Still Won't Eat? (4)
That place was Daham, the grand port in the southern continent. As the capital of the Jahela Principality and the continent's largest trading harbor, every sailor could be said to pass through Daham at least once in their lifetime. The docks, divided into neat grids as if measured with a ruler, were packed tight with ships of all sizes. Goods were being unloaded onto the piers and loaded back aboard in the opposite direction. Through the Welcome Mirror, the fishy stench unique to port cities, the cries of seagulls, and the rough curses of sailors came alive in vivid detail.
Daham, huh... It's been ages since I've seen this familiar sight...
"You're not thinking of looking for a ship heading out to the Southern Ocean, are you?"
"Yeah. There has to be at least one. I'll open a dimensional gate right to Daham, so we can hitch a ride from there."
"Not a bad idea. Assuming there's a lunatic captain crazy enough to sail all the way to those waters the lizardmen mentioned."
"We'll find out. The world's a big place, full of crazy bastards."
For some reason, Mideronde stared at me intently as she said it.
"What? You think I'm that lunatic?"
"I never said that."
"Your eyes are screaming it."
"That's probably because you're thinking it about yourself."
Mideronde let out a low chuckle, and I snorted in disbelief.
"Heh, whatever. Still, checking out Daham like you said doesn't sound half bad."
"Talk to Francois. It'll be best for everyone if she can focus on cooking again. Hurry up and sort this out."
I parted ways with Mideronde and headed back to the inn. Since Francois hadn't returned yet, I made my way to the temple. The path into the city was brutally cold. With mountains on both sides and a river running right through, the wind cut like a knife. Maybe it'd be less frigid if snow would just dump already. A blanket of heavy flakes would feel warmer than this bone-dry gale.
As I kept walking, I spotted patrol guards up ahead. They were bundled up in thick coats, fur hats, and gloves. I nodded a greeting and tried to pass, but one called out cheerfully.
"Boss!"
Turning around, I saw a pale face beaming under a fur hat that covered her ears.
"Sergeant Illian? Couldn't recognize you all wrapped up like that."
"Where you headed?"
"Our head chef's at the temple getting treated. Going to fetch her."
"Oh, really? We're heading that way too. Mind if we tag along?"
"Sure, why not."
And so I crossed the city with Sergeant Illian and three other guards.
"How's the mood in the guard corps these days?"
"Same as always. Train, work out, train, work out."
"Captain's running you ragged, huh."
Illian gave an awkward smile.
"It's gotten a lot better lately, though. When you first got here, it was brutal just adapting."
"I see. Still on hold for transfers and promotions?"
"Yeah. Everything's locked down. Captain mentioned issues popping up in the Lucia region, but no details."
Those "issues" are probably my handiwork. But Lambert left something out.
The military lockdown stemmed mainly from the noble council and territories, not Bacomol. Lucia was always a mess, and frontline command would handle it. Unless full-scale war broke out, no need to ramp up defenses even here in central Rosens. But mentioning potential fights with neighboring territories was hyper-sensitive. No matter the clampdown, rumors would spread citywide. Plenty already knew about the palace-noble tensions, but words from the guard captain—city security chief—carried real weight. So Lambert probably stuck to the universally hated Bacomol.
Anyway, it's a mess...
"Must suck with leave restricted too—no going home. How long since you've seen family?"
"About two years... I guess."
"Two years? You haven't been back since enlisting?"
"Probably not..."
"Bet you miss home. Seeing your parents' faces."
But Illian just gave a bitter smile, saying nothing.
What...? Don't tell me she's an orphan and I just stuck my foot in it...
From memory, her folks ran a restaurant somewhere. Must be some reason she can't talk about it.
We chatted idly as we passed through town to the temple. Mostly guard routine stuff, but I picked up a few things. Lambert wasn't your average nutjob. I knew he was a dedicated soldier, but damn, drilling his men this hard? When Lurtjog showed up last time, the whole guard chased his tail without hesitation—made sense now.
