Blue Lord of the Salacia Sea
The Blue Lord of the Salacia Sea. What struck me most was just how abnormal it all felt.
The Empire seemed utterly normal—where there's power, there's bound to be greed. If anything, the Trust Union was filled with too many good people. If elves were truly the embodiment of chaotic evil, then the Empire struck a reasonable neutral balance, while the Trust Union was strangely, almost unnaturally virtuous.
To begin with, Captain Eagle and Trust had fought to the death, sparking a feud that led Captain Eagle's son to leave the Union and found the Empire. Trust's daughter had aided the heroes, betrayed the elves, married an elven prince, and borne his child—who now served as the head of the Adventurer's Guild. Was it the long-lived races keeping the leadership stable across generations, or the great kings at the top who rarely changed, that preserved the Trust Union's morality? I crossed my arms and pondered, but no answers came.
"What are you worried about?"
While I sat on a rocky outcrop on the island, resting as Riko dug for food, Circe approached and asked what I was mulling over so deeply.
I simply voiced my doubts about the Trust Union's almost suspiciously pure goodness. Everyone there was kind, considerate, treating aid to the poor as a given. Sure, some seemed to take in orphans to sell them... but most were such good souls that they'd spend their own time hauling them to the All Gods Temple. They acted as if risking life and limb on adventures was the most natural thing. No, I wasn't blaming their goodness. It just made me think, These are good people. So this is how the world is. But after hearing about the Empire, doubts crept in about the Union itself.
Things like execution for harming humans. Each race had its own laws, strict ones at that—bandits or murderers weren't even treated as human; they were enslaved outright or used as test subjects by black mages, stripped of all rights... There were all sorts of tales like that. But if a human struck first, different laws applied. In the end, as long as you followed the rules properly, there were no major issues.
Almost no one littered in the streets; they used the bins. No one looked down on cleaners or discriminated based on a race's appearance. An elf could become a guild master. Even the wear scorpion woman—Tera Aranemu, a horrific creature born of elves—with her lower body as a scorpion... no one recoiled at her looks. Maybe it was her saintess title, but there were people who'd rescued her and raised her without prejudice at the temple.
"Could it be the difference in where you live?"
She tilted her head, suggesting it might just be a matter of location. Even in her kingdom's heyday, there had been nobles and a royal class with their subtle hierarchies. But no slaves, she said. Why bother with slaves when you could command snow crabs or hairtail fish? Her scale was off from the start, dealing in sea life... She even kept krakens and megalodons as minions to guard her ship to this day. Enviable, honestly...
"The Trust Federation is weird," she said, calling the Union abnormal.
Even the Holy Eagle Kingdom, hailed as a sacred realm of faith and prayer, required massive sums to summon high priests for dire illnesses—or so she'd heard from fellow witches. Of course, anything was better than elves, she added indifferently, her hair tentacles wriggling as they coiled around my arm, interlocking fingers with hers. She told me to quit fretting over god-only-knows-what and look at her instead.
Come to think of it, did Mortis even know what Circe was? She was probably hiding that Riko was a witch too, so Mortis likely saw her as just another wear race... If Circe's true nature got out, rumors would spread, and even on land, the Pirate King might come after me. If word spread about Sea Tritons, they'd come too... Even with the divine armor, the Holy Eagle Kingdom would hunt us down. If they learned we were collecting Captain Eagle's treasures, the Empire would target us at sea...
"What exactly are the elves after?"
"Elves are a cruel race."
She gestured around the island—a blue desert devoid of life, silent save for the hush of wind. Birds, insects, all creatures "should have lived" here once, she said. And that "wind spirit" had just massacred every living thing on it.
My eyes widened at the unimaginable cruelty. I'd just thought it was a barren rock... Circe held out her palm, showing fine dust like particles. Bird remains, she explained—shredded so finely they'd pass for cloth scraps or dry leaves.
The wind spirit had suffocated the island's life, then done this, she said, picking up a pebble. Wind mana swirled in her palm's center. Slowly, from the tip, the stone crumbled to sand and scattered into the air.
"Killing them alive, writhing in terrible pain."
With a detached gaze, as if she'd witnessed this countless times, she explained they kept victims alive in agony. Too complex to detail fully—just know that much. Suffocate to immobilize, crush with atmospheric pressure, then pulverize without trace. That was the wind spirit's duty. Hence, no life remained.
"Perhaps he was told to kill all life on the island."
Trailing off, Circe speculated: Elves had lost something to pirates, dispatched one in rage. An elf commanding a wind spirit—which could ride winds anywhere across the seas—likely ordered: Annihilate every life on the island without exception. No exceptions, even unrelated creatures; crossing elves meant paying dearly. A warning to vermin like pirates. When her own race fell, elves used water spirits to drain blood and fluids from bodies in the sea, withering them to husks. She said it flatly. But her eyes burned with killing intent—if she met an elf at sea, she'd return the favor. She gestured, forming an elven shape from water, ripping limbs, smashing it against rock. Water burst with a splat, staining the stone. I felt her endless fury and hatred toward elves.
