Raise the Anchor! (1)
“Let’s call off that paid rental of the weapons from Moribwe.”
I had no idea what magical principle was at play, but Lady Moribwe said it while wearing her mask and devouring a roast wild boar.
“Lady, did I perhaps make some mistake…?”
“I’ll just give them to you.”
“Pardon?”
While Seolhwa doubted his ears, the attendant neatly divided the lobster into eight pieces and portioned them into bowls. The hands dismantling the lobster legs with such ease suggested this wasn’t his first time. Lady Moribwe continued smiling brightly all the while.
What’s her angle? She could squeeze 300,000 gold out of this, but she’s just handing it over?
No merchant stays in business by taking losses. And no noble performs selfless acts of kindness. In the cutthroat world of power where it’s kill or be killed, unmotivated charity is nothing short of suicidal self-harm. Especially from an elector count who wasn’t your average noble.
If I bite off more than I can chew here, it’ll give me indigestion for sure.
“Your expression is quite different from when you were swinging that axe so boldly, isn’t it, Baron Seolhwa?”
“If I swung it that freely now, I wouldn’t know what I might chop down.”
Lady Moribwe swirled her blood-red wine, deep as crimson.
“Does that mean you’re wary of me now?”
The attendants lined up at the back of the dining room fixed their gazes on the back of Seolhwa’s head. The chill ran down his spine as he recalled how unflinchingly he’d brushed off becoming a pincushion of arrows.
“Rather than wariness, think of it as tapping a stone bridge for the sake of a long-term relationship?”
“Hm… Magical progress can’t happen without leaps of trust, after all.”
“I’m no great archmage like you, Lady Moribwe.”
“They say even a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step?”
“And I’m not a complete magic novice, either.”
The verbal sparring was as sharp as the ornate silver knife on the table. The rare delicacies from land and sea—hard to find even in major cities—lay before them, but Seolhwa couldn’t bring himself to reach for any.
The moment he lifted his wine glass to moisten his parched lips, dry as cracked fields from famine.
“Ahahaha!”
“……?”
What could be so amusing? Her clear, refreshing laughter cut through the silence, and even through the pure white mask, he could feel her genuine mirth. It wasn’t arrogance or mockery, but pure delight—tinged with a hint of admiration for her counterpart.
“You’re too talented to remain a mere baron, really. Have you truly no interest in becoming a vassal of Moribwe? You’re not the type to turn down a woman like me twice.”
Whatever had shifted in her mood, Seolhwa had no reason to refuse.
“The more titles tacked onto my name, the more tangled my interests become. I’m content as is.”
“Heavens, rejected by the same man not once, but twice?”
Hiss! A cat suddenly leaped from the shadows, baring its fangs at Seolhwa. Somehow finding it cute, he couldn’t help but smile.
“Consider it an investment.”
“I don’t recall saying what I’d do with those weapons yet.”
“A leap of trust.”
Moribwe—the empire’s unrivaled domain in magic. Its hereditary secret art of puppetry had reached its zenith in Lady Moribwe’s generation, or so the tales went. Seolhwa had only heard rumors at the Academy; even he was witnessing its prowess for the first time. She was the closest living soul to the pinnacle of pure magical scholarship on the continent.
Lady Moribwe continued.
“The greater the risk…”
“The greater the reward.”
“Though greed must be kept in check. Lending out the emperor’s weapons to me? That’s an adventure I can afford.”
While Seolhwa focused on the conversation, the food before Lady Moribwe vanished entirely. As a dinner guest, it would be rude to eat less than the host, so he rolled up his sleeves.
And what mother wouldn’t back her son when he sets out to make something of himself?
Lady Moribwe cast an affectionate gaze from behind her mask, but Seolhwa seemed oblivious.
“If it still bothers you… how about putting it on credit?”
“You mean a tab, Lady?”
“Exactly. Honestly, even without the 300,000 gold, there’s nothing a mere Baron Seolhwa could offer that I’d need right now.”
It sounded cold, but it was true. Hiding his fallen noble status, Seolhwa’s current titles were just baron and Utopia’s deputy warden. He had Ilka Pavola’s 30 million gold loan and 270 million in promissory notes, but Moribwe didn’t seem desperate for cash.
“On those terms, I gladly accept Lady Moribwe’s proposal.”
“There’s the straightforward man who swung that axe earlier. Shall we toast to seal our contract?”
“An honor. To Lady Moribwe.”
“To our Baron Seolhwa.”
Our? The phrasing before his name felt a touch off, but he chalked it up to the wine.
Clink! To Seolhwa—with 300 million gold, mercenaries, war mages, and now armaments to boot—it was the sweetest sound.
* * *
The next day.