"Lurtjog wasn't some ordinary dragon. Must've been terrifying."
"Looking back, yeah. But back then, my body just moved on the captain's orders. No time to feel fear."
Lambert's method conditioned instant obedience to commands, no matter the situation. Seemed brutal and dumb at first glance, but with a sharp, capable leader, it could double combat effectiveness. Only worked because it was Lambert.
"Heard you do ice swims when the Buren River freezes... Already dreading it."
"Don't worry too much. Once you're in, it's not so bad. Just brace when he douses your upper body—that's hell."
"Knew he'd pull something like that..."
The temple came into view ahead, along with the new inn under construction beside it. Foundation seemed done; they were starting to raise floors. Winter slowed things—probably finishing mid-spring next year. Scale screamed not a solo project. Inn or hotel...? Forgot to ask Hildeva.
Inside the temple, a few citizens milled about besides me. Some prayed, others volunteered cleaning with the young nuns, and some sought holy healing from Celereja. Spotting her in a side area, seated and fiddling with Francois's hands.
Up close, treatment was done—Francois's hands looked perfect.
"Hello, Saintess."
"Oh?! Bertrand? What brings you here...?"
"Checking if our head chef's hands are fixed. Most important hands in the inn."
Celereja proudly showed off Francois's hands.
"Healed without a scar."
"Thanks. Means dinner tonight won't be skipped."
Lame joke, but Celereja laughed like it was the funniest thing. Francois stayed grim, no smile.
"We'll get out of your hair, Saintess."
"Leaving already...? Stay a bit longer..."
"Line's backing up."
I nodded at citizens waiting on pews; Celereja pouted.
"Come visit later, okay?"
"Will do. Let's go, Francois."
We bid farewell to Celereja and the nuns, exiting the temple.
Francois stayed silent crossing town. Only spoke as the inn came into sight.
"Um... Bertrand..."
"Francois, actually."
We both started at once, then clammed up.
"You first... Bertrand."
"Yeah. Gonna hunt some of that Moonlight Cod. Figured it's bumming you out."
"Oh... Really? But the lizardmen guests said it's super rare..."
"Means sailing the Southern Ocean. Looking for a ship from Daham in Jahela."
"You can do that?"
"Gotta try. Bound to be one—Daham's where nearly every kingdom's ships dock sometime."
Francois suddenly grabbed my hand.
"Take me too, Bertrand."
"Huh?"
"What I was about to say. Wanted to ask if I could step away a few days if you got the cod. But since you're going... take me."
"Who's cooking then?"
"Asked Pelle to cover if I'm gone. I know I'm not the owner—can't just decide. But that Moonlight Cod... you're risking danger for me. So let me come. Please."
First time she'd begged so earnestly. Inner conflict hit hard. Noble-born, she hid fierce pride. Her reaction to the lizardmen proved it. Shoving her in the kitchen while I solo-hunted cod—would she even be satisfied? Might guilt-trip herself over sending me into peril over "pride."
Hmm... Pelle can cook anyway. Unify the menu for a few days, half-elves handle serving—no sweat for Idi solo...
"Alright, Francois. We'll go together. But brace for hell. Way worse than the lord's castle collapse."
She only heard "together," grinning and hugging me tight, thanking me over and over—missing the rest.
No point dragging it out—we headed to Daham immediately. Explained to staff, tasked Pelle with kitchen. Back when it was just Della and Idi, leaving was a nightmare. Now with more hands, less worry.
Packed spare clothes and coin, warped to the Monster Garden. Mideronde grumbled at Francois tagging along but told us to wait, fetching a small bundle from her lab. "Use this if you catch Moonlight Cod." Inside: a rolled parchment.
Dimensional gate to Daham opened. Francois and I stepped through.
No sooner had we set foot in Daham than a brawling mob of furious sailors greeted us.