Orichalcum (6) - No, Fuck It, We're Just Leaving

I was about to say exactly that, but Franc, who came in last, diligently closed the door. Goddammit.

The owner kept cooking with one hand even while guiding us. I felt a strange sense of relief at how skillfully he managed it. Just look at those macho customers, tanned by sea wind and sunlight. They were obviously locals. It was rare for a popular local sailors' diner to be a bad choice.

Slurp. Slurp.

We sat down and checked the menu. The wooden board they'd roughly carved into a menu only listed dishes I couldn't even begin to identify. The portions came in three ridiculous sizes: super jumbo, jumbo, and large. What the hell happened to medium and small?

"Franc. Any idea what these are?"

"Yeah. I know everything except that Sea Summit thing."

Sea Summit. Just the name told me everything. That had to be the one the food fighters were challenging. The note beside it that said Free if finished within 20 minutes made it a hundred percent certain.

"I wish to try that Sea Summit dish."

We were ordering while listening to Franc's explanations when Veronica, who had been watching the macho sailors eat, suddenly spoke up. She'd been eyeing the food challenge for a while now. I'd thought she was just curious about the macho guys, but apparently it was because the food looked delicious.

"You sure? The portion was no joke."

"Yes. I have never eaten seafood before. It has piqued my interest since earlier."

If she wanted to eat it, there was no reason to stop her. It would be a bit expensive if she couldn't finish, but whatever. It was a local specialty. It probably wouldn't reek of fish or anything.

I still remembered the time in my previous life when I got completely destroyed by a jumbo ramen bet during military leave with my buddies. If we couldn't finish, we could always share it, right?

"Owner. Over here."

I used just enough polite language that the macho guys wouldn't look down on us. The owner, who had been quietly listening to my order, burst out laughing the moment the food challenge came up, as if he'd seen it coming.

Fuck, his voice was insanely loud. The restaurant wasn't even that small, yet the sound boomed like thunder.

But what the hell did I do to deserve this reaction?

Was he judging purely by appearance? Did he assume that if this macho man didn't challenge the macho dish, he'd have to cut off his own balls? Too bad. The challenger wasn't me.

The owner slammed the dishes down. The moment I saw what he placed in front of me, the thought no way in hell I can finish this hit like a truck. I don't eat that much. Average for a Korean guy who works out.

Fuck. Even if I starved for an entire day, this is impossible.

This insane macho dish hadn't even removed the shrimp heads or fish bones. Just like how the old-timers who prided themselves on knowing how to eat fish would chew bones and all, these macho sailors apparently dumped everything straight into their stomachs without a side plate. Still, it looked more edible than that British herring pudding.

The smell actually seems pretty good, though...

But after we'd already had snacks, they expected me to finish this? I wasn't fucking Kirby.

"You put the bowl in the wrong place."

I passed the bowl to Veronica like a basketball during high school PE. She picked up her spoon with sparkling eyes. The owner’s jaw dropped.

"What? The young lady is challenging it?"

"Hmm? Is there a problem?"

When Veronica blinked and asked back, every customer in the place turned to stare. Franc, who hated attention, pulled up her hood and shifted uncomfortably. The owner exploded with laughter.

He pounded his chest like a gorilla. Up close, I noticed he'd actually shaved his beard—unlike the other macho guys—so he seemed to have some concept of hygiene.

"The Sea Summit is a meal for real sea men who ride brutal waves and finish an entire day's worth of food in one sitting. Even captains with ten years on a ship struggle to finish it in twenty minutes. How can I not laugh when a slim woman like you wants to try?"

"Does that mean I'm not allowed?"

"I'm saying don't push yourself. I'd feel terrible if you ate my food and started retching."

The owner set down a twenty-minute hourglass, genuinely worried. He ended up having to swallow every word he'd just said. Because before the sand had even run out, Veronica set down her spoon with a satisfied expression. The bowl contained nothing but shrimp shells and fish bones.

"In... sane..."

The owner's eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull. He probably wouldn't have been this shocked if his own wife had turned out to be a man.

"It was an excellent dish. It wasn't simply oversized for the sake of size. Even a layman like myself could taste the careful harmony of ingredients."

Veronica drank the last drops of broth from her spoon, looking almost regretful it was over.

"By the way, owner. Is this truly alright? Giving away such food for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠free might endanger your restaurant's finances. I cannot help but worry."

And then, completely unintentional tea-bagging. Perfect. If this were a cooking battle manga, the owner would have closed his shop on the spot and left on a training journey to face the wall.

The owner, after the initial shock, seemed genuinely delighted as he roared with laughter. It was the kind of compliment that might offend a woman, but Veronica accepted it with a bright smile.

"It is a shame this is merely a travel destination. If it were closer, I would visit frequently."

"Hehehe. I'd appreciate it if you didn't. We'd go out of business."

Joking back, the owner offered a handshake. Veronica's complexion, which had remained perfectly fine after eating enough food to burst two people, suddenly turned pale.

