The Envoy from the Desert
Throughout the winter, the harbor of Obsidianberry had been quiet.
It could not have been otherwise.
Ships might still putter about the coastal waters, but no one was mad enough to run the gauntlet between islands and mainland against winter’s hysterical waves and the marine beasts and monsters they stirred up.
Of course, as always, a few exceptions existed: people who had no choice but to sail even in winter, the sailors who hunted those desperate fares for a big score, and those whose shady business left them no room to refuse the money on offer. Yet this winter, not a single such soul had appeared. And so the harbor remained utterly deserted, save for fishing boats coming and going and a bare handful of other vessels.
But once winter ended, life surged back as if the land itself had thawed. The moment the weather began to turn, the harbor swelled with ships jockeying to dock and the flood of people and cargo they poured onto the piers.
Laborers from the Seophon Kingdom—or farther afield across the continent—arrived in droves. At the same time, owners of logging camps and mines from every corner of Iceland poured into the city with their carriages and carts, each desperate to snatch up as many workers as possible. In an instant the streets regained their bustle.
Adding fuel to the fire was a throng that had staked out one entire side of the harbor. Hundreds of people were deep in dress rehearsals for receiving the Adobis envoy who would arrive to renew their multi-year contract. First-time witnesses instinctively frowned at the spectacle—only to smooth their expressions the next moment. No one could stay sour after spotting fully armed soldiers and knights, or the crests emblazoned on their banners and armor.
Yet even a dress rehearsal could not last forever. Around midday the officers directing the welcoming party alongside Alfred ordered an immediate stand-down. People still had to eat, after all.
Karem, who had stood at attention the entire morning with Catherine and Mary, was no exception. Once they reached a quiet corner of a nearly empty warehouse, Mary wasted no time distributing the lunches packed in their baskets.
Today’s meal was empanadas—Spanish-style fried dumplings, or meat pies, generously stuffed with spicy minced beef, cheese, and onion. Naturally the heat level had been calibrated for Catherine, who, by Karem’s standards, was a complete spice lightweight.
Even delicious food grows tiresome if eaten every day. Catherine had begun to tire of the “fresh seafood” she had once celebrated, so Karem had thoughtfully prepared these instead. Thanks to the Gourmet’s Lid sealing the basket—keeping the food hot and delicious for hours—the empanadas emerged as steaming and fragrant as when they first left the oven.
Twice-baked, butter-rich pastry so crisp moisture stood no chance; juicy, richly spiced minced beef; warm cheese that still held its stretchy elasticity—the combination alone was enough to draw a smile from Catherine.
“Haa… After hard labor, greasy meat and cheese. No fool would refuse this. And at this rate I think I’m finally getting used to the heat.”
“By my standards it’s still bland,” Karem muttered, taking a bite. Crunch. Yeah, because it’s tailored for Catherine. Barely any kick at all. To the boy it felt like someone had flash-fried whole chilies and then yanked them out again.
Catherine shot him a look of pure disgust.
“Kid. You’re the one who eats things far too spicy. Seasoning red as blood that no one even dares touch—just thinking about it scares me.”
“All the men at the evening mess hall handle it fine. Especially the knights.”
“That’s nothing more than one extra item on the list of stupid muscle-brains who treat binge-drinking and binge-eating as badges of manly strength.”
Says the woman who’s clearly adapting to spice herself… Despite her firm words, Catherine was gradually building tolerance. The culprit was none other than Karem’s quiet scheming. Every other day he had nudged the amount of chili up by the tiniest fraction; by now it was double what she had first eaten back in Coldon. To Karem the change was still microscopic, yet he had decided to abandon impatience. This was all build-up for the eventual introduction of kimchi, after all. Slow and steady would win the race. Slow and steady.
“Still… isn’t there any sauce?”
“I figured you’d ask, so I prepared some.”
He held out a mayonnaise-based sauce whose heat he had carefully dialed down—the same dipping sauce that accompanied the chili-baked chicken of his previous life, which Jigmeser had finally managed to recreate… or rather, invent.
“This is Goblin Sauce, made by Chef Jigmeser.”
“Goblin? What an appetite-killing name to drop out of nowhere.”
“He said the lingering umami was as tenacious as a goblin’s life force, so he named it that.”
Catherine eyed the sauce with open suspicion. Goblin Sauce—really? Yet one taste of the empanada Mary had already dipped for her banished the thought. The pale color had made her expect plain mayonnaise, but this bright, tangy flavor…?
Watching Catherine greedily chase more sauce and more empanada, Karem allowed himself a small smile. Her palate was shifting exactly the way he wanted.
Still… how long is this dress rehearsal going to last?
Of course he already knew the answer: until the Adobis envoy actually arrived. But repeating the exact same motions every morning and afternoon was bound to grow mind-numbing. If only there had been the constant adjustments of formation that the other knights and soldiers performed… All Karem ever did was bow his head on Alfred’s cue. That single action was his entire role until the ceremony ended.
When they called it a “welcoming party,” he had expected something a little more spectacular. He wasn’t hoping for jesters tumbling or musicians playing, but the usual trappings of receiving a distinguished guest—scattered flower petals, cheers rolling in surround-sound—were completely absent. Only the mechanical postures and formation changes of knights and soldiers according to protocol, followed by formal greetings. That was truly all.
This morning alone Karem had already bowed toward the sea dozens of times, and he would do the same again in the afternoon. He had been repeating the whole farce for days. The eleven-year-old body that was once ten still carried a wild instinct that could not endure such monotony; every time he had to suppress the urge to bolt, his whole body itched with restless energy.