Expensive liquor lives up to the hype.
Seolhwa rose from bed feeling no hangover, just lightness throughout his body.
“Awake, Baron Seolhwa?”
“Whoa! You startled me. Ah, yes. What brings you here?”
He had no idea how long she’d been standing there like a statue, but a masked attendant loomed at the foot of the bed opposite him.
“Lady Moribwe has prior engagements with other guests today.”
“I see.”
“Thus, she asked me to convey her regrets for not seeing you off personally.”
The attendant handed him what appeared to be fine parchment.
“And that for any preparations needed to transport the weapons listed there, simply tell me.”
It detailed quantities, conditions, intake dates, and more for swords, spears, longbows, crossbows, and so on.
Mages and their meticulousness.
With this level of detail, he could skip personally verifying counts before departure. No clue how they’d drawn out the bloodstains in a day, though.
After changing into freshly laundered clothes, the attendant spoke.
“What will it be, Baron Seolhwa? Lady Moribwe said she’d provide a carriage if needed.”
Do I really impress her that much? Guess I do have that feral charm when I’m swinging an axe…
But he couldn’t use Moribwe’s carriage. To evade Sachsen’s road guards, another way was needed.
“Lady Moribwe said to ask for anything required for the weapons’ transport, correct?”
“Yes, but… what do you desire?”
Sensing something ominous in Seolhwa’s tone, the attendant trailed off.
“Then, may I use Moribwe’s crystal communicator?”
Crystal communication was prohibitively expensive—feasible only for major cities or merchant guild branches. But if Seolhwa’s hunch was right, these masked attendants were all puppets.
Lady Moribwe’s too busy to teach her puppets continental economics.
A greedy, impudent notion oozed from him. As Seolhwa eyed the attendant expectantly, she replied.
“Of course. The crystal communicator is in the conference hall. Follow me.”
Jackpot.
* * *
A harbor of gray brick walls thick with moss. Near the rotting wooden piers, sailors and merchants hustled to load cargo.
“Move it, you maggoty bastards! Or I’ll drink every drop of rum here myself!”
Among the burly seamen, one man stood out as colossal. Francis Fraia soaked his steel-wool black beard in rum—whether drinking or pouring it in was unclear—as he bellowed at his crew.
“Too long on land, and you’re slow as sloths! After dumping these land beasts, we’ll do guerrilla drills in the Split Archipelago. Urp!”
He seemed thoroughly drunk despite the midday sun.
“Captain, how about pitching in instead of just yelling?”
“Right! These stinking beasts are picky and won’t follow!”
“That’s why I said forget the emperor’s request and head back to the Split Archipelago.”
Even in the mild early summer breeze, herding beasts onto ships was grueling labor. Sweat beaded on the sailors’ chins amid their gripes.
“You lot!”
Neighhh!
His lion’s roar hit like thunder from a clear sky.
“Think just ‘cause I’m on land I’m one of you? And duke! How many times must I say it, you idiots? On land, I’m not captain—I’m duke!”
Saying so, the bearish Francis lumbered toward the beasts awaiting loading, waddling in a zigzag.
“This one?”
“Yessir, Du… Duke. A few men already got kicked off their feet.”
Most warhorses were well-trained and boarded without fuss, but a few stubborn ones refused outright. Francis seized the reins of what seemed their black leader.
“C-careful, sir!”
“That one’s got a temper like a runaway wife!”
“It broke Johnny’s front teeth!”
“This land beast…!”
They exchanged fierce glares like an invisible standoff, then it reared first.
Neighhh!
“Hya!”
With agility belying his bulk, Francis mounted the black steed.
Neiiighhh!
It bucked wildly, as if unable to believe a drunken bear was atop it—but briefly. Whether from Francis’s weight or exhaustion, it soon gave up resisting.
“Captain…!?”
“Ooooh!”
“I didn’t believe it, Captain!”
With their leader submitting, the rest boarded meekly. Watching smugly, Francis heard from a subordinate.
“That was the last one—the emperor’s land beasts are all loaded, Captain!”
“Duke! Ugh, whatever! All loaded? Raise the anchor! We’re shoving off!”
Toot!
The departure horn echoed between the ships. With fair winds, warm sun, and calm waves, it was perfect sailing weather. Thinking of the madman buying these troublesome beasts pulled a grin from him.
Whoosh!
The sails billowed so crisply it invigorated onlookers. Gulls cried as if celebrating escape from this dreary land.
“So, Captain… where we headed?”
“You idiots! Obviously…! Uh… huh?”
The madman from the Round Table who’d buy land beasts for cash. Some Seolhwa fellow. Francis’s rum-soaked brain suddenly recalled: no rendezvous point set.