Chapter 16
Crackle... crackle...
Twigs intertwined and caught fire. The firewood, carefully stacked only with dry branches, burned better than expected. Each gust of wind made the flames dance long and wild, while dry bark split with pops of small sparks. Crackle. Crackle. In the quiet dawn by the riverbank, the sound rang out strangely clear.
The wood wasn't piled naturally. Someone had arranged it deliberately—thicker logs at the base, dry twigs on top, with small gaps in between. A structure designed to let the fire breathe and spread.
At its center.
Lay a corpse. The flames had already devoured the clothes. Fabric burned first. Then hair. A burst of fire sent black smoke drifting slowly upward. The wind carried it toward the river, scattering it.
And then.
A little later, the smell of burning flesh began to spread.
It started faint, just mingling with the scent of burning wood. But as time passed, it grew sharper. The smell of human flesh burning. Some turned away, unable to bear it.
Some gritted their teeth, staring into the flames.
Some stood expressionless.
One of them finally spoke, slowly. "The body... thank you."
His voice was low. Not strong. Not loud. Just... quietly uttered.
The speaker was one of the sailors, an older man. His face was etched deep with wind-carved wrinkles, his hands rough as old rope.
He gazed at the flames a moment, then turned his head slightly. Toward Philia.
"If we'd just buried him in the dirt... he wouldn't have gone anywhere. Let him adventure across the seas as much as he wanted..."
He continued. "The captain wanted to return to the sea."
Philia said nothing. She stood a little apart, a few steps from the fire. Her black coat fluttered faintly in the wind, her shadow stretched long by the firelight. The Execution Sword was already sheathed at her waist. Her hands were empty. She simply stood there.
Unmoved by the sailor's words. The flames. The smoke.
But.
Her gaze was fixed on the fire.
Crackle. A log split, sending flames leaping high. The blaze rose higher. Within it.
Something slowly collapsed. Bone.
One sailor exhaled lowly. "The captain talked a lot," someone muttered.
"Always yapping," another said.
"Full of useless chatter."
"Yeah."
Someone chuckled softly. But the laugh faded quickly. The flames surged again.
Crackle. Fire consumed another log. Smoke thickened. Wind blew over the river. It trailed long across the water.
The Triangular Whale lay anchored a short distance away. The ship was silent. Sails furled, the mast stood like a massive shadow saying nothing. No one on deck.
All the sailors were here. The captain was in the fire.
So.
The ship stood empty.
The sailor who'd spoken first opened his mouth again. "Still."
He said. "He was a good captain."
His eyes on the flames. "Shared a lot of gold."
"Bought plenty of booze."
"And the ship..." He paused. "...he handled her well."
Someone nodded. "True."
"Knew the routes like magic."
"Read the river like a book."
"Talked like a damn dog, though."
"But..."
A brief silence.
"He was our captain."
The words ended there. No one wept. Pirates don't cry. At least.
Not in front of others.
The flames sank lower. Logs collapsed, fire drawing inward. Red embers breathed slowly between them.
Crackle. Crackle. Only small sounds lingered.
Then. The first sailor looked at Philia again. He said nothing for a moment.
And then. Very quietly. "Captain."
He corrected himself. "Sepir said."
Philia's eyes shifted ever so slightly.
The sailor continued. "Don't curse you out."
A brief stillness. The flames flickered small.
"That guy." The sailor chuckled lowly. "Weird to the end."
He shook his head slightly. "Still."
He looked at Philia. "Thanks to you, the captain went out like a man."
Wind blew. Smoke trailed over the river.
Philia said nothing for a long while. Her gaze still on the flames. The fire was dying down. What had been a human shape moments ago was now an unrecognizable black lump.
She stared at it for some time.
And then. Very slowly. She closed her eyes.
Just for a moment. She opened them again.
And quietly said. "He."
Her voice was as always. But. Subtly lower. "Was a good captain."
One who had moved for everyone's happiness until the end. I hope he now sails the sea of souls, laughing.
The carriage moved slowly. Rumble. Rumble. Each time the wooden wheels passed over stones, a low vibration climbed through the frame. The horse's hooves struck rhythmically. Clop. Clop. Clop.
