The vast sea.
A cargo ship, patched all over and with sails that had seen better days, swayed on the waves as it slowly made for the silhouette of Anges, the northernmost port city of the kingdom.
Because he had once been hunted in Clark, Dylan wasn’t sure if that territory’s lord had placed a bounty on him. To be safe, he had chosen a rchant ship bound for the far north. The voyage was much longer than his trip there.
The journey was not smooth.
Not because of pirates or deadly sea fog, but because the ship’s water-conjuring mage… died of old age.
Perhaps the captain had hired him cheaply, for he had been an elderly man, only a second-circle mage. At his age, sudden death was hardly surprising.
The old mage passed peacefully. The ship, however, fell into a drinking-water crisis.
Their reserves weren’t enough for the remaining voyage, so the captain diverted to a small uninhabited island marked on the charts as having a freshwater spring.
But misfortune snowballed. While detouring through unfamiliar waters, the ship struck a reef. Luckily, it wasn’t a fatal gash. The crew plugged leaks and patched frantically, and the ship survived.
But the string of delays cost them dearly.
When Anges’s harbor finally appeared on the horizon, the crew were giddy with relief—not life and death, but hardship giving way to joy.
Everyone rejoiced—except Dylan.
“Boss? Boss, say sothing!”
In the cramped cabin bunk, Dylan held the corpse of the scout Puji, head throbbing.
Several days earlier, Boss had suddenly fallen silent. The scout Puji had collapsed out of mimicry, unmoving.
At first, Dylan had clung to hope. But within days, the body had shriveled, blackened, hardened, and gave off the aura of decay. It was dead.
What had happened?
He wracked his mory for the last words:
“I’m… I’m about to be sucked in!”
Dylan clawed at his thinning hair. What did that an?
“Calm down… think further back…”
He recalled the conversation before:
“Dylan, let tell you, our dungeon’s wild now. All sorts of things happening. Sha you won’t see it when you’re back—it won’t last. I’m off to do so small repairs.”
Bang!
Dylan slamd a fist into the wooden bunk fra.
“Boss! What the hell happened to you?!”
Boss’s fate was unknown, but judging by the scout Puji, it wasn’t good. Dylan felt he had to return—fast.
He knew his limits. Barely scraping gold-rank thanks to Boss’s buffs and gear, he was weak.
Trouble Boss couldn’t handle, he surely couldn’t either.
But… what if? What if he could help, even a little?
Boss had saved his sorry hide and helped search for his daughter. He couldn’t just sit idle while Boss was in danger.
He had to return!
The mont the ship docked at Anges, even before the gangplank was secured, Dylan pushed past the captain and sailors haggling with greedy harbor guards.
As for the dead scout Puji—he gave it a sea burial, eyes stinging.
Asking a friendly-looking dockhand for directions, he hurried to the adventurers’ guild’s stables—only to hit a wall.
“Silver rank?” drawled a lanky clerk in guild uniform, lazily flicking Dylan’s adventurer badge back at him. “Sorry, no dice. New rules—no rentals to solo adventurers under gold.”
“What? That wasn’t a rule months ago!”
“Yeah, well, it’s new. Things outside are chaos. Demon spies, grain shortages, bandits everywhere. You go out alone, so thug robs and kills you—who compensates us? Your little deposit won’t buy us a decent horse back.”
“Can’t you make an exception?” Dylan slipped two silvers across the counter.
The clerk swept them away in a blink, expression softening, but still shook his head. “Brother, not that I don’t want to help, but rules are rules. More coin won’t make risk my job.”
Dylan’s temper flared, but the man leaned closer, voice low:
“Listen. In the back of the stables, there’s an old chestnut horse. Should’ve been retired to pull a plow, but it’s still sturdy, good for long distances. Talk to Old Limp, the stable hand—six or seven gold, and he’ll sell it. Pricey, but you can resell it later and won’t lose much.”
Dylan had no choice but to nod.
But there was a problem—he didn’t have that much.
On the road, most of his expenses had been covered by the scout Puji “finding” purses. Now he had only three gold.
Enough for a slow ride with a caravan, but far too little for speed.
“Damn it…” He clenched his empty pouch, glaring toward the stables. “Where do I get money fast?”
Think, Dylan! Forty years alive, you must know one way…
The first thought was: find a demon spy cell, pose as a comrade, scam so funds—
Smack!
He slapped himself hard. That was suicide!
In the end, with tears in his eyes, he pawned his Phantom Cloak.
That fetched enough for even a warhorse.
But he still chose the old chestnut. The clerk hadn’t lied—solid build, calm eyes, steady hooves. Dylan stroked its glossy neck, acknowledging it as a partner.
Wasting no ti, he packed so rations, and per Boss’s plan, selected four relatively intact Red Reef Fruits.
Supplies in order, he sought out the semi-gangster fishing crew in town. A few silvers clinked, and a deal was struck.
Soon, a shabby little skiff ferried Dylan out of the city.
What he didn’t know was that had he waited even one more day—he might never have left at all.
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