“You’re sensible,” Olydra said after a moment, the glow in her eyes intensifying, like reflected snow and ice over the years.

“Since you’re so understanding…” She glanced at her right hand, which had just been in contact with Forty-Seven. Steam still rose from it, but its nature seemed completely different now—the hand was crystal clear.

“Before I head back to the palace, I’ll give you a free piece of information,” Olydra said. “Creatures like you are indeed rare, but a thousand years means nothing to us. Many similar beings have appeared in the outer realms, but I’ve never seen one as perfectly intact and free to wander around courting girls like you. If you’re interested in them… why not leave this dump and search those realms?”

After Olydra left, Moriel closed the window.

“Whether Kayro can wake up and what he’ll be like once he does… we can only wait now. But,” she turned to look at Forty-Seven, “you actually gave the Ice Element Princess ZuxxZuxxKuer -> Zuxx (the Ice Element Princess)’s ice power… Do you know what that means? Maybe soon we’ll have to call her the Queen of Ice and Water!”

Forty-Seven shrugged.

“What does that have to do with me? I don’t like water or ice anyway.”

“Then again,” he thought for a moment, “since the Red Riding Hood matter is almost over… I should set a new goal too.”

Forty-Seven suddenly turned to O’Sullivan, who was pretending to be dead on the chair. “By the way, you probably don’t need this guy anymore, do you?”

The next day.

O’Sullivan stood on a wooden plank protruding from the ship’s hull—unsteadily.

“Hurry up, pretty boy,” Forty-Seven glared at him viciously. “Move forward!”

“You can’t do this, Mr. Forty-Seven. Maybe there’s some misunderstanding between us…” O’Sullivan had already used up almost all his strength just to stay standing on the plank; now he was truly exhausted. “I think I can explain… If you throw me into the sea now, I’ll die from drowning or freezing in half an hour!”

“Half an hour is enough time for you to repent.” Forty-seven kicked the plank hard, the shock causing O’Sullivan to lose his balance and slide down; he could only barely grip the edge with both hands. “You once threw me into the sea; now I’m doing the same to you. Isn’t that fair? Or do you want to walk along the keel tied up with a rope?”
The sailors watching began to shout and jeer.
With a thud—the exhausted count couldn’t hold on much longer.
Morrill didn’t participate in the chaos on the deck.
She leaned against the bed, eyes half-closed, dozing off.
It seemed not long before she suddenly woke up.
For a moment, her heart beat so fast that it even caused the female mage to feel slightly dizzy. She struggled to control herself, holding onto the bedrail as she tried to see clearly.
She saw it, and she heard it. The girl on the bed’s long eyelashes fluttered, and then her eyes opened. When she saw Kayro’s clear eyes, Morrill’s intuition told her clearly—that girl from the Rain City magic shop had returned—
She smiled weakly.
“Thank you, Sister Morrill.”
Chapter 6: The Dominator