We've Decided to Call This a Disaster
So that was Pardal Island. Far larger than he'd imagined.
When people said "island," he'd pictured some tiny scrap of land. Clearly not the case.
Now then—where was the harbor? He couldn't just climb ashore anywhere.
Neither boat nor fish, Kyle kept swimming in search of the port.
The reason was simple. A harbor was the proper place to announce that he had arrived.
Sneaking onto some deserted stretch of coast and barging in would disgrace the name of John Nassen. As his parents' son, as the younger brother of Lear and Lea, he simply could not do that.
He would properly reveal his identity, give them time to prepare, and then fight!
Oh. Found it.
Spotting the lanes where ships came and went, Kyle struck out toward them. He was so fast that an ordinary vessel would have been hard-pressed to outpace him.
"…?"
"What the—?"
Sailors entering or leaving the harbor caught sight of him. At first they thought someone had fallen overboard and moved to rescue him—then promptly abandoned the idea. The man was swimming with practiced ease, and he was already inside the harbor, close enough to reach shore on his own. Maybe someone who'd been swimming nearby had simply drifted into port.
Of course, Kyle had swum not from some nearby island but all the way from an imperial harbor.
"Come on up, sir."
As he reached the quay, one of the waiting soldiers extended a hand. Kyle took it, hauled himself onto solid ground, and let out a proud little Whew! with a satisfied smile.
Man, it's been ages since I got a real progressive overload in.
Unlike the northern waters, the sea here was warm, and he'd worried it might turn into little more than a casual splash. Thankfully the distance had been long enough that the workout had lived up to expectations.
The soldiers stared blankly at the young man beaming as if he'd just finished a great session. Hadn't he just been floundering in the water? Or… had he?
"…I don't recognize you. You're not from around here, are you?"
"No. I've come from rather far away. From the Empire, to be precise."
The moment they heard that answer, a collective sigh of pure disbelief rose among the soldiers.
Even by fast ship, the voyage from the Empire to Pardal Island took half a day. And this man claimed he'd swum the entire distance from the mainland? A lie needed at least a shred of effort if you expected anyone to play along. This crossed every line. If he'd simply fallen overboard somewhere just offshore, that would have been another matter.
"Enough joking. Which island did you come from?"
"I really did come from the Empire."
He answered with such earnest gravity that a flicker of Could he be serious? crossed their minds. But why would anyone from the Empire be swimming? As far as they knew, the next vessel from the Empire wasn't even scheduled to depart for another two days. He couldn't even be written off as a castaway who'd fallen from a ship.
"Look here. If you keep this up, things are going to get very—"
"I told you, I'm from the Empire."
One of the soldiers who seemed to be the senior among them spoke with open irritation. He clearly held no fond feelings toward the Empire. Pardal Island itself had been founded by refugees from a kingdom the Empire had crushed. Their opinion of the Empire might not have been the absolute worst, but it was far from warm.
"Do you know what happens when someone from the Empire enters Pardal Island without a travel permit?"
"I'm sorry. I don't."
"We investigate, and if you came with impure intentions, then according to our laws—"
"I came with impure intentions. So please, proceed according to your laws."
He even held out his wrists as if to say, Arrest me already.
The soldiers' minds went blank. What kind of person was this? Was he insane? Who admitted something like that out loud?
"…I think we'd better report this to the lord's castle."
"Agreed. This is no ordinary lunatic."
An unidentified man from the Empire had arrived and voluntarily confessed to impure intentions. What answer would come back once they reported that? For a moment, they were almost curious.
"…What did you just say?"
Midway through a long-awaited family lunch, the lord of Pardal Island's face twisted slightly. He had finally sat down to a peaceful meal with his family—and the news that arrived was less offensive than simply absurd.
"A suspicious individual entered the island claiming to be from the Empire?"
"Yes, my lord."
"The regular passenger ship from the Empire doesn't even leave for another two days at the earliest."
"Which is why we suspect he may be a spy sent by the Empire…"
What spy in the history of the world announced that he harbored impure intentions? And he hadn't even slipped in under cover of night, or onto some deserted stretch of coast. In broad daylight, under the eyes of hundreds, he had calmly swum into the harbor.
What in the world is this supposed to be?
As the lord pressed his temples, a thought surfaced. Could it be…?
Not long ago, they had rescued a group of people claiming to be shipwrecked—hardliners from the Western Kingdom Alliance. They had fled before the Empire could seize them, and for the time being the island was sheltering them in secret.
The Western Alliance, the eastern nomadic tribes, and the independent lords of the south. Even without direct contact, their mere existence helped one another—by ensuring the Empire could never concentrate its full power on any single front.
But the Alliance had completely collapsed, and a pro-Empire faction had risen to power. That meant the force the Empire had been pouring into the west could now swing elsewhere. Precisely because he feared that shift, the lord of Pardal had decided to quietly aid the hardliners, hoping they might return to the Alliance and keep the Empire in check.