Her hand trembled as they shook.

...Owner, you really were a monster.

This Germania country was impossible to fully understand.

"Anyway, thanks for smashing that prejudice. From now on I won't underestimate female challengers."

"Th-that is a good thing."

Veronica fluttered the hand she'd hidden behind her back. When she did it in front of me, I took it. Her color immediately improved. She'd been through a lot.

"Ah, b-by the way, owner. You seem quite familiar with ship life. Am I correct?"

"You mean was I a sailor? Yeah, I was."

At his answer, Veronica's eyes gleamed.

"How fortunate. The truth is, we need to borrow a ship and crew. Strangely, however, every ship owner in this city refuses to take us aboard."

"Ah... When you say 'us,' you mean your whole party?"

"Indeed. Do you know why they behave this way?"

"Ugh. Talking about this is supposed to bring bad luck, but..."

When I asked about the cause of our troubles, the owner scratched his chin.

"...Ah, fuck it. Fine. I've already quit sailing, so I can tell you."

He probably wouldn't have answered if we'd asked anyone else. Maybe losing the food challenge and acknowledging Veronica had opened him up. After wrestling with himself, he smacked his own head.

"The reason women can't board ships is because it invites jealousy."

"Jealousy? From whom?"

"Who else? From the sea and the ship itself."

The sea and the ship? I stopped eating mid-bite and blinked. It was such an absurd statement I even forgot the crispy-outside-tender-inside texture of the fried salmon. Did ships and the sea in this world have personalities?

But my wives don't seem to think so.

As we sat there stunned, the owner waved his hands like an old man complaining about his wife.

"The sea and ships are more delicate and jealous than women. They get angry if you put another woman on board. The ship stops listening, or the weather turns nasty. That's why sailors hate bringing women aboard."

"Jealousy from the sea and ship... I have never heard of such a thing."

"Lots of women call it superstition and refuse to believe it, but every sailor understands. Why do you think I couldn't even hold a woman's hand until I retired? Sailors who touch women are looked down on everywhere."

His words brought up an old memory from when I first arrived in Sargadis. Among the carriage passengers trading dirty jokes, there had been an old sailor. He'd listened intently to the peddler's stories. Maybe he'd avoided women because of this very superstition.

Perhaps the Viking chastity faith had more reasons than just Odin and his friends. When I thought about it, the gods of Germania in the myths never seemed to care much about chastity anyway.

"Then is there truly no way for us to borrow a ship?"

"There might be some, but no captain with real experience would ever underestimate the jealousy of the sea and ship."

Veronica tilted her head, as if her brain couldn't process the cultural gap.

"Sea men bet their lives and their entire fortune—the ship—every time they sail. Only greenhorns with no experience or skill would take that kind of risk."

The owner clicked his tongue. It was extremely bad news. We were searching for an invisible island in the middle of the vast ocean. We couldn't afford unskilled sailors. Besides, hot-blooded young ones were more likely to get greedy and stab us in the back.

"Still, if you absolutely must go, there is one way."

Maybe he felt sorry watching us worry while our food went cold. The owner scratched his head and pointed.

"See that house on the cape over there? Try talking to the woman who lives there."

What he pointed at was a narrow cape stretching into the sea. On the cliff sat a lighthouse and a small mansion. As we stared, the owner crossed his arms.

"That arrogant bitch they call the Witch of the North Sea."

The Witch of the North Sea, Ursula Juxes. What a ridiculously event-boss-sounding name.

But unlike the imposing title, the person living in that mansion was apparently just an ordinary woman.

Then why the hell is she called a witch?

I asked because it felt strange, but the owner's answer was absurd.

"Because she's a woman who goes out to sea."

"...That's it?"

"Well, yeah. Her skills are ghost-like too. It's half mockery, half respect. Every pirate in the North Sea fears her, they say."

Listening to him, it made sense. In matriarchal Germania, there was an unspoken rule that men went to sea while women stayed inland. It had apparently always been that way, so even the owner couldn't explain the exact origins. As an archaeologist, I roughly understood.

A historical custom.

Germania was an extremely rare nation whose lineage stretched back to the mythic age. The reason men, steeped in machismo, went out to sea had to be tied to that unique matriarchal culture. It was a territorial struggle between Viking ancestors and noblewomen of the matriarchal society. A woman who ignored those customs and superstitions to make a name for herself on the North Sea with a female body—the background for being called a witch seemed to lie there.

Anyway, the important point was that if we wanted to reach the Prophet's Island, we would have to negotiate with that witch. The other male captains absolutely refused to let a party with four women board their ships.

After finishing our meal, we climbed the cliff toward the mansion. Dana looked at the coastline and anchored ships below and snorted.

"What a fucking ridiculous culture. I wonder what we'll do on the way back."

"We'll just have to find a passenger ship from Britannia."

I answered while licking the salty wind from my lips. I'd heard back on Earth that sailors were superstitious. A Germania native who told those superstitions to fuck off and came with guaranteed skill and character! I didn't know what kind of person she was, but it was good for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠us. Without that witch lady, our path ahead would have been pitch black.

"Is anyone there!!"

There was no guard at the entrance, so I shouted. After a few minutes, a man who looked like a gardener appeared behind the iron grate.

"Are you guests?"

"Yes. We don't have an appointment, but could you at least deliver a message to Lady Ursula? Our party wishes to set sail and would like to borrow a ship and crew."

"Please wait a moment."

The gardener accepted as if it were routine. While he was gone, I examined the building. It was a bit small to call a mansion—more like a wealthy merchant's house. Dana and I exchanged glances.

"Doesn't look very old, does it?"

"Nope. They must have spent a fortune building it."

It didn't have the feel of ancient nobility. The witch lady had probably built it with her own money. They wouldn't call a noblewoman a witch, so she likely wasn't aristocracy but was wealthy enough to construct a mansion.

There was an Age of Exploration on Earth too.

I'd heard stories of sailors who grew rich through long-distance trade or discovering treasure islands. The sea in this world had monsters, so even normal trade was apparently high risk, high return. Though the danger made an Age of Exploration here seem hopeless.

"They say the sea is a natural treasure vault. No wonder so many archaeologists head out there."

"Husband. Don't get blinded by money. If you go glug glug in the middle of the ocean, they won't even find your corpse."

"Why are you talking about it like it's someone else's problem? If we die, we die together, honey."

"Idiot water-ghost couple. If you're dying, do it after me. I don't want to see my husband drive me insane."

"Yes, ma'am."

While we bickered, another servant came out—this time a maid instead of the gardener.

"The master says she will greet you personally."

The maid had a knife scar across her left cheek. It was wrong to judge by appearance, but she had the fierce aura of someone who might pull a dagger from under her skirt. She could probably list 'assassin' or 'pirate' under career experience.

We were led inside to what appeared to be a reception room. The simple space had almost no decorations. A woman in a tailcoat waited for us. She was younger than expected, and her sharp gaze rivaled the maid's. She didn't feel like an ordinary person at all.

"Come in. You need support for a voyage?"

She spoke casually from the start and motioned for us to sit. She served tea but gave the immediate impression that she hated empty formalities. I sat across from her. Negotiations like this usually fell to me or Dana, and neither of us was confident enough in our Germania language to risk mistakes.

"I'll be direct. I hate long introductions. I had my fill of them during my military days."

If speech had a shape, hers would fly like arrows. I completely agreed that probing, roundabout conversations were boring. Still, I kept my tension in check and sat up straight to appear confident.

"My name is Nord. I'm an adventurer from Britannia."

I introduced my wives and party members beside me. Even when I mentioned having two wives, Ursula didn't frown. She must be well-informed about foreign customs thanks to her life at sea.

"I'm Ursula. Call me whatever you like."

"Yes, Lady Ursula. I know it's rude, but as you prefer directness, I'll get straight to business. We need a ship that can operate three to five days north of Cudcess—up to ten days round trip. We'll also need sailors to handle it."

"The only passengers will be your group, correct? Four women. I see. So those cowards anchored nearby already turned you down."

As expected of a local, she immediately understood the situation and rested her chin on her hand. I noticed calluses and blisters on her fingers. She really was the type who worked in the field herself.

"Destination?"

The sudden question made me shrug.

"The open sea."

"...Hmm. A treasure map?"

Her eyes gleamed like a hyena. She'd been sharp from the beginning.

"You can think of it that way. However, I can't guarantee there will be any worthwhile treasure."

"Ahahaha! No guarantee? What voyage in this world ever has a guarantee!"

She laughed so hard she could barely breathe, flashing healthy teeth.

"Fine. I'll lend you the ship. I at least have the courtesy not to pry into your circumstances. If I don't want you suspecting me, I shouldn't suspect you either, right?"

Fuck. It was going way too smoothly. I knew she was the impatient type, but I was still surprised. As if she'd intended exactly that reaction, Ursula's lips curved when she saw my widened eyes.

"But there are conditions."

Of course there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were. It was actually more reassuring than unconditional agreement.

"I'm listening."

"One. You will take me and my sailors along. Two. In exchange for keeping your identities and destination secret, you will pay cash for any treasure obtained on the island or equivalent compensation."

"Those are reasonable conditions. Is there a third?"

"You already know what it is. This is the most important part. It would be troublesome if you looked at me the same as those big cowards on the coast who fear superstition and disaster."

Clack!

Ursula unfastened the scabbard from her belt.

"If those idiots ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who call themselves warriors treat their ships as lovers and wives, then the Goldene Sif is my other self. I cannot tolerate any weakling who wants to board my other self being weaker than me."

Holding both scabbard and sword, Ursula pointed the thick cutlass—something only pirates would use—straight at my face and shouted.