The dazzling, dreamlike radiance slowly blood from the somber depths beneath the Dirge Duchy, where no light reached.
A new luminescent entity made its way straight through the rock layers and leisurely floated in as if encountering no resistance at all.
That silvery-gray bubble, like a phantom dream sparked by a match... made the treasured ship "Silver" within it seem so ethereal and powerless.
After it gradually ca to a stop on level ground.
The bubble suddenly burst.
The massive ship once hidden inside imdiately beca visible.
And the sounds previously isolated and blocked out now also erged:
"...Just like that, we’ve arrived."
Selicia’s cool voice rose from the bow, "By tradition, shouldn’t you invite us in for a sit?"
"...Co in for a sit? Are you sure, captain?"
Elle, the one-eyed, simply laughed lightly, "If you wish... it’s not impossible."
A stream of light passed by.
Pure, composed of rainbow-hued lights, illusory steps erged at the position where the ship’s bow connected with the land. Standing at the forefront, aside from Captain Selicia, was the traveler Elle.
The rest of the crew disembarked as well.
The treasured ship "Silver" was not an ordinary vessel—it was a living, ship-shaped creature. Hence the "Silver" needed no sailors, no first mates, no carpenters, nor navigators... It navigated on its own, sailed autonomously, repaired itself, and never encountered other enemies.
Thus, every crew mber was a fighter. Because the only role they could play was as fighters... Their sole duty was to haul food and water aboard.
And to provide amusent for the captain.
However, compared to the "Ship in Stone Captain"’s own combat strength, they hardly played any essential role in "ensuring the captain’s safety"—a more precise description would be "friends" or "kin."
Of course, in Elle’s view.
The more accurate term, perhaps, was "pets."
Ofelia Danisoya, the man whose upper body Elle had seen hours earlier, was now fully clothed.
Elle had learned that he was the sixth prince of Danisoya, the true royal heir—after one trip, he fell deeply for the petite yet sric Selicia, willing to pledge his loyalty to her.
Such an act would certainly devalue his status as a royal successor... much like Kafney’s situation.
Loyalty to a monarch is one thing.
But no one wishes to serve a puppet suspected of being controlled by others.
For Ofelia, however, none of that seed amiss. By serving Selicia, he had essentially renounced his claim and withdrawn from the struggle for succession.
For he believed—and also wanted to confirm—that Selicia did not fall for him because of his status.
To solidify this love’s foundation, he abandoned everything he had worked for in the first half of his life. Parents, friends, career, destiny... When he left Danisoya, he took nothing but the Golden Lyre with him.
It was a seven-string lyre crafted from gold and sandalwood, exuding a gentle glow.
And the poet with amber-colored eyes seed to have forgotten all his prior embarrassnts.
He just smiled gently at Elle, and then started to play the lyre and sing softly to himself.
It wasn’t a frivolous, sprightly, exuberant love ballad.
It was a deep and sowhat hoarse, old lody that sounded a bit lancholic.
Elle was montarily dazed.
She recognized it... It was a piece of lute music commonly used in Danisoyan operas, nad "Leaf." The original was penned by Yawen himself, usually soloed on a three-string lute during the opera to express "fate," conveying a sense of ti-worn experience.
But Ofelia had reinterpreted it for the seven-string lyre. This rendition added an epic feel to the music...
Of course, this was not an adaptation by Ofelia.
—When Elle was very young, she had wanted to attend a concert by Master Harold in Frostwater Harbor.
These artists from Danisoya naturally ca all the way from Danisoya, across the whole kingdom of Noah, to the northernmost Frostwater Harbor because of the genius Amos’s reputation.
And the one who adapted the three-stringed zither piece "Leaves" into a seven-stringed lyre piece, transforming the desolate, fallen yellow leaves into leaves that burned with fire and danced in the wind as if by a miracle... that was Master Harold’s performance at Frostwater Harbor.
It was the performance Elle originally wanted to hear, but ultimately never had the chance to... the performance from the year she died.
"This song is for you... little Elle."
After the song ended, Ofelia chuckled softly and put away the Golden Lyre.
"Don’t give such a rousing song to soone, Ofelia."
Laughter ca from behind him, "It’s almost like you’re sending them off to their death."
The speaker was a noble youth with dazzling golden curls.
His skin was exceptionally pale, to the point of being called ghastly. His pupils, bright as flowing lava, were so intense that a re glance was blinding, forcing one to avert their eyes.
It was a brilliance too splendid to behold.
He wore a red and white collared cape, with a pattern that looked like flowing fire or burning clouds, exceptionally eye-catching.
Although Ofelia herself was of the noble Danisoya bloodline, one of the highest and most noble on earth—the young man seed to carry an air as if his bloodline was even more regal than Ofelia’s.
"Prince Arthur."
Elle nodded politely to the blond youth.
Arthur Burnfang gave her a radiant smile. With an exaggerated gesture, he placed his right hand on his chest and bowed to Elle, saying very courteously, "Miss Elle, I shall not go. If you encounter any tomb robbers, just hurry back to the ship...
"No enemy can defeat us. Those who can be our enemies are not truly our enemies—the ’Silver Brigade’ is invincible in this world."
Arthur smiled, showing a charming grin like a rchant presenting his products.
Elle keenly sensed... it was an arrogance similar to, yet completely different from Selicia’s.
If Selicia’s narcissism was self-centered to the point of madness... then Arthur Burnfang was entirely composed.
—Yes, composed.
To the temperantal, power-hungry Wizard, Arthur was indeed an oddity.
But not because he was good-natured.
On the contrary... it was because his temper was so foul that he didn’t take any enemies to heart, thus having no sense of tension or anger at all.
He looked upon himself as a Saint—tolerating others’ mistakes, failures, offenses, and attacks. Perhaps because from the very beginning, he never considered anyone else as being on the sa level as himself.
But these n didn’t matter...
What was truly important was—
Elle shifted her gaze towards the ladies’ cabin.
From there, two won erged.
One was a centaur with a delicate figure and long black hair.
Her bosom was lofty, her bare thighs rounded. At a glance, she seed no different from a beautiful girl—except for the additional pair of legs. She looked much like a bounding young deer.
The other was an adult woman with strange hair, wearing a mask.
Her hair was a lifeless, leaden silver-gray, turning to a captain-matching purple-pink at the ends. And always, her face was hidden behind a mask, her true visage unseen.
Perhaps the only one who had seen her face was Captain Selicia.
"Let’s go... Lily, Lucia."
Selicia called out, "Let Arthur keep watch. We’ll go for a stroll."
Elle’s gaze rested on the masked woman.
She had long known the woman’s na. But in it, she detected the scent of deception.
For Elle, this was instinctual.
She sensed...
—that the masked woman was not Lily Rasputin at all.
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