One strike of the wooden sword, then another. They blocked and attacked alternately as pink petals drifted around them. The ground was dry and dusty, with each swing raising a small cloud of smoke. The sun hung high in the sky, nearly noon—lunch time was approaching.
To Emperor Togashi Toshimizu, a man in a kimono approached. The upper part of the kimono was streaked with shades of red, the darker hue dominating, while his legs were covered by umanori—wide trousers worn by most of the empire's citizens, though his were slightly more formal, made of finer material than most.
"Master." He knelt beside Toshimizu and bowed his head. Toshimizu sat cross-legged on polished wooden planks, watching his two sons train. His black kimono absorbed the warmth of the autumn sun, the Empire of Kaharu's crest embroidered on his back. The golden sunburst was rendered with the finest stitching, the multicolored background vibrant as always.
He immediately noticed the man's attire and realized he was a messenger. More trouble, he thought to himself.
"Tell me." Toshimizu said roughly, his voice deep. "Which of them do you think is better?" He gestured nonchalantly with his head toward his two sons. To an untrained eye, they were equally skilled—one pushed back the other, then the other countered. The messenger thought they were evenly matched.
"Truly… I wouldn't know, Your Majesty."
"I believe legs are the most important in combat," the emperor stated. The messenger glanced at him, then returned his gaze to the two boys. "Look at how Tomohide moves." He pointed at the younger son.
Tomohide Toshimizu, nineteen, slightly taller than his father, shared many of his features, essentially a younger version of him. From long brown hair tied in a ponytail, to his round face and brown eyes, broad chest, and stronger, rugged build. The messenger watched as his feet constantly shifted, left behind right, right behind left, tracing a miniature circle as if dancing without moving his upper body.
"Beautiful, like he's dancing. Isn't it?" the man observed with a smile, looking at the king.
"Hah," Toshimizu chuckled, "I agree." He then turned to his elder son. "Now look at Takakatsu."
Takakatsu resembled Togashi in height, shorter than his younger brother. But most of his features came from his mother—black hair almost always loose, falling just below his shoulders, black eyes, a sharp nose, and small lips. His face was pale and slightly flushed, almost like a maiden's; some said he looked too much like his mother. His stance was solid, hardly moving his legs, relying on them mostly when striking or defending. While his brother moved fluidly like a river in flood with each step, he was like a stone in that river, unmoved by the current.
"Incredible, the strength in his legs," the messenger thought for a few seconds. "Still… I cannot say which of them is better, Your Majesty."
Toshimizu crossed his arms. "Honestly… neither can I." The messenger looked at him in surprise; Why ask then? The king was not known for jokes.
"What news do you bring? Speak." Both men soon grew serious.
"Yes, forgive me," the messenger bowed. "It seems there are problems again on the Silver Sea."
"Tell me," the emperor urged.
"Apparently, it is pirates once more. Many of our sailors report that they've grown bolder in recent weeks. And it doesn't help that Ganalor, for some reason, has stopped sending their ships to intercept them." Toshimizu continued watching his sons, who, exhausted, were slowly finishing their practice, but he listened closely to the messenger. "Overall…" he went on, "because of them, trade with the kingdom of Tolan has been disrupted."
Toshimizu did not ponder long; several people came to mind who could resolve the issue.
"Send for Vice Admiral Asukai."
"Yes," the messenger replied, bowing before leaving.
"I don't feel—" Ervin began to say before the nausea overtook him.
Elstan handed him a bucket, already far from clean. Beside him, Desimir wasn't faring any better—hunched over, sweating, hands gripping his knees—while Sergeant Brann,probably the worst one, lay sprawled on the floor, drenched in cold sweat and heavy. The rest sat on barrels, each trying to distract themselves from the rolling ship.
Suddenly, Captain Hugo entered, smiling and in good spirits.
He passed through the wooden door leading into the enclosed space. "I believe you'd like some fresh air. I smell more vomit and… other unpleasantness in here than in a tavern." It didn't take him long to make a joke once he saw their condition.
"You're looking for a beating?" Brann said from the floor not in the mood for jokes. The others looked at him, hopeful they might escape this stifling space. They had spent the night here, but not the entire day.
Hugo grinned. "Not at all, my dear companions. I've informed the crew you're traveling with us."
Kjaran frowned. "You know that wasn't part of the plan."
Hugo placed a hand on his shoulder. "Kjaran, my friend, you know I keep no secrets from my crew. The important part was getting you out of the harbor unseen. Out here—no spies, no bandits, no lurkers."
"What about pirates?" Ratko asked, aware they existed.
"I mean spies, robbers, and wanderers you can't see approaching from hundreds of meters away," Hugo explained. Ratko smiled faintly as he continued shaping the feather on his arrow.
"Let's go, let me show you the deck," Hugo said and opened the door. Everyone followed. Art and Gerde helped Sergeant Brann to his feet. They passed through the lower deck, where some sailors lay on their bunks, gambling or playing cards. The area was dim, sunlight barely reaching it, and a few lanterns were lit. The ship swayed left and right as they climbed the wooden stairs leading to the deck.
As they emerged, the sun grew closer. The planks creaked under each heavy step, and at the top of the stairs, the first thing to hit them was the sea breeze—cool, pleasant, and refreshing. They all took deep breaths to fully enjoy it. The second thing to strike their noses was the smell of salt: strong, yet not enough to overpower the refreshing air.
"This is exactly what we needed," Desimir thought as he stretched; the fresh air almost cured his ailments—or so he believed—until the ship rocked slightly, and he ran to the railing for support. Brann leaned beside him, the outing helping him the most, while Ervin leaned over the other side of the deck, gazing at the water.
The sun was high, the sky nearly cloudless, but it wasn't warm—rather, biting. The water was clear, the waves moderate, no storms in sight. Visibility reached five or six meters down; the sea was pure and cold. The Silver Sea wasn't named for nothing—the bottom was covered in silver sand, prized in Ganalor and Kaharu for glassmaking.
Once they regained their composure, everyone noticed the vessel's size. The ship was about thirty meters long, eight meters wide, meticulously measured and constructed with the finest nails. A single, solitary mast bore a square sail with the Luganor crest: a dark steel-black background with shades of gray clouds, a white snowy field featuring three mountain peaks in silver, glinting in the sunlight. Every dark oak plank was nailed with the highest quality fasteners.
The deck was dry; it was noon, judging by the sun, and a sailor had already swept it earlier, leaving it shining. The stern contained the rudder, accessible by wooden stairs on both sides, currently steered by the helmsman. Inside the raised section was the captain's deck, where Kjaran, Elstan, Gerde, and Hugo headed, while the others observed the ship's construction.
Nuro climbed the elevated bow, wind blowing through his hair as he spread his arms, enjoying the breeze. Waves struck the sturdy hull, but not enough to splash the deck. Thick ropes and cables kept everything taut.
Desimir watched, marveling, having never been on a ship, nor had Osgar or Ervin. The sounds of the waves splashing and birds that were hunting for fish were overcoming everyones eardrums.
"This isn't unfamiliar to you, I assume," Art said, approaching Ujiyoshi, their cloaks fluttering in the wind, the samurai's hair shading his eyes.
"Ships of the Northern Kingdom differ from those in the empire," Ujiyoshi noted. He had observed the ship carefully.
"They also differ from Ganalor's ships. Not as large, but not small like ours."
"You clearly know your ships, young man," the sergeant praised.
"I learned from the best while I could," Ujiyoshi said, his gaze distant.
"From the best…" thought Art. "Could he mean the Water Dragon of the East?
Art, intrigued, looked out to the horizon, spotting a tiny, uncharted island, seemingly insignificant.
"Do you know anything about that island?" Nuro asked as he descended from the bow. Art only measured him from head to toe.
"I see you're done with your airing out," the sergeant replied, ignoring the question. Nuro stood next to him, gazing at the small island.
"So you know nothing," Captain Hino concluded.
"I know nothing because that island is as insignificant as an ant in the forest," Art answered.
"All eyes were on him, yet no one noticed." Nuro finished, and Art frowned, squinting against the sun.
