Chapter Six: Swordmaster's Harbor

Carlos sat in the ship’s cabin, opened his meal box, and contentedly forked a piece of braised fish. The fish was not only delicious but also glistened with a rich, inviting red that whetted the appetite at first glance. He had tried riding one of the swimming fish for a while but found himself dizzy from its swaying movements and sensibly returned to the keel sailboat. The offending fishman knight was now tied to the stern, serving as a loyal and vigilant guard.

Carlos was not the only one enjoying the fish; all the apprentice knights and guards aboard the ship partook as well. The dwarf instructor, Maclin, even considered roasting the fish, but Carlos flatly refused—setting up a bonfire on deck was unthinkable, and Carlos wondered what the dwarf was thinking.

When the pleasant mealtime ended, Carlos went to the ship’s rail. There he watched Maclin laboriously picking bones from his fish, chewing each mouthful with slow deliberation. This sight left Carlos speechless.

Anderson remained at Maclin’s side, rolling his eyes so far they nearly disappeared into his head. Conrad, standing behind them, noticed that Carlos seemed more at ease than in the previous two days, when his silence had made him intimidating. Gathering his courage, Conrad spoke up: “Master, my brothers and I would like to join the knights’ training as well.”

The three, having failed their previous task, were somewhat timid—on the ship, they held no official status. They had resolved to join but feared Carlos would refuse.

Carlos frowned. “You three made the braised fish, didn’t you? Didn’t you do well enough?”

The chubby one replied stubbornly, “We want to train!”

Carlos, annoyed, said, “Let’s be clear: the two apprentice slots were a reward for completing the mission.”

Unexpectedly, Conrad was undeterred. He pointed to the knights practicing swordplay on deck. “I want to be like them—a knight.”

Carlos was at a loss, then smiled as an idea struck him. “If you want to join, that’s up to you. But Maclin is a strict instructor; if he disagrees, there’s nothing I can do. Still, keep working as cooks for now, and when we reach the City of Light I’ll reconsider.”

He admitted to himself that the brothers’ cooking was indeed not bad.

Without another word, Conrad tore off his coarse apron and threw it on the ground, marching away without a backward glance.

Carlos stared in astonishment, glanced at the sky, and rubbed his forehead. “A cook dares throw his apron in front of me—what is the world coming to?”

Seething with resentment, Conrad stomped below deck. Murray and Solly, hiding beneath the spiral stairs, didn’t have time to ask what had happened before Conrad passed them by in a huff.

The three, lacking official status, were not permitted to linger on deck.

Carlos called out, “The eavesdropper, come out here.”

Sure enough, Grant the groom emerged.

Carlos was used to this and gave him a sidelong glance. “You’ve been bringing those three along, and I haven’t complained. But now you’re coaching them to plead with me—what’s that about?”

Grant flushed. “Master, when you were drugged and bound by Dubois, those three fools tried to grab weapons and—”

“And do what?”

“Attack your teacher…”

Carlos was baffled. “Were they really that foolish?”

The old groom grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. “Yes, they were.”

A sudden worry seized Carlos. “Or are they hiding something deeper, and even you were fooled?”

Grant reassured him, “They even handed their bounty hunter gear to the shop in Saltwell Town—clearly, they’re not that clever.”

Carlos nodded, slapping his thigh. “Looks like I wronged honest men. Let them join the knight training, but they’ll still handle the kitchen. Your cooking is much worse than theirs; you’re only good enough to feed horses.”

At the mention of horses, Grant panicked. The horses, dragged aboard, had been left at the bottom of the ship—he’d forgotten to feed them. With a start, he turned and dashed down the spiral stairs.

Carlos, reflecting on his father’s decision to face certain death, had spent two days pondering before grasping a faint clue. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of helplessness at his father’s stubborn loyalty and obsession with reviving the family.

The raven carrying his message had flown northward. Carlos knew he might never receive a reply, yet still hoped for news.

The old man had planned everything long ago. Dubois had dragged Carlos along to keep him from harm, but Carlos still couldn’t understand—if death was certain, why take his elder brother, Derrick, to Blackstone Fortress as well?

What Carlos also didn’t know was that Dubois had some mysterious connection to the two-headed draconic beast. Yet that same beast, together with others from the Rodney Mountains, joined the attack on Blackstone Fortress. Did Dubois want Duke Morley to die in East Cyprus?

Carlos didn’t believe that, but could think of no other explanation. Thus, until they neared the Western Channel, he remained silent these past few days—grieving for his likely fallen kin, and unwilling to face the alchemy master Dubois, who rode in the same coach.

Carlos always felt the old man was shrouded in mystery, impossible to read.

The crossing of the Western Channel took a full three days and nights.

The sea vessel reached Swordmaster Port at midnight on the fourth day.

A great silver disc hung in the sky, making lanterns unnecessary for the night journey. Carlos had intended to try a luminous potion, but found no opportunity.

Carlos led the apprentice knight company ashore.

Awaiting them at the dock were Augusta, the Steam Guardian, and his son Corman, who had received word of their arrival.

As the nominal commander of the Steam Mercenary Legion under Duke Morley, Augusta offered condolences to Carlos.

Corman, too, looked upon his friend with sympathy, but his gaze quickly shifted to the fishman knight, tied by rope to the stern, riding a swimming fish.

The now-sturdy Corman stared in open wonder at the fishman knight.

“If you find him interesting, he’s yours. Keep an eye on him for me,” Carlos said, clapping Corman’s shoulder with a laugh.

“Are you sure?” The chubby Corman eyed the trident-wielding, fierce-looking fishman with skepticism.

“Of course. He’s sworn fealty to the Stevenson family. I can’t bring him to the Central Province,” Carlos assured him.

Corman led Carlos up the steps from the port’s flood barrier, heading straight for the center of Swordmaster City. There, at the White Jade Square, stood the lord’s mansion.

Swordmaster Port was a mid-sized coastal city.

After news of the complete annihilation of the Western Cyprus Imperial Legion, the Empire’s vast war machine had quickly been set in motion.

As the inland gateway to the isolated administrative province across the Western Channel, Swordmaster Port and all first-tier military units had been placed on a war footing.

When Carlos arrived, he saw massive steam warships patrolling beyond the harbor. With Blackstone Fortress in East Cyprus lost, and the Loa Avenue unguarded, the Empire had taken precautions to prevent attacks on its heartland. Swordmaster Port and other front-line defenses along the Western Channel had strengthened their vigilance. In the sky, steam-powered air warships patrolled, and even rare eagle-riding beast knights were seen flying their night patrols.

Yet, while the imperial army stood ready, the common people seemed untouched by fear. Smiles remained on most faces; ever since the expulsion of the foreign tribes, no army of outsiders had ever crossed the Western Channel in history.

Swordmaster Port was nominally the fief of the Stevenson family—granted to them as Duke Morley agreed to defend Blackstone Fortress. Perhaps he had long foreseen this day.

The townsfolk watched as the hundred-strong company marched through the streets, the apprentice knight at the fore bearing the Stevenson family’s banner. Seeing the same sword-emblazoned flag flying over the lord’s mansion, all knew that Swordmaster Port had welcomed its true master.