But she claimed innocent elves were irrelevant—don't fear her too much—and leaned her head on my shoulder. I stroked her clinging head, seeking to soothe her loneliness. Her hat-like hair felt strangely soft and plush. As I kneaded it, her tentacles wrapped my wrist, pulling toward her chest—I yanked free quickly.
"Let's mate!"
Good lord, such lewd words...!
"Hey, they're watching, you know? Behave, Circe."
Kid, Hyacinth, and Riko flinched at my pointed finger and slipped back into the woods. Circe puffed her cheeks, waving arms with a whining sound—fierce curses she'd have unleashed if not hiding her identity. Of course, with her speech barrier, it was just mutters for me. Ignoring, she tried stripping her top—I knocked her out with a chop to the neck.
"What the hell are you doing, you damn brat?! Do it!!"
"Riko! Cut the crazy talk!!"
"Aw, fine, whatever. Let's go, Hyacinth."
"Big bro! Kid wants to talk! I'm innocent!"
"You little shit?!"
"No loyalty?!"
Hyacinth, pummeled by both, wailed he'd been dragged in unfairly and bolted. I sighed, smacking Kid's head with the flat of my spirit sword. Riko played cute, hoping no hit—but I shoved Fantasy Food-conjured mint cola in her mouth. She sputtered and choked, agonizing over the taste, but mint cola was mild compared to what I'd suffered. I hadn't force-fed her inedible stuff like tobacco-flavored "liquid smoking," had I?
"Do it again, and next is worse. Kid, next time hits harder."
"Guh... damn brat... you call yourself a man?! Can't even handle it!!"
"Right!! Defy violence!! Mate with Circe!!"
I stuffed hot fresh fried chicken in their mouths to shut them up. With the treasure chest recovered, we prepped to head to the next island.
As the ship readied to sail and pulled away, Circe woke grumbling, jabbing my side with her fist. Larirure was waiting—I explained dodging proper talk for hanky-panky went against honor. Unsatisfied, she demanded I write for permission.
"I sent one ahead!"
I silently kicked Riko's shin.
"...Circe, if elves use wind spirits to wipe island life, might we run into spirits on other islands?"
She nodded sullenly at my question. Uninhabited now, but with residents? Far worse sights. First time could shock mentally—she'd cast a rune for stability. With Clear Mind, I was fine... but elves, ignorant of the Pirate Kingdom's location, spam wind spirits to slaughter indiscriminately? Insane—yet Circe insisted it was natural for them.
If reviving the World Tree needed human sacrifice, they'd offer souls too—a rotten race beyond saving. Now newborn elves suffered for it, enslaved or abused as pets. Only Trust Union avoided heavy discrimination. Elves born outside Great Forest due to war lived miserably.
"They've even lost nature's protection."
After losing the World Tree to the Maou, they forfeited nature's blessings and Earth Mother God's guardianship. Declining over ages, even spirits they once commanded freely now hated and abandoned them. They forcibly drag spirits from the Spirit Realm, binding with magic as slaves. Circe scowled—it was the ultimate taboo. Spirits were elemental essences maintaining nature. Abusing them to extinction would slowly collapse balance, turning Chronicle Continent to desert. With the World Tree gone, spirits dwindled; natural sightings impossible now. Kindred souls, she said sadly, gazing sea-ward. Once, water spirits swam with dolphins; now, gone even from seas.
"They've even lost nature's protection."
Circe speculated the Maou might be elf-spawned. From distant Ma Continent, leading demons in invasion—its power defied reason, causality, pure evil. Yin mana inverted world's laws—a dark force. She'd glimpsed fragments, not seen directly. Pointing to our departed island: Maou could erase it with a gesture. Surrounded by yin mana, an ultimate immortal interfering with all. That's the Maou, she said. Even she couldn't wield it. Elves' massacres might have unbalanced things, birthing yin mana and Maou. Their rampage era was history's darkest, death everywhere. Pity heroes never met elves—she could've wiped them out.
"...One day you will have to bring the balance back."
Someday, I must restore nature's equilibrium, she said. Replant World Tree beyond elf reach, remake spirit homes, sever ties to Spirit Realm before Chronicle falls—end abused spirits.
"Hero's duty?"
"'Cause you're the last druid."
—The world's sole remaining druid. As last great witch, she gripped my hand. She'd protect against elves, yet hugged anxiously. "Don't die," she whispered. I nodded, assuring once dead I'd revive—fine. Puzzled, but I begged: if I die, grab body, retreat safely, no panic.
"OK, I know."
Not fully grasping, but she'd not let elves desecrate my corpse—just don't overdo it. She buried face in my chest. I hugged back, patting soothingly. She trembled, bad memories surfacing.
Elves... what were their agents seeking in these seas? Empire, Holy Eagle Kingdom, elves—all hunting Pirate Kingdom. What let Pirate King defy world as foe?