Two weeks at sea had dulled the chaos of Autumnvale into memory. The little Shader boat cut through gentle waves until the smell of salt and smoked fish reached their noses. On the horizon lay a crescent island, dotted with lantern posts and fishing nets strung like banners across wooden piers.
"Finally!" Hunter spread his arms dramatically as the boat drifted closer. "Civilization! I was about to make Ryder's goats our dinner."
Ryder clutched his goats with wide eyes. "Touch them and I'll drown you myself."
Emily pointed toward the harbor. "That's Aquavista. Plenty of food, and maybe someone here can repair this wreck you call a boat."
Hunter whistled. "Wreck? This baby's been carrying us fine!" As if to betray him, the mast creaked ominously.
By the time they docked, the crew scattered. Ryder tied up his goats near a post, Emily bartered for bread and water, and Hunter immediately dove nose-first into a tavern. Vince followed reluctantly, keeping his hand near his blades.
The tavern was lively, filled with fishermen boasting over nets of catch. But in the corner, away from the noise, sat a young man calmly stirring a pot hung over a small makeshift firepit. His black jacket bore faint soot stains. At his waist hung two strange pistols, metallic yet pulsing faintly with redstone glow. His sharp features were framed by neatly brushed dark hair, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried the smooth precision of a British tongue.
"Your steering nearly cracked my view from the dock. Amateur sailors, I presume."
Hunter pointed dramatically. "Oi! You spying on us?!"
The man didn't even look up. "No. You were simply too loud to ignore."
He ladled steaming stew into a bowl and set it on the counter. The smell of perfectly seasoned fish broth wafted across the tavern. Hunters' nose twitched.
"That… smells amazing." He was already walking over.
"Sit, if you're hungry." The man's voice was even, almost dismissive. "But don't expect it for free."
Vince's eyes narrowed. "What are you, the tavern chef?"
The man smirked slightly. "Hardly. I simply can't stomach the food here, so I make my own." His gaze flicked up, sharp and appraising. "Name's James. That's all you need to know."
Hunter slammed a hand on the table. "James! I like it. You're in the crew."
James blinked, as though Hunter had just asked him to sprout wings. "Crew? What in the world makes you think I'd run with your lot?"
"You can cook," Hunter answered instantly. "And cookin' is a sacred art."
James arched a brow. "That's your criteria?"
Vince crossed his arms, his jaw tight. "I don't like him."
James tilted his head. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you. You wear your arrogance like a signboard."
Hunter shoved himself between them, laughing. "Oi, oi, easy! We can't fight in a tavern—there's soup!"
Before Vince could snap back, the door to the tavern slammed open. Boots pounded in, heavy and deliberate. A squad of armored men in iron-tinted uniforms stormed the room, their insignia marked with a jagged "U."
"The U.I.C…" Emily whispered from the corner, clutching her map scroll.
The leader spat on the wooden floorboards. "We're hunting the ones who embarrassed Commander Ragnor. Word is they crawled out alive from Autumnvale." His eyes scanned the room before locking onto Hunter, Vince, and Emily.
Murmurs spread through the tavern.
"They're the ones?"
"Against Ragnor? No way."
One soldier sneered. "Pathetic. Ragnor always was useless trash. Can't believe he failed against these nobodies."
The insult hit Hunter like flint striking stone. His grin vanished, and his voice cut across the room.
"Take. That. Back."
The soldier laughed. "Why? You his widow?"
Hunter slammed his fist on the counter hard enough to rattle bowls. His hair shadowed his eyes, but his voice was sharp. "He was my enemy. But he wasn't useless. You don't get to spit on the fight of a man who stood his ground."
Silence washed through the tavern. Even Vince blinked at the seriousness in his tone. James, who had been sipping calmly at his stew, paused and set his bowl down, his gaze lingering on Hunter.
The soldiers drew blades. "Then you can join him."
Hunter cracked his knuckles, a grin flashing back onto his face. "Finally!"
The room erupted. Vince's blades rang free, cold and efficient as he cut into the first rush of attackers, movements precise and merciless. Hunter swung fists and elbows, laughing as he sent soldiers flying into tables. Emily ducked under counters, tossing Hunter a mug to block a strike or shouting quick directions like "Left, idiot!" Ryder shoved his goats outside, muttering about how this wasn't his fight—though his eyes didn't leave the door.
James hadn't moved. At least, not until one soldier leveled a crossbow at Hunter's back. The pistols were in James's hands before anyone saw him draw. Redstone flared, the gunshot sharp but controlled, and the crossbowman fell with his weapon shattered.
Hunter glanced back, grinning wide. "Oi! Gunslinger! You are with us."
James blew faint smoke from the barrel, voice calm, accent crisp. "I simply dislike incompetence."
The fight turned into a blur of smashed wood and clashing steel. Hunter's laughter carried above the noise, Vince's cold silence slicing through men, and James's steady shots dropped foes with surgical precision. The tavern was chaos, but when the dust cleared, the U.I.C squad lay groaning on the ground.
The leader staggered to his knees. "This isn't over… the U.I.C doesn't forget." He spat blood and fled with his remaining men.
The room exhaled, fishermen and villagers peering from under tables.
Hunter brushed dust from his jacket and turned to James with that big, reckless grin. "So, James, was that fun enough to join us?"
James regarded him for a long moment, then gave the faintest of smirks. "You're reckless, foolish, and clearly have no sense of discipline."
Hunter leaned closer. "That's a yes, right?"
"…Perhaps."
Vince scowled. "Great. Another headache."
But James's eyes flicked to Hunter again, his smirk fading into something closer to respect. The fool had defended even an enemy's worth. That was rare.
And though he didn't say it, James had already decided—he'd follow this strange, laughing rogue a little further.
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