"This beer," said Captain Gunne as he took a large gulp from the wooden tankard, then slammed it onto the table. "Not bad at all."
Niiro watched him while taking another bite of the pulled, freshly roasted pork and the freshly baked bread that cracked with a crisp sound every time he broke it. On his plate there was also some kind of mushroom sauce, salty-sweet, creamy and pale white, with a sprig of thyme that gave it a distinct flavor.
"I'm not really a fan of beer, honestly," he replied with full cheeks.
"That's why you're such a cunt," Iris didn't miss her chance to throw an insult. She herself had barely finished half her tankard, while Captain Gunne was already on his second.
The tavern wasn't particularly big, but it was crowded. Around twenty people filled the smaller and larger tables of worn wood, soaked with alcohol fumes, the dark shine they once had long lost. Some people used the tables to lie on or lean against, but most used them to drink and eat.
The tavern walls were made of sturdy black planks, though their age showed—here and there a nail stuck out, bent or hammered in poorly.
The floorboards were all there, but definitely not level—bad news for the drunk.
The walls were decorated with various hunting trophies, like the horn of a great short-haired elk or the fur of a long-tailed river badger. The owner was a well-known hunter in this small village, though he mostly stayed in the kitchen or out hunting, while his wife stood behind the dark, sticky, scratched-up bar, constantly wiping it clean from all sorts of spilled liquids.
Once, in this very tavern, Short-Eared Miki and some farmer from the neighboring village made a bet on how many cloth rags she'd go through in a single day. By the end of the day both had gotten so drunk that they themselves were responsible for ruining at least four rags—and after that they didn't even bother counting.
A lack of customers was a phrase entirely unknown to that bar.
But the atmosphere was always good, cheerful, and loud, and no one could complain about the smell coming from the kitchen.
For a small village at the edge of Tolan, it was more than decent, Niiro thought.
"Bloody pirates!"
A loud shout burst from the door as it creaked—someone shoved it so hard the hinges nearly fell off.
"One more push like that and the whole thing will fall apart," the tavern-keeper thought while grabbing two tankards.
Two men entered, and the first didn't even sit down before cursing:
"Fuck them, they took everything from us."
Both were dusty, wearing nothing but leather trousers—which were more than filthy—and what were probably once white shirts, though under all the grime no one could tell their true color anymore.
They dragged two chairs over and sat at the bar, where full foaming tankards already waited for them. Everyone stared with barely concealed impatience, waiting to hear what had happened, but the two men first drained their beer entirely.
"Two more," yelled the shorter one with his now wet yet still cracked lips. The tavern-keeper refilled their tankards.
"I hope they didn't take everything from you," she said, hinting at whether they'd be able to pay for what they drank.
Both shot her a grim look.
"I'll pay for their beer," Niall shouted, raising his hand with two silver coins between his fingers. "And I'll pay for a little extra if these gentlemen continue their story at this table."
The two men stood up, confused for a moment, but the shine of silver quickly erased any doubts in their minds.
They squeezed themselves next to Niiro, pushing him toward the other end of the bench. Across from them sat Niall and Iris, each with a tankard in hand.
Once the atmosphere settled, the other tavern patrons returned to their food and drinks.
"Well then," the captain said, tossing three silver coins on the table in front of them. "Talk."
One of the coins spun in place, making a tight pirouette, until the taller man grabbed and bit it. The cold metal hurt his sensitive teeth—he had seen merchants do it, so he wanted to try as well.
"Pirates," the shorter one began.
"They attacked us and took everything."
We already knew that—that's what was written in Niiro's tired eyes as he leaned on his right elbow.
"But these aren't pirates. These are scum, lowlifes, the biggest pieces of shit," he continued. "And don't get me started on their ship."
"Start," Niall insisted.
"It was huge, bigger than any merchant ship. Even the Luganorian 'Kogs' are smaller. And their sails—dark as night. You can't even see them when they approach. No markings at all. Just black sails blending into the darkness as they choose their next prey."
He took a gulp after each sentence, steadying himself as the memories surfaced. Both men were visibly shaken retelling the events.
Iris seemed interested,trying to find a flaw within their story telling,but unable to do so. Looking at their trembling hands,that must be true she thought.
The beer was helping them calm down.
"But their crew…" the taller one added. "Especially their captain. He's like a demon. He sliced our men open like tomatoes, without even blinking. His blade was curved and fast… I still get sick thinking of it."
The three mercenaries now leaned in, listening intently.
"And where exactly do these pirates roam?" Gunne asked, finishing the last drops of his beer.
"They've been attacking the navies of Tolan and Kaharu the most. First they started with merchants, but nothing big. I guess they got bored, because in the last few weeks they've been sinking imperial and royal warships sent after them."
Gunne had only one question left running through his mind:
"If this captain is such a demon, then why didn't he kill you?"
The two men exchanged a glance and finished their beers. Then the taller one spoke, staring into the bottom of his tankard:
"Who else would be left to tell the story?"
Silence fell over the table.
A window next to them rattled from a stronger gust of wind. Iris shivered, and Niiro thought only one thing as he looked through the dirty,smudgy glass at the sky of the same color:
A storm is coming.
Raindrops had already started falling on the docks of Nagisamachi. Large and small ships were lined up, rocking in the strong, wave-lifting winds striking their hulls.
A 'Sekibune' awaited anchored, ready to depart.
Its robust sides—solid planks of dark wood reinforced with iron rivets.
A slightly raised bow with a wooden barrier where the archers stood.
One tall mast, with a lone square sail fluttering, everything held by durable hemp ropes and thick, solid knots.
The smell of salt and fresh wