Rock Island (6)
Arwen wondered for a moment if she'd misheard.
"...Huh?"
An idiotic sound slipped from her lips, uncharacteristic of her sharp mind.
She'd received an incomprehensible response.
What he'd just said was an irresistible offer.
Recognition as Heroicus, and at the same time, a chance to claim her, a peerless beauty?
Though she couldn't match the queen's transcendent allure, Arwen was renowned for her own beauty.
Moreover, as heir to a prominent family, no man could refuse her.
At least, no dark elf.
But that didn't apply to Owen.
"Didn't you hear me? You're not my type."
Owen's standards were unintentionally sky-high.
And for good reason—his entanglement in his past life had been with the dark elf queen herself.
No matter how pretty Arwen was, she paled in comparison, leaving Owen utterly indifferent.
"What... not your type?"
Arwen's face drained of color, turning ashen.
She'd never imagined being rejected like this.
She had absolute confidence in her charms.
Even warriors who wouldn't dare aspire to the heir had ogled her endlessly with barely contained desire.
She'd had to ignore those gazes just to keep up.
Back in the capital, influential nobles from other families had vied desperately to forge connections with her.
'And yet this young human rejects me?'
Arwen couldn't believe reality.
It was an offer she'd mustered considerable courage to make.
The haughty woman had never said anything like it to a man before.
She barely managed to speak.
"...Say it again. Leire."
"Well, it's just... I have no interest in getting involved with a woman who's not my type. Even if it's for work."
An engagement? What a hassle.
Revenge came first.
Only after properly repaying those who'd screwed him and Tanares over could he indulge freely.
Living in luxury from then on—that was his goal.
"Urgh...!"
Arwen's pale face flushed hot in an instant. Her long ears began to quiver faintly.
Owen clicked his tongue inwardly at the sight.
'Tch. So much for avoiding hard feelings. Guess I'll just have to play Heroicus for real.'
He'd originally aimed to smooth things over amicably.
But the engagement talk had ruined that completely.
Owen began pondering candidates to replace Arwen as fleet commander.
'I'll consult Orkeus.'
Even if Arwen slacked off, he could use Heroicus's authority to appoint a candidate as the new commander.
The situation suggested Heroicus held that much power.
"...I won't forgive you."
"Pardon?"
But Arwen was far more combative than Owen had anticipated.
Instead of throwing a spoiled noble lady tantrum, she chose to confront the situation head-on.
"Owen Leire!"
At her sudden shout, everyone nearby turned their attention.
Amid the flood of gazes, Arwen thrust her chest out proudly and extended her hand forward.
"Fine! I accept you as Heroicus! But I'm still the commander of this fleet! I won't lose, so remember that!"
"Oh...?"
"I'll make everyone see it—who's truly fit to lead this fleet!"
Arwen had decided to channel her pride positively.
'This girl's got more grit than I thought.'
Owen was quietly impressed. And he saw an opportunity to exploit it.
'If we're competing over who's the better fleet commander, she'll work her ass off. I can just go through the motions while she does the heavy lifting.'
He'd never intended to swallow her fleet whole in the first place.
He just needed a competent commander.
Her eagerness to step up was the best news possible.
"Even if you're Heroicus, it doesn't matter! On the sea, everyone listens to the one with real skill!"
Arwen's bold stance impressed the watching dark elves too.
They'd expected her to sulk and complain, not handle it with such poise.
"The young lady has grown..."
"The Grand Matron's eye for talent was spot on, as always."
Hearing the murmurs, Owen reflected inwardly.
'I underestimated her.'
He'd assumed she'd slack off and harbor grudges.
But this heir had stepped up to compete on merit.
"Fine. Let's see what you've got."
Owen nodded.
But Arwen had no intention of letting things end warmly.
"And another thing!"
"Yeah?"
"You'll regret turning down my engagement! How dare you dump me, you bastard!"
Arwen dropped a bombshell, then spun on her heel and stormed off.
The surroundings erupted, as expected.
"What? Engagement?!"
"Wait—did Arwen just propose to Heroicus earlier?"
"And he turned her down?"
"Whoa, that's huge!"
Chaos ensued.
Humans and dark elves alike were equally nosy about romance.
Soon, the humans nearby overheard from the dark elves and gawked in shock.
"What? The baronet dumped a dark elf beauty?"
"What a guy!"
"Rejecting a stunner like that?"
In the raucous atmosphere, Owen covered his face with one hand.
'Damn... she lands a haymaker on her way out.'
It was absurd.
Outrageous.
In every way, she was no ordinary woman.
Two days later.
The barnacle removal on the turtle dragon was complete.
"Heroicus! It's done."
Orkeus, the chief steward, approached with deep reverence and reported.
Owen still wasn't used to the man's demeanor.
Orkeus was the family's real power, someone even the heir Arwen couldn't boss around freely.
Yet this influential figure treated him as a superior.
"Understood. You don't need to be so formal..."
"Nonsense. As a mere steward, it's only proper to serve Heroicus with utmost devotion. And please, speak casually to me!"
"Haha... alright, then."
Orkeus had completely shifted his attitude toward Owen.
He'd once seen the boy as a promising youth worth befriending, but now he regarded him as a great hero.
And rightly so—if not for Owen, the North Sea's finest fleet would have been annihilated by a single turtle dragon days ago.
"If you insist on formality from now on, this Orkeus will kneel and grovel every time Heroicus appears."
"...Fine, if you put it that way."
In those two days, Owen's position had changed dramatically.
To the point where Betshel had chuckled and clapped Owen's shoulder yesterday.
It was typical of the man's casual nature, but it caused issues.
