Chapter 71

The deck was bustling with noise.

“Farewell, Sillemol!”

“See you again, Free Market!”

“No way we’ll meet again, Big Brother Kifkos!”

“Is that so? I’m in such a good mood, I forgot.”

The gold-toothed man let out a loud, boisterous laugh.

His nose was red, and his speech slurred.

The glass in his hand was filled with amber liquid—a rare wheat liquor imported from Maesh.

Kifkos savored the taste of pickled Labosa berries, chewing slowly.

The blue fish roe inside the berries enhanced their rich flavor.

The slight saltiness lingering in his mouth was washed away with a swig of the strong liquor, making him crave another berry and then more liquor to chase the saltiness… a drunkard’s inescapable cycle.

Kifkos wasn’t the only one caught in that cycle.

All the men who had escaped from Sillemol with him were sprawled across the deck, thoroughly intoxicated.

They drank endlessly under the pretext of bidding farewell to the past and embracing the future.

“Big Brother, Big Brother! We’ve got roasted pig hind legs from Schmeizen!”

“What!? I was about to stop drinking, but I have no choice now! Pour another bottle!”

“There’s that Datcheta, three gold coins and a bottle—what should we do with it?”

“You’ve already opened it, so why ask? Bring it here!”

Drunkards don’t drink for a reason.

Yet, no one is as obsessed with finding reasons to drink as a drunkard.

They seek reasons to drink and drink to find reasons.

“Ah, really…”

Kifkos lifted his half-glazed eyes.

Why did Hobel Bay, which he saw every day, feel so beautiful now?

The coastline, the waves, even the colors seemed dazzlingly unfamiliar.

Memories of the years gone by brought tears to his eyes.

“We’ve had a hell of a time.”

In Sillemol’s underground market, he had fought fiercely to seize power.

He had lived relentlessly busy days.

Above all, serving as a lackey for the 11th Legion had kept him constantly on edge.

But now, it is all over.

It was all in the past.

Kifkos was certain of it.

“But it wasn’t all for nothing.”

He gulped down the three-gold-coin Datcheta like it was water.

He had loyal subordinates who called him Big Brother.

This ship, slicing through the sea at a terrifying speed, was his.

“If it weren’t for Sillemol, how could a mere retired soldier have bought a Schwartz-Waren-class Mana Ship?”

The sails were up, but they were just for show.

This ship was powered by a military-grade mana engine smuggled from the Silver Dragon Magic Kingdom.

Kifkos couldn’t hide his satisfaction.

There was no reason to hide it, so he laughed heartily, thrilled.

“And then, what else, huh?”

Oh my? Kifkos slid his arm around the waist of a woman bringing out roasted pig hind legs.

The woman raised her eyes but didn’t protest, letting herself lean into his touch.

Unconcealed affection dripped from the gold-toothed man’s eyes.

“How could I have won such a beautiful wife!”

“You’re right. I always thought she was too good for you, Big Brother.”

“Quiet, Gloriosus!”

The woman giggled softly.

Unable to hold back, Kifkos pressed his liquor-scented lips to her cheek.

She didn’t hide her distaste but didn’t pull away either.

After kissing her cheek, Kifkos shouted to the sky.

“To the most beautiful woman in Hobel Bay!”

“Why the sweet words today, Kifkos?”

“Because it’s a sweet day, Ofenia.”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

The woman called Ofenia laughed lightly and stuck out her tongue with a playful “Beh.”

Kifkos, showing his gold teeth, gazed at his wife as if enchanted.

From an outsider’s perspective, it was a highly inappropriate scene.

It looked like nothing more than a nouveau riche leering at a young girl.

Surprisingly, Ofenia and Kifkos were not only the same age but childhood friends.

After retiring from the 11th Legion, Kifkos settled in Sillemol and immediately returned to his hometown to propose to Ofenia, who joyfully accepted.

Despite countless storms since then, nothing could break their love.

“I’m so glad you and your brothers won’t have to see blood anymore.”

Ofenia gave a small smile.

Oh, what a kind heart.

The men of Kifkos’s gang were ready to kneel before her.

“You’d better not do anything shady in Hanchamus.”

“I’ll try.”

“Oh my?”

At his wife’s sharp glance, Kifkos hurriedly raised his hands.

It was to dodge the inevitable nagging that was about to pour out.

“Kifkos’s gang, raise your glasses!”

Yay—! The excited voices of the men filled the air.

The women bringing out food shook their heads with exasperated expressions.

These women, either wives or soon-to-be wives, sighed but not one failed to smile.

Their certainty of a bright future gripped them with laughter.

“Farewell, Sillemol!”

“““Farewell, Sillemol—!!!”””

To Hanchamus!

To the health of the new rich!

The men guffawed and swallowed their liquor.

They even offered drinks to the women beside them.

The women, pretending to resist, took the glasses and downed them in one go.

Amid the clamor that drowned out even the sound of the waves, Gloriosus quietly stepped away.

The bearded man hadn’t touched a drop since his first glass.

He liked drinking but wasn’t good at it, despite appearances.

“…”

A man stood at the edge of the deck.

He was a bit too youthful to be called a man.

