Chapter 12
One breath, one silent prayer. One breath, one silent prayer. Was it a crime to sow hope in places the Emperor couldn't reach? His ideas were dangerous, but weren't they still producing ideal results? If I killed him, the entire village and his crew would struggle to survive. Did I really have to kill a pure human in this remote borderland on command?
Philia said nothing. The words circled only in her mind.
The wind brushed across the river. The waves of the Blood Sea rippled low. The red glow shimmered strangely under the faint moonlight, as if it weren't water but ancient blood flowing slowly.
The sails of the Triangular Whale caught the wind and swelled gently. The wooden hull creaked with a low groan. The night river was quiet. But not utterly still. Somewhere far off, a dull sound of water parting echoed. A river teeming with monsters. Its nights were always alive with something surviving.
Philia rested her hand on the railing, gazing down at the river. Her eyes didn't waver. Her face showed nothing. But her thoughts didn't stop.
Places the Emperor can't reach. That phrase looped in her head.
The Empire was vast. Endlessly so. The Emperor's commands were ironclad. But his eyes couldn't see everywhere. Especially not here. A river near the edge of the map. No noble estates. No imperial banners. Tax collectors rarely came. People lived here. In their own way. Those few gold coins changed their tomorrows. Fishermen mended nets with them. Repaired boats. Bought bread for their kids. Endured winter. And remembered Sepir.
Philia's gaze shifted to the bow. The deck's edge. Sepir de Hwan stood there. He was perched on the railing. A bottle in one hand. Rum. He stared at the river. Silent. His tied-back hair swayed in the wind. He wasn't smiling.
Philia closed her eyes briefly. Then opened them slowly. The execution sword still hung at her waist. Cold. Quiet. Waiting. She startled, unconsciously releasing her grip on it, and walked toward the man she would kill tomorrow.
"...You. Why do that?"
"Huh? Lady. I'm just drinking rum. It erases memories."
Sepir remained slumped against the railing. His back half-leaning on the wood, one leg hooked over it. It looked precarious, but he didn't budge. As the ship rocked, his body flowed with it naturally.
"...And that posture?"
"Want me to tell you? It's the perfect way to sleep on a ship. I discovered it myself."
Sepir spoke without opening his eyes. His voice was low, languid. Like a deeply sleeping man mumbling in his dreams.
Philia looked down at him. She said nothing for a long moment. Then she spoke again.
"...Is sleeping on deck comfortable?"
"Immensely."
Sepir answered instantly. Eyes still closed.
"Cabins feel stuffy."
The wind swept the deck. Salty, humid air seeped in. Sepir inhaled deeply.
"This smell."
He murmured.
"River, wood, salt, even blood! All mixed together."
He continued slowly.
"Sleeping with this scent... well."
He paused. Then, in a deeply satisfied tone:
"It reminds me I'm still alive."
Philia didn't reply. The deck lay shrouded in darkness. Only a single lantern on the mast swayed far off. Its light stretched long across the planks. Sepir's face flickered in and out of it. Eyes still shut. A faint smile on his lips.
Philia slowly raised the execution sword. The blade caught the moonlight. A thin, cold gleam traced its length.
"Three days have passed, Captain."
Sepir inhaled without opening his eyes. Then he chuckled softly.
"Ah. I was dragging it out on purpose, though. Haha."
He opened his eyes. Slowly. Languidly, like waking from sleep. His gaze lifted first to the sky. Night hadn't fully retreated. The eastern horizon glowed faintly. A few stars lingered.
Sepir watched them a moment. Then he turned his head slightly. Philia stood there. Sword raised. The wind tugged her coat.
"Doing it on deck lacks romance, doesn't it?"
Philia's eyes shifted ever so slightly.
"Romance isn't a factor."
Sepir laughed.
"Figured as much."
He stood slowly. Foot sliding off the railing. His boot thudded on the deck. Thud.
A few crew were already awake. No—most hadn't slept. Since the air on deck had shifted. Some froze by the ropes. Others held their breath under the mast. Their eyes converged. On the captain. And the Executioner.
Sepir walked to the railing. Glanced at the river. Red waters flowed slow. Still cloaked in shadow. Water like blood. He stared a moment, then murmured:
"Three days."
"Shorter than I thought."
"No one said it would be long."
Sepir turned fully to face her. Hands clasped behind his back. No intent to draw a weapon.
"Observation complete?"
"Yes."
Short reply.
"Conclusion reached?"
"...Yes."
Sepir chuckled briefly.
"Then I'm curious."
He tilted his head slightly.
"How was it?"
Philia fell silent. A brief pause. But in it, wind grazed the sails. The hull groaned low. Far downstream, something parted the water. Then Philia spoke.
"...You are dangerous."
Sepir nodded.
"Good assessment."
"You undermine the Empire's order."
"Maybe."
"A pity."
He said.
"You know."
He glanced skyward briefly. East brightened more. One star faded last.
"I thought it'd be fun to keep you aboard longer."
Philia raised the sword higher. Tip quivering faintly.
"Prepare yourself."
Sepir laughed. Louder this time.
"Haha. Alright then."
His eyes dropped to her sword.
"Make it beautiful, Lady."
"State your last words quickly."
Philia's voice was low. Her usual tone, devoid of emotion.
A few crew swallowed unconsciously. Hands gripped ropes tighter. Others averted eyes. No more pretending ignorance. The captain's death wasn't rumor anymore. It loomed real before them.
Sepir blinked. Then smiled faintly.
"Last words."
He tilted his head. As if hearing an unfamiliar question. Then he snorted.
"This is something."
He ran a hand through his hair. Wind whispered between strands. East brightened. No sun yet, but darkness thinned. Red waves caught the light, shifting hue. From blackish crimson to murky red.
Sepir gazed at the river. Then spoke slowly.
"Well."
His voice stayed light. But lower than before.
"I've never prepared any."
One crew's eyes widened. Another bit their lip. Sepir glanced at them, shrugged.
"We're pirates."
He laughed.
"We usually drown, get stabbed, or fall drunk."
He ticked off on fingers.
"Something like that."
He looked at Philia.
"Rare to get asked so politely."
Philia said nothing. Sepir studied her. Then nodded faintly.
"Still."
He said.
"Let me think."
No haste. His boots paced steady. Thud. Thud. Crew eyes followed. Some opened mouths, closed them. Others squeezed eyes shut.
Sepir placed a hand on the railing. Gazed at the red river. It flowed on.
"Press on through adversity—to show who we are!"
Crew tears flowed unchecked now. He snorted.
"Not bad for an impromptu last words, eh?"
Philia watched him a moment. Then:
"...I'll record it."
Sepir smiled, satisfied.
"Good."
He lowered his hands slowly. Unclasped them. Faced her squarely. East brightened. Last star vanished.
"I will execute."
A few crew swallowed. Some shut eyes tight. Others clenched teeth. The blade gleamed in eastern light. Cold, thin gleam. It flashed briefly in Sepir's eyes.
And—
Whoosh—
A short wind-slicing sound.
BOOM!!!
The sword slammed into the deck. No blood. It pierced the planks beside his foot, embedding deep. Wood splintered with a dull crack across the deck.
One crew gasped. Sepir blinked. Tilted his head slightly.
"Lady?"
Philia released the hilt. Sword stuck in the deck. She met his eyes directly.
"...One day. I'll wait one more day for you."
Words to herself? To him? Even she wasn't sure. But they were true.