Dawn had fully broken. River mist mostly cleared, faint sunlight settling on the crimson waves.
But Philia scarcely saw the view.
The carriage interior was quiet. Windows open, but little wind entered. Thick curtains draped half-closed.
Within. Philia sat on one seat, back straight. Hands on knees. As if nothing had happened.
The carriage rocked, but her posture barely shifted. Her body balanced naturally. Like someone long in the saddle.
But her eyes didn't move. Gaze fallen somewhere on the carriage floor. A small nail wedged between wooden planks. It held her stare for ages.
The carriage jolted harder. Rumble. The horse had stepped on a stone by the road's edge.
For a moment. Philia's eyes shifted faintly. Then stilled again.
Order. Execution. Report. Return.
Her life as the Emperor's blade had always flowed that way. This time was no different.
The order came. Sepir de Hwan. Pirate spreading dangerous ideals. Plunderer redistributing wealth. Shaker of order.
Execute.
And she received it. The rest was routine. Track. Approach. Observe. Confirm. Execute.
A procedure repeated countless times.
So.
It should have ended.
But.
The sense of closure didn't come easily.
The carriage rocked again. Clop. Clop. The horse seemed to slow a bit. The driver's voice came from outside.
"The main road's just ahead!"
Philia didn't reply. No need. The driver knew. The passenger inside rarely spoke.
And her orders were always brief.
Philia's gaze slowly shifted to the window. Through the curtain gap, outside scenery peeked. The river. And.
The receding island. Now a mere dot.
Was his body still there? Or.
Already extinguished?
She hadn't checked. No need. Fires always die. People. Thoughts. Stories. Most end that way.
She withdrew her gaze. The interior remained quiet.
Rumble. Rumble. Wheels passed stones.
And then. For a moment. Philia's hand twitched faintly. Fingers curled slightly.
A tiny motion. Unnoticeable to anyone.
But.
She felt it. In her palm. A faint lingering sensation.
Metal. Cold blade. And. Sepir's cutlass.
Crunch.
The sound echoed in her mind again. Metal crumpling. In her hand.
The moment his sword broke.
And the next scene. Gun. Temple.
'Pirates these days don't just use swords.'
His voice rang strangely clear.
Philia closed her eyes briefly. Then opened them.
The carriage now entered the main road. Wheels left stones for dirt. Rumble. The ride smoothed.
The driver spoke again from outside. "Picking up speed now!"
The horse shook its head, accelerating. Clop-clop-clop-clop. Hooves quickened.
Philia looked out the window again. Farther this time. No river. No island.
Plains stretched. And beyond. Faintly, walls. The Imperial Palace.
Her eyes lingered on the Emperor's banner fluttering in the wind.
And then. Slowly. Very slowly. She thought.
Report.
Upon arrival at the palace, there was work to do. Execution report.
Target. Sepir de Hwan.
Status. Deceased.
Cause. ...
Philia's thoughts paused briefly.
Cause.
The word didn't follow smoothly as usual.
The carriage pressed on. Clop. Clop. Clop. Hooves echoed long.
Philia said nothing for a while.
And then. In a very small voice. Like a murmur to herself.
"...Sacrifice."
The word echoed quietly inside the carriage.
And.
She said no more. The carriage raced toward the palace.
'For others.'
She'd heard suicide was a sin. But thanks to it, Philia hadn't crossed that final line.
And because of it... she realized she was still human.
"Stars beyond reach, and people within arm's grasp."
Two opposites. Yet both held shining hopes and dreams.
Justice worth the name.
But herself?
"Were all my executions truly just...?"
Philia's eyes wavered. Countless killings, disposals, rendings... All under the name of justice, she'd believed.
No. Not justice.
"I forced it. On everyone..."
With overwhelming force, she'd threatened, imposing a justice not her own.
The Emperor's justice. Laws written in blood, spilling like waterfalls.
A single monster ruling the land.
But that too was someone's justice.
"..."
Was there no single justice all could accept?
Philia pondered.
The seed Don Quixote had sown, watered by Sepir...
Was finally sprouting.