The build of a fifteen-year-old, the face of an eleven-year-old.

The Reclusive Prince, still hiding secrets.

Gloriosus set down a tray with a glass in front of Shion.

“Let’s drink together, Pasionus.”

“I don’t like alcohol.”

Shion smiled lightly and gently declined.

“And I’m not tactless enough to join that crowd.”

“The more people at a lively gathering, the better.”

“No thanks.”

He even waved his hand, making his refusal clearer.

Joining the boisterous brotherhood would only be awkward.

Since they’d part ways in Mekeros anyway, he had no desire to build bonds.

But Gloriosus seemed to think differently.

For some reason, he felt fond of Shion, who had once broken his wrist, and seemed eager to chat.

He gestured toward the sea at sunset.

“Isn’t it time for a meal? I’ll grab something from the kitchen. You said you like sweet things… how about I have them bake a pumpkin pie?”

“No need, really… wait, pumpkin pie?”

“Yes. My wife’s in the kitchen now, and her skills are amazing.”

“Can’t say no to that.”

Wait just a moment.

The bearded man went below deck with a pleased expression and soon returned with a pumpkin pie.

He mentioned it was already made but lightly rebaked for extra crispness.

“It was about time I missed pumpkin pie.”

It wasn’t overly sweet, but it was crispy.

Pies Roesti, his damned first friend, came to mind briefly but was quickly forgotten.

The pumpkin pie was quite delicious.

The sunset deepened, and the people on deck grew thoroughly drunk.

Half of them couldn’t resist sleep.

As the initial excitement settled, deeper thoughts surfaced.

“…When Big Brother Kifkos was a centurion in the 11th Legion, I was his aide.”

Shion decided to listen as Gloriosus began talking about the past.

The pumpkin pie was good, he had nothing else to do and the gold-toothed and bearded brothers were more entertaining than expected.

“Once we settled in Sillemol, I handled the connections with the Legion.”

Gloriosus sniffled.

The early spring voyage was quite cold.

It was chilly enough to pass off tears as a runny nose.

“So, my job was to hand over the names of our followers or the other noisy gang members to the Legion.”

Freedom attracts unsavory types.

Among them, the particularly bad but powerful ones were reported to the 11th Legion.

“My mouth always felt bitter.”

He knew he was soft-hearted.

He hadn’t framed anyone; he’d just ensured they paid for their crimes.

Yet, he couldn’t forget.

Especially if he’d shared a meal with them.

If someone entrusted their family to him, unaware he’d given their name…

“Funny, isn’t it? Pretending to be good.”

“I’d call it a shred of conscience.”

“You’re surprisingly kind.”

Shion gave a light smile.

The regret that his loud lips and bushy beard couldn’t hide was palpable.

Feeling an unexpected sense of kinship, Shion was puzzled.

He raised his glass.

He nodded at Gloriosus to do the same.

“Will you drink with me?”

Shion Pollinglight picked up the smallest glass.

They’d reach Mekeros soon, so a little indulgence wouldn’t hurt.

“It’s over and that’s a relief.”

Gloriosus stood up, invigorated by the liquor.

He wiggled his hips excitedly.

His steps were unsteady, his lips pursed—it was quite comical.

Shion chuckled and tossed the rest of his drink into the sea.

“Days like this do come.”

“Did you see the warships when we left?”

The bearded man shuddered.

The memory was still vivid.

The 11th Legion’s ships surrounded Sillemol.

The menacing soldiers aboard.

Some faces were familiar.

He’d once been part of the 11th Legion himself.

“If we’d been a bit slower, we’d have been surrounded. That was close.”

“Hm…”

Shion, tossing out his drink, let out a low hum.

His blue eyes stared intently at the sea.

Beneath the sunset, between the waves, toward where Sillemol lay.

“…”

The Reclusive Prince’s eyes were fixed, unyielding.

“…I think it’s already too late.”

“…What? Oh…”

Gloriosus let out a sigh.

There was a dot on the sea.

Small but fast.

Heading straight for them like an arrow.

“…Damn.”

***

The boat approached with astonishing speed.

It had just crossed the coastline, yet now its shape was faintly visible.

In an era of mana engines, it was an old, small boat rowed with oars.

It could barely hold ten people, but the oars on either side were monstrously large.

Yet it was fast.

Terrifyingly so.

Just rowing those giant oars, it was catching up to their Schwartz-Waren-class Mana Ship in an instant.

“Cheongnalchi…!”

Gloriosus muttered unconsciously.

The men of the 11th Legion all called that boat “Cheongnalchi.”

With giant oars like those on a large galley, it resembled a flying fish.

The Cheongnalchi was an old boat.

Aside from the massive oars, it had no notable features.

But because of its owner, no one in the 11th Legion could ignore it.

A lone man rowed the boat.

A man who could row two oars that would take twenty adults to handle, catching up to a Mana Ship.

A massive man with a long beard, whose mere movement was a military threat.

In Hobel Bay, there was only one such man.

“…The Whale!”

Gloriosus screamed at the top of his lungs.

His piercing cry dug into the ears of the drunken men.

“The Whale of Hobel Bay is here—!!!”

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