…Has the Empire already found out?
He had never expected the secret to last forever. His plan had been to keep them only briefly, then move them elsewhere. If the Empire asked, he could claim simple rescue of castaways, that he had not known their true identities. Saving the shipwrecked was a matter of common decency, regardless of friend or foe.
But this was too fast. Even if word had reached them, the response was unnaturally swift. The Alliance had been crushed without a single drop of blood spilled—were they simply turning that same force southward now? Even though the independent lords' naval strength was nothing to dismiss?
I'll need to meet this man from the Empire myself and find out.
Whether he was some deranged imperial lunatic or a guest who knew more than he should—the lord wanted to judge with his own eyes. He ordered the young man brought before him. Naturally, as a precaution, he was to arrive in heavy iron shackles.
"My lord. As instructed, we have brought the young man."
"Show him in."
If examination proved him a spy, he would be disposed of. If he was merely some unfortunate soul whose mind was a little cracked… well. In that case, further thought would be required. The lord was still muttering that to himself when—
Ah…
The imperial spy. The idea crumbled to dust in his mind. The unfortunate young man with a few screws loose. That vanished as well.
The youth approaching him now stood impossibly far from either of those possibilities.
His pectorals announced their presence with a cheerful hello. His traps glared as if to demand what he thought he was staring at. His deltoids grumbled that the doorway was ridiculously narrow, while his abs offered a shy greeting through the fabric of his clothes.
What kind of spy is supposed to look like that?
He had never seen or heard of a spy built like this. A body like that would draw every eye no matter where it went—hardly welcome news for people whose lives depended on stealth. And more than that, there was the unmistakable aura of a true powerhouse rolling off him. It felt almost like facing Pardal Island's own Wave-Catcher.
"Are you the Lord of Pardal?"
No stammering. No lack of manners. He asked with polite composure, and the lord of Pardal Island found himself nodding on pure reflex.
"Ah, good. They said I was being taken to someone important, and I was half afraid it would just be some harbor overseer."
Still speaking in ways that made no sense at all, the young man stepped closer—and suddenly thrust out a hand for a handshake.
"A pleasure to meet you. My name is Kyle John Nassen."
The lord took the offered hand. He took it—and something felt wrong.
This youth had definitely been wearing shackles when he entered. Both wrists bound together. He should not have been able to move his hands freely. And yet…
So how is he shaking my hand?
Moments later, the lord understood. Dangling loosely from the young man's wrist was a steel bracelet—no, a pair of shattered shackles.
"Oh. My. They snapped. Shall we put them back on? If it would make you feel safer."
Fortunately, the soldiers had noticed the broken restraints and hurried to fasten a fresh pair. Faulty craftsmanship, or perhaps the old set had been on the verge of giving out.
"Right. Once more. A pleasure to meet you. I am—"
Ting. Clatter.
The shackles that had been binding his wrists an instant earlier went tumbling across the floor. They had just put on a brand-new pair. Why had those snapped as well?
The soldiers rushed forward again, but the lord waved them off. Instinct told him the truth. It would not matter how many pairs they clamped on him. This young man would only smile and snap every last one of them—even if they bound him in iron chains.
More importantly… he said John Nassen.
Even here, on an island floating in southern seas far from the Empire, they were not deaf to the news. If anything, they were especially sensitive to it. He had heard the name of House John Nassen more than once.
Long ago, as the last warriors the Empire had never managed to subdue. Later, as the family that half-destroyed an academy and became the center of every wild rumor imaginable. And most recently, as nobles who had set aside their friction with the Empire and become fully cooperating aristocrats.
The ones who brought down the Alliance… the ones who defeated the Three Heroes… all of it was John Nassen.
The lord of Pardal Island studied Kyle carefully. He certainly looked strong. But certainty that he was truly a John Nassen was another matter.
"You claim you came from the Empire."
"Yes. For the record, this is a purely personal matter, not imperial business. Please don't misunderstand."
He had already marched onto battlefields for the Empire, and now he said that? A flash of irritation rose, but the lord forced his mouth shut.
"My lord. Those castaways you rescued not long ago—you remember them?"
"I do."
"Are you aware that they are part of the hardline faction that fled the Alliance?"
"…I know nothing of the sort."
"That's a relief. Since you know nothing of it, then I'd like to take those castaways into my custody."
The lord's face contorted ugly. This was not imperial water. This was the sea of the independent lords. Nothing of the Empire's held any real weight here. One did not simply declare that one would take custody of castaways at will.
"You are not in your right mind."
"Is that so?"
Kyle drifted a quiet step closer. Only two steps—and yet the lord found himself retreating. The aura pressing against him was that vast, that terrifying.
"Fix your face. It's unpleasant to look at."
The lord flinched, then slowly smoothed his expression. His pride burned, but his body was obediently complying with Kyle's demand—no, with the monster's threat.
"My lord."
Kyle leaned in and whispered in a soft, almost gentle voice.
"This is not a request."