"How do you do that?" Edmund asked from behind just as we reached the end of the corridor and approached the stairs to the main deck.
"What do you mean?" I turned to him. He was holding the lantern that had been tucked away in our cabin, hidden under the table. It gave off a sickly orange glow, but brighter still than his little flame spell.
Edmund had that nervous smirk again. "How can you walk so steady? I've been watching you, and it's like your body automatically tilts and leans with every ebb."
As if to prove his point, the ship tilted. He was gently pushed against the wall, never breaking eye contact with me. I, on the other hand, stayed planted where I was, my body steadying itself like the head of a chicken in motion.
Edmund's wide-eyed stare demanded an explanation.
This was still the work of my trait [Balance Compensation], though I hadn't realized how obvious its effect was. It must be the reason I could walk the wavy sea itself like steady ground. But as I'd already learned in the forest, it wouldn't stop me from tripping or falling.
"And how can you see in the dark? It's pitch black here, and I should be the one walking ahead with the lantern. But you just marched on with confidence," he added, before I could answer his first question.
"Very observant, Master Edmund," I turned toward the stairs. "If only your mind was as sharp as your senses."
"You barely know me and already underestimate my intelligence. You prove my theory. You're one of those high-lords who thinks he's better than anyone beneath his station."
"I don't know what you mean, Master Edmund. I'm a baronet's son. The fact you keep forgetting that makes it hard for me to respect your mental faculties."
The starry night sky peered through the hatch. The cold, salty breeze hit me as I stepped onto the deck. Till then, I thought it was still late afternoon. [Low-light Vision] made it hard to tell dim from dark — a minor side effect.
It seemed everyone had gotten past their seasickness. The main deck buzzed with noise and activity, especially around the hatch to the cargo hold. Like us, most had probably slept through lunch and were starving for dinner.
We joined the file leading down. I was surprised there was no separate line for nobles and commoners. But that didn't mean hierarchy wasn't enforced. Nobles cut freely, and commoners could only swallow their protests.
We slipped in around the middle, right at the divide. The man behind us grumbled but immediately looked away when Edmund gave him a cold glare.
I suppose it was unfair. They'd been here first, probably lining up much earlier. But then again, they couldn't expect their betters to humble themselves. That would be… unnatural.
Edmund's tough act didn't last long.
"I think… I'm going to vomit again," he muttered suddenly. I glanced back to see him clutching his chest and breathing hard.
"Just look somewhere steady," I said, remembering advice from my first carriage rides. "The horizon… or the night sky."
Since the horizon wasn't visible, he tilted his head up.
"Not… working…"
I shook my head. Looked like I'd have to watch him pollute the sea again. Poor turtles and fishes.
Someone strutted confidently up and cut right in front of me. I didn't protest. He looked the part of high society: colorful cloak, feathered hat, and reeking of too much perfume. I guessed he was some wealthy young knight. I guessed wrong.
"Oi—why are you cutting in line?" Edmund snapped, seasickness gone in seconds.
The man turned, gave me a glance, then fixed his eyes on Edmund. He looked amused. "And? Weren't you doing the same?"
I didn't know why Edmund was so flustered. He stammered before blurting out, "Well, you're cutting off gentlemen, sir!"
"Master Edmund… last I checked, you were the trouble-making, ill-reputed fourth son of a landless knight," the man smirked, teeth tight. "That's barely a gentleman… many would agree."
Maybe Elena was right. Being around Edmund wasn't in my best interest. The loudmouth, witless braggart drew trouble like a lure. First the baron's daughter, now this fashionable fool.
Edmund huffed. "And you're a bastard and a half-blood… quite the lowly combination, isn't it?"
"Do you know who my father is?" the man glowered, and I wouldn't have been surprised if beams of light shot from his eyes.
"The viscount regrets your existence. That's why you're here on this ship, isn't it? Did he send you away, sir?" Edmund continued.
Wrong choice of words.
The viscount's bastard stepped close enough that I could feel his breath as he muttered a chant. His eyes glowed. Not all bastards awakened magic, but this one clearly had.
I looked down at his hands. A rock-like substance coated his fists — an earth mage, and one with a proper spell.
He swung his right fist, the punch whistling inches from my cheek. I wasn't even sure if it grazed me. Then he swung again with his left. The angle was wrong and I saw it early, but I couldn't move — Edmund was holding me in place, using me as a shield.
I should've been scared. That would've been normal, with a rock speeding toward my face. But I only noted it, without much fear. I wondered if I even looked surprised.
The fist hit, but it felt like it was wrapped in feathers. And somehow, I think I'd already expected it to be soft.
The rock crumbled on impact, chunks clattering to the planks, leaving only bare flesh to finish the swing.
"I would advise both of you to stop, before this escalates further," I said. I'd meant it polite, but it came out cold and sharp.
The viscount's bastard swallowed hard, broke eye contact, and removed his hat with a trembling hand.
"I… I didn't mean to hit you, sir," he stammered.
He looked ridiculous, like a kicked puppy bowing to someone years younger.
"Hah!" Edmund barked. "You're dead meat! You've hit—"
"Please, Master Edmund… I'd appreciate it if you shut up for once," I cut him off, harsher than intended, though still speaking soft under my rising frustration.
At once, the two fell silent. The bastard cast me a fearful glance, then turned his back.