"True."
"But is it truly insignificant?" Ujiyoshi interjected. "Even an ant in the forest has a purpose, like aerating the soil."
"Interesting philosophy, Ujiyoshi," Nuro praised.
"But I'm sure the forest could manage without ants," Art added, walking away.
"Indeed…" Nuro agreed. "So am I."
This left Ujiyoshi to ponder. If that island was so insignificant, how significant were those smaller than it?
"Vice Admiral Asukai!" called the same messenger, knocking on her door. No response. Then,as he leaned closer—soft moans. A woman's voice, breathless and soft, rising with pleasure until it turned into heavy panting.
"Fuck." The same voice called out from the room.The messenger stepped back. Moments later, a young man emerged from the room half-dressed, slipping his shirt on,and leaving the door open.
"Come in," she said, dressing in a nearly transparent silver silk outfit, tying it around her waist. Her modest yet firm breasts were slightly visible, he noticed, quickly averting his gaze, which she also observed. The subtle scent of lavender oil filled the room, almost making him faint while still being pleasant.
The vice admiral walked through the room, her outfit trailing on the floor. Her bed was messy from previous activities. She was of shorter stature, but her figure was beautiful, her curves highlighted even beneath her cloak. She poured herself a goblet of wine and sat in a chair, lifting her left leg to rest on the armrest, her robe slipping slightly to reveal a strong thigh.
Her face was pale, framed by long black hair cascading messily to her hips. Her eyes were black-gray, almost silver, with a hint of darkness, watching the messenger, who froze momentarily.
"Had you come earlier," she teased with a faint smile,swirling the crimson wine in her silver goblet."you might've joined us."
The messenger looked away, flustered, which she of course noticed.
Next to her lay her sword in its scabbard, and beneath the wine pitcher, a maritime chart which she had briefly inspected before turning her attention back to the messenger.
She tilted her head seductively, assessing him, and he found himself momentarily uncomfortable—a reaction that could be seen on his face.
"Emperor Toshimizu has sent for you, Mistress Asukai," he said calmly, trying to focus despite her presence.
"Of course he has." She drank the goblet and poured another. "After all, I am the embodiment of the imperial navy." Confidently, she declared it,and why shouldn't she? Knowing her strengths and weaknesses, as well as how to utilize them. The sword was not merely decorative, nor the chart merely filling space on the table.Perhaps a bit overconfident, the messenger thought. Only because she was Admiral Azai Ariyori's top student did she believe herself the embodiment of the navy. He clicked his tongue silently, looking aside.
"Huh?" she quickly changed tone. "Do I understand that you regret being late, or perhaps you disagree with my assessment?" She asked, lowering her leg, her black, seductive eyes seemingly commanding agreement.
"N-no," he replied defensively, yet calmly. "No one doubts your abilities, Vice Admiral." He bowed in apology.
She evaluated him once more. Then she removed her cloak—not provocatively, but as though she had finished with him—and opened the sliding wooden door. Her figure was more noticeable than ever. Her narrow waist and wide hips extended to a sculpted, firm posterior and slender, yet strong thighs. Every movement of her body exuded quiet confidence, demanding no attention, yet always receiving it.
Beyond the sliding door lay a wooden step leading to a path of sunken cobblestones, which led to a small enclosed garden. The flowers were varied—from delicate pink and almost pale rose petals to red buds. The colorful palette and greenery surrounded a pond in the center, its water calm and clear, with a few stones at the bottom and beautiful green lilies adorned with snow-white blooms floating atop.
"Could you step outside while I change?" she asked politely. The messenger only bowed, hiding his flushed face, and stepped out, closing the door behind him.
"If the weather continues to favor us, we should reach customs late tonight," Hugo said, sipping rum—the sweet, high-quality kind from the southern isles below Tolan in the Marble Abyss.
It's color drifting in the glass.