All the working dark elves stopped dead and glared murderously at Betshel.
Even the thick-skinned elder couldn't handle that.
Startled, he'd since treated Owen gingerly in front of dark elves.
If even a Bris elder acted that way, Owen was naturally the expedition's overall commander.
In fact, Betshel had pledged full cooperation.
"The dark elves follow you, so I'll handle support this time. Go wild."
"Thank you, Elder."
That was their conversation this morning.
'When the turtle dragon went berserk, I thought we were done for...'
Who knew it'd turn into such fortune.
Owen extended his hand toward the turtle dragon.
The work was done, and it was preparing to depart.
Kuuaaaaa.
The low rumble brimmed with satisfaction.
Free of the barnacles covering its body, it seemed utterly relieved.
"Thanks. Thanks to you, I ended up with this weird title. The tribute you brought must be a big deal."
For a moment, the turtle dragon's massive eye gazed down at Owen.
Then it turned and returned to the sea.
It had looked like an island approaching, and now it departed like one too—immensely vast.
"It's finally gone."
Owen let out a sigh of relief.
But there was no time to rest.
The turtle dragon delay had pushed their schedule back nearly a week.
They might have already missed the window.
The expedition hurried, setting sail in a rush two days later.
"The troops are quite fatigued."
After departure, a command meeting convened on the flagship, where Arwen voiced concerns.
Betshel nodded too.
"Same here. The barnacle work was no joke, and now this rushed departure... But you're worse off."
Humans just needed to board and sail to the destination.
Dark elves had to crew the ships too.
It was bound to be grueling.
"That's why I suggest humans lead the island assault."
Betshel nodded at Owen's proposal.
"Agreed. As eastern men, we can't refuse. We're better suited to conserve strength for the island."
Contrary to initial worries, the mixed-race expedition meshed well.
Shared suffering from the barnacles had been key.
A camaraderie like comrades-in-arms had budded between humans and dark elves.
"We're grateful, Lord Betshel. We'll provide cannon support during landing."
"Much obliged. Dark elf guns will help greatly."
Margel Island was four days away.
The plan was to approach disguised as merchant ships for a surprise attack.
But Owen proposed a new strategy.
"The original plan is fine, but fatigue is high. Better take an easier path."
Betshel and Arwen perked up, of course.
"What is it, Heroicus?"
Owen said he needed something from Arwen for the new plan.
"Any chance you have connections with the orcs on the island?"
"Yes. Shadow Bat Family has several merchants. We can reach the island easily thanks to their guidance—they're regulars."
"Perfect. Then let me explain my scheme."
Four days later.
Margel Island.
This island was a vital trade hub between dark elves and orcs, located in orc territory.
The fortress was normally garrisoned by orcs, who received dark elf visitors.
Trade between the races had exceeded expectations, proving a massive success.
It had even softened the prickly dark elves and orcs, who now exchanged broad smiles.
"The new caravan still not here?"
"Dunno, heard there's rebellion in the dark elf homeland."
Orc sentries on the watchtower chatted while scanning the horizon.
"Heard about the revolt too. But trade's supposed to continue."
"Yeah, but... they're late this time."
"Things must be messy over there."
There was a reason.
The dark elf queen's escape from the capital had seen her seize many long-range capable ships.
Post-revolt power struggles among families left no room for trade focus.
With risks of being undercut by rivals, shipments of gunpowder to Margel were indefinitely postponed.
In fact, with fighting possibly reigniting anytime, they hesitated to export any.
Owen had worried about missing the timing, but they actually had plenty of leeway.
"Hm? Those ships?"
"Hand me the spyglass!"
Then, familiar silhouettes appeared on the distant horizon.
Five dark elf-style ships, unmistakably.
The sentries grinned.
"Finally, dark elf booze again."
"Yeah, my last stash ran out. Perfect timing!"
Orcs welcomed dark elves not just for gunpowder.
Masters of poison and alchemy, they brewed fiercely potent, addictive liquor too.
It suited orc tastes far better than their traditional brews.
A taste like it might kill you—and orcs loved it.
"Dark elf ships incoming!"
At the sentry's cry, quiet Margel Island buzzed to life.
Some gleefully plotted selling their recently captured monstrous slaves to the dark elves.
"Good thing we nabbed those centaurs. Those big-eared bastards'll fetch a price. Buy poison brew with it."
"Me, drugs first. Been getting killer headaches lately. Dark elf painkillers are the best."
In this lively mood, the ships soon docked, and one dark elf disembarked.
His name: Haser.
A Shadow Bat Family merchant, seasoned in orc trade.
The welcoming orcs recognized him immediately.
"Haser! Our friend. Long time."
The island's guard captain spread his arms in welcome.
He didn't truly see Haser as a friend, of course.
Just hooked on the slippery dark elf's poison booze and addictive tobacco.
Anyone delivering on time would've been called a friend—even a slime.
"Markanac. Long time, my friend."
Haser recognized the captain too and opened his arms. Casually, he probed.
"Might I see the chieftain overseeing the island?"
"Hm? Possible, but why? You always avoided him out of fear."
"Ahaha... he does hold his liquor fiercely. Rough too. But I've got a prime deal."
"Deal? Aren't these ships loaded with goods?"
To the puzzled captain, Haser whispered.
"A golden opportunity. Accept, and you'll get free trade goods equivalent to these five ships. Once-in-a-lifetime."
"What?"
Markanac's eyes bulged.
Five ships' worth was enormous.
Orcs amassed gold, silver, and slaves awaiting such hauls.
It was massive business.
Free? Naturally, he grilled Haser like a vice.
"What do you mean? Spill the details!"