Reunion with That Bastard
The wet deck lurched beneath my feet. I'd nearly slipped and fallen at least ten times already. But even if it ground down my cartilage and snapped the tendons in my ankles from forcing myself to stay upright, dropping the cargo would shatter a porter's pride. Especially this cargo—I couldn't allow so much as a scratch on it. If I did, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself.
The healer of the extermination party. Ishtar's agent. The hope of us all. My beloved Monica sisters.
"Hold on tight."
"Gotcha."
"Don't let go, no matter what."
"Don't worry. I won't."
It stirred something deep in my chest. The sisters' firm words, their heavy trust.
"Tan won't let go of me."
When Esen had thrown herself into the waves to save Nidroga, the sisters couldn't just stand by—they'd leaped forward with fierce resolve. I wished Monica hadn't done it. The thought of losing both of them in a single day terrified me. But I'm a porter. A man born with the aptitude to bear weight. If I didn't become their legs, who else could?
On the battlefield, fighters lost their sight and collapsed. They needed us. Judging by the approaching ship's momentum, we had maybe five minutes until the first clash. In that time, I'd done everything a porter could.
I yanked slipping crewmen back aboard with my grappling hook. For anyone passed out, I popped the cap off an awakening potion and shoved the whole bottle down their throat. If someone had lost their weapon and was fumbling on the deck, I raided the armory, snagged a cutlass and handgun from the rack, and tossed them at their feet.
That was all I could manage—pathetic little things like that. The rest was up to the sisters on my back. Reaching past my shoulder toward a fallen sailor, she murmured at top speed.
"I hold the will of the gods in my hands."
"H-Healer? The captain said to stay safe in the cabin—"
"Open your closed eyes and behold!"
Legend said the first healer, appearing amid ancient people, had opened the eyes of a poor blind man, ushering in a new era. The era of the aptituded. An age where humans shattered rocks, mended flesh, wielded the gods' will as swords, and no longer cowered in fear of monsters.
That miracle was manifesting here on this deck. Her hands, tinged purple and pink, stripped the shadows from their eyes.
"I can see! I can see—!"
"If you can see, you blind flounder bastard! What're you waiting for—get to your post!"
Morgan swung across the crewmen's heads on a rope, barking curses in her gravelly voice. The sailors, eyes suddenly clear like they'd been struck by lightning, scrambled into action. Just like her father—born captain material. Reliable as hell.
"Hey, porter! You better stay alive till this shitshow's over! We got unfinished business from that 'half-done talk' earlier—!"
...Not that reliable. Gave me chills.
I prayed the other sailors didn't catch the excitement and shyness in her voice. Luckily—or not—they were too busy rubbing their newly regained eyes.
Of course, with no time for thorough checks, this was just emergency aid. They'd need a doctor's full exam and long rest to heal completely. But they were regaining it—their sight, and the fighting spirit they'd wept away in blindness.
"Which bastard flashed the elders?!"
"You son of a bitch—who?! You bring a lighthouse to the middle of the ocean?!"
Hope was in sight. Warmth bloomed again in my chilled chest. I'd saved everyone I could. Kneeling to catch my breath, about to thank the sisters for it all—
"All I can do is basic first aid."
In the cold rain, her warm fingers dug into my shoulder sleeve. I could feel it from that warmth. Right now, she was leaning on me.
"It's you who made this possible, Tan. The world might call you just a porter, but I've seen you up close—I can say it confidently now. You're an excellent porter."
"Sisters..."
"Behind—! Porter—! Watch your back—!"
My chest went cold again. Weight crashed from an unexpected direction. The enemies' intent, slipping through storm and spray, wasn't just the idiotic shelling from beyond range that exposed them.
I knew the instant I turned. They weren't fools. Blinded by handgun fire, they'd failed to block the approach with cannon—but there weren't one enemy ship. Two. Another hidden in the mist on the opposite side. Lowering sails, sneaking in to ram us—
"Damn it, hold on tight—!"
Too close to dodge. I shielded the sisters and braced my back.
—————
'Tan, get up!'
'No.'
'Get upppp—!'
Sulky Tena chomped my shoulder hard. I yelped and flipped over. The brawl began. I'd lose, of course. But once she'd taken a bite, I had to bite back. That's how ten-year-old fights go.
Unlike what some clueless parents think, kids aren't self-growing plants. Humans are vines, not acorns—fragile souls craving something to lean on and climb. That's what Tena was to me, and me to her. Mutual supports. Unlike invisible, absent parents who ignored broken legs and sobs, we ran to each other when needed. Reliable allies.
Our shared neglectful parents made us close fast. Sure, the Monica sisters' house overflowed with kids like us. But not all passed Tena's filter.
Kids' stamina wears out even hunting dogs, they say. But Tena was unmatched. Hero aptitude holder. Blessed with lifelong health by the gods. Only I, with porter aptitude, could play till she dropped.
'Two more elevator rides—no, three! Just three—!'
'I sprinted three hours for you. Fifty elevator rides! And now get up? Am I your toy?!'
'Yup.'
Pinned after losing the tussle, the tomboy brazenly replied. Stunned, about to pettily threaten to tattle to the sisters—
Her tone shifted. Darker, wearier, dirtier... laced with that bland resignation I hated.
'Gotta get up. People need you.'
'Who—'
'Like I needed you then.'
—————
Damn her. Couldn't say it to her face, of course. Tena was past it now; it'd just hurt me.
Back then, I just envied her—no clue what that favor cost. If she'd borne that burden, she could've confided in me ages ago.
I get it. I probably seemed immature. Probably always will. What hero takes a porter seriously...?
"Snap out of it! You can't die—!"
"Porter! Damn it, porter—!"
Someone slapped my cheek hard. Exact same angle and force as memory-Tena.
...Tena? Did I sleep-mumble "damn her"?
No way. She's not the village girl who comes running anymore. Even if I sank with this ship today, that precious lady might just scoff—
Sank with the ship?
"Hngh."
"Eyes open! 'Ran' opened her eyes!"
"The porter's awake—!"
"Hooray—!"
Morgan cheered, stepping back a few paces. Dodging a gleaming blue blade.
Enemies outnumbered us. Sandwiched between two ships, facing foes from both sides. But the handgun party wasn't on the defensive.
Because...
"Shit, I can't see!"
...The idiots had blinded themselves too.
Countless enemies, boarding us, lost balance and plunged into the sea. Made me wanna revise my opinion of their "strategy." The flashbang idiot definitely wasn't smart.
Blinking dazedly, I finally grasped the situation. Melee raging around me and the sisters. While I'd flown into the wall and collapsed on impact, the raiders had boarded successfully. Sisters couldn't dodge, holding and healing me. Handgun crew dove in to protect us...
"...Then we need to get out of here fast."
"Hatch under our feet leads below. Can you stand?"
"Thanks to you. What about you, sisters?"
"Where you thieving bitches think you're going? Both of ya, park those asses on the deck."
Familiar vulgarity, ear-aching voice. My body froze. That faint "no way" hunch had come true.
"Fuckin' bastard, you think hero means you get away with hit-and-run on handgun's ship?!"
"No business with you fishy lowborn scum. Just need the goods."
"Oh, goods? What goods, you moron! Ever think of asking nicely?!"
Morgan's jab was spot-on. But right words need right ears. No way he'd ask politely. Not his style.
Heroes wielding "light" abounded—campfire, morning star, sun. Gods of light blessed many. But challenging Tomco's crew with two ships and near-suicide tactics? Blinding sailors mid-storm with impunity? That shameless arrogance?
Rare combo. Now I got it. No clue why he'd come here to drag our grudge, but that bastard would.
'Wanton Flash.' Adamanthon Sunsstorm.
"Hand it over."
Adamanthon shoved past brawling sailors, flicking his hand lazily. Like we obviously knew what. Then he narrowed his eyes.
Locking gazes with me—flinching, shielding sisters.
"What. Face looks familiar."
"Hand over what?"
Bam.
"Did some mommy you hugged last night get stolen?"
Our ship shuddered violently with a roar. Behind Adamanthon's shoulder, a group flew airborne. He twitched back—spotting the bold curser easily. Crew sensed chill, parting left and right, friend or foe.
The star who parted crowds on entrance alone...
"Esen, Nidroga...!"
Her short hair soaked like seaweed, the tigress supported the exhausted draconian.
Joy surged; I shot up. Legs buckled; I slumped again.
Esen wasn't scaring me. Just glanced and smiled. Like seeking praise. Or reassurance.
But the rest of her face was grave.
"You the one who flashed us?"
Esen turned back to Adamanthon. That's when I realized. Even when suspicious of my identity, sensitive in heat, caught by Bilena—mere annoyances.
Never seen Esen truly angry. Not once.
Chills rooted me. Even sailors, half-blind with blades ready, felt it. Fight noise fading.
Tigress's amber eyes flicked to Adamanthon's chest. Gaudy gold emblem on his breastplate: Adamanthon Sunsstorm.
"It's you."
"'You' is rude, beast bitch."
"Cram three boomer types into one sentence. Friends warned me not to meet you, hero. Wondered how great you were—been dying to see your face."
"Yeah, I'm Adamanthon Sunsstorm. So who're you, gutter slut?"
Hero boasted triumphantly. Like no woman could touch him.
But the beast grinned wide.
"The one who'll rip you apart."
Esen swung rope like a swing onto our upper deck. Set gasping Nidroga safe, leaped down before Adamanthon.
He rolled his eyes.
"What're you playing at?"
"What? I said—"
Before reply, vile sword slashed horizontal. Pure killing intent.
Would Sunsstorm ancestors teach such dishonor openly? Didn't matter secret or self-made.
"Heard me, huh."
Esen just ducked deeper than the blade. Adamanthon twitched in shock. He'd closed distance. She sneered, shook hand leisurely.
Then punched empty gut.
"This first."
Crack.
One hit folded his waist. Not fist—bull headbutt sound.
"Gaaak—"
"For almost drowning Nidroga."