"That sounds good," Kjaran agreed, resting his hands on the dark mahogany table. They were studying the map, lanterns lighting the captain's cabin. In the center of the room was a table with a map, compass, and lantern for better visibility, along with miniature ships. On the table sat a half-full bottle of reddish rum, swaying with the roll of the ship. A few chairs were scattered, a wooden wardrobe half-empty except for a pair of leather boots and a dark black coat. Several maritime charts decorated the walls, showing routes to Tolan and Kaharu, and a chest contained odds and ends Hugo had collected during the journey—old ashtrays or bronze pots, none made of gold or silver.
Nuro opened the door and entered the cabin, creating a draft and causing the ship to sway slightly. The rum bottle slid to the floor and shattered, filling the room with its scent. The sunlight streaming through the rear window illuminated the broken shards. Kjaran and Hugo exchanged glances—Hugo, being superstitious about omens, frowned. Nuro knelt near the bottle, sniffing the spilled rum, lamenting the loss. Gerde had similar thoughts, though he cared less for omens and more for quality rum.
"We're at the customs tonight," Kjaran broke the silence. "Until then, enjoy the fresh air. Afterward, we'll return to that stinking cursed room." He muttered, recalling the foul stench. The rest of the crew was already on deck.
Ervin had finally recovered enough to observe the ship. What caught his eye were the massive bolt launchers along the sides—three per side, and one at the bow and stern, protecting the front and rear. Approaching them, he studied the taut strings and levers that launched the weapons, noticing that the bolts,that were stacked in the barrels beside them,resembled miniature spears rather than arrows.
"Careful," an older, heavier, one-eyed sailor warned him. "This isn't for playing around." An expected comment from an experienced sailor,thought Ervin.
"What are they used for?" He still asked, curiosity piqued.
"Primarily for hunting larger fish and other sea creatures," the man replied, untangling a wet, algae-covered fishing net.
"And secondarily?" Ervin pressed.
"For pirates," the old sailor answered without hesitation. Ervin fell silent, realizing these weren't merely defensive weapons against smaller merchant ships.
"Recently, their numbers have grown," the man continued. "Apparently, some wanderers seek to prove themselves."
"Wanderers?" Ervin inquired.
"One sailor,aye" the old man paused,at least he was old in Ervin's eyes,"now a captain of some sort. Rumor has it he's already sunk five Tolan navy ships and three of the imperial navy's."
Ervin's astonishment was clear—his previous sickness seemed forgotten.
"I'm sure he won't be ignored anymore." Art spoke, walking up to them. The old man shrugged continuing with his work.
"Rest assured," the seargent said, placing a reassuring hand on Ervin's shoulder, "this ship carries some of Meridiana's best warriors. No one would dare attack it knowing what awaits them if they fail."
"I'm sure you're right, Sergeant," Ervin replied.
King Anir stood at the prow, feeling the wind, planning his next move. After witnessing the bottle fall from the table, he felt slightly uneasy, but the breeze was pleasant, enough to dispel his doubts.
"Captain! Captain!" shouted a man entering a tavern, where people drank in broad daylight, the smell of alcohol filling the room, smoke from pipes so thick it could be cut with scissors.
An older man in his early forties sat at a table, a half-naked woman in his lap, one breast cradled in his hand, while his other hand held a bottle of rum. His long, black, sticky beard dripped with rum as he drank. He was lean, with black, disheveled hair covering a sweaty forehead.
"Captain," continued one of the men in torn shirts, worn leather vests, dirty brown trousers, and scuffed black boots. He was breathless,running to the tavern.
"Can't you see I'm busy?" the captain replied, his voice deep and rough.
"If it's nothing important, I'll cut your balls off right here," the man said, replacing the bottle in his hand with a blade, his other hand still occupied with the woman in his lap, her slender figure rubbing against him, her long blonde hair falling behind her shoulders.
"The ship from Luganor—the one we were told carries important passengers. It left the port and is coming," he reported.
The captain kissed the woman, squeezing her breast, eliciting a pleasant moan. Everyone in the tavern jumped. He grabbed his hat and sword and headed to the already open doors, tossing the bartender two gold coins that fell spinning on the counter. His heavy black leather boots thudded against the alcohol-soaked floor.
"Let's go, scoundrels!" he shouted. "It's hunting time."