When Karem grumbled, Catherine—who had just snapped the long cheese string stretching from Mary’s half-eaten empanada—scolded him.
“You can’t even stand still and offer a polite greeting? What are you, a child?”
“I am a child. An eleven-year-old baby.”
“How childish—wait. You really are a child, aren’t you?”
Come to think of it, she was right. His behavior was so adult-like that she had forgotten, but by every measure this little guy was still a kid. Of course, counting only his current life’s age, the statement was perfectly accurate. Realizing a fact she had long grown used to overlooking, Catherine regarded the boy with fresh eyes.
Feeling that now-familiar gaze, Karem stared out at the vast sea visible between the warehouses. Every landscape was new to him, yet the sea itself looked no different from the somewhat rougher waters he had known in his previous life as Garam. The harbor waters were just as busy as the docks. After all, the crowds thronging the piers had all come off ships that were now departing again, and more ships kept arriving one after another—
“Huh? Something looks different.”
“Junior, what is it all of a sudden?”
Without a word Karem pointed toward the horizon. At first the vessels looked no different from the ones that routinely plied Obsidianberry’s waters—two or three sailing together. But as the diagonal line of ships, no, an entire fleet, drew closer, the differences became unmistakable.
First was the shape. The hulls looked as if someone had stretched the ordinary ships Karem knew, lengthening them fore and aft. On both sides of the bow that met the water, black-and-white eyes had been painted. And none of the ships, large or small, carried the usual figurehead. Instead, a U-shaped structure laid on its side faced forward, as if ready to slice through the waves.
“Is that thing taking the place of a figurehead?”
“Ha. Good news, kid.”
Catherine stuffed the last half-empanada Mary offered her into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
“No more practice. Only the real thing left.”
“What? Then those ships—”
“They are the envoys who have come all this way from the Adobis New Kingdom. Mary, just in case, inform the lord as well.”
“Yes, Contractor.”
Catherine need not have worried. By the time Karem followed her back to the harbor, the earlier throngs had somehow been cleared away. Only those assigned to welcome the envoy remained, already aligning themselves into neat ranks.
As the Adobis fleet swung from its diagonal approach to a direct heading, even the grumblers snapped to attention and began whispering among themselves in low voices.
“The ship designs are definitely different.”
“Look at the sails first.”
Most vessels that frequented the harbor flew white, striped, or checkered sails. The Adobis envoy, however, flew identical white sails, each bearing the exact same crest as if to proclaim they were one fleet: an inverted triangle enclosing an eye that radiated a halo. It was the emblem that had symbolized the Adobis New Kingdom—and its divine king—for generations.
“The royal crest? Does that mean this is the Divine King’s personal fleet?”
“Not far from the truth. The treasurer manages only the king’s private wealth, so of course the Divine King’s own fleet would escort her.”
“Whoa.”
Karem let out a small sound of admiration at the unexpectedly grand scale. One by one the exotic ships began docking at the piers. Even the quiet mutterers fell silent the moment knights barked low warnings and delivered discreet cuffs to enforce order.
By then even Karem’s young eyes could make out the figures bustling about on the Adobis decks. Though every one of them was bundled thickly against the cold, their origins could not be hidden. Copper skin that even Iceland’s gray sky could not dull. Long, sharply pointed ears sweeping backward. Strikingly handsome features that could only be called beautiful.
Dark elves?
Not everyone was a dark elf, of course—the ratio was roughly four dark elves to six other races. Still, every last one of them wore attire that reeked of the Middle East or Egypt. Coming from a desert kingdom hot enough to scorch, most of them (save those who clearly hailed from other regions) were dressed in layers that even Icelanders would only wear in the dead of winter.
The first ship to moor lowered its gangway. Soldiers and warriors escorted a cluster of people down it. Without a single misstep the soldiers, and the warriors clad head-to-toe in Egyptian-style full plate that left not even eye slits visible, fanned out in perfect formation opposite the welcoming party. Then the servants and maids in clothes dripping with jewels and gold ornaments stepped aside—yet the long-awaited envoy was still nowhere to be seen.
Huh?
Karem blinked in confusion. Then a voice rose from somewhere far below his eye level, and he looked down.
“The air is heavy, the weather clammy, and the sun’s grace is nowhere to be found—Europa’s backwater remains as barren a place as ever.”
Ah. She was simply short. Even the gloomy weather could not hide the face of a dark-elf girl whose proportions were as perfect as a copper statue lovingly sculpted by a master artisan; a sneer curled across those beautiful features.
That voice is somehow infuriating…
After surveying the surroundings, the dark-elf girl approached Alfred, placed a hand over her heart, and inclined her head slightly.
“May the sun and moonlight always shine upon you, Lord Alfred. Even so, Iceland’s modest circumstances cannot be hidden; I declined several times already, saying there was no need to go to such lengths with your limited means.”
“Ahem. Glad you made it safely through another winter, Nepaneck. Which is why we minimized the welcome ceremony—so endure this much.”
For the briefest instant Karem clearly saw a vein bulge on Alfred’s forehead. Nepaneck noticed it too; she smiled brightly and gave a helpless little shake of her head.
Something about her feels familiar… specifically the type that loves getting under people’s skin—
But the welcoming ceremony began in earnest, so Karem shelved the thought.
Attached Materials
— Empanada —
This is a picture drawn by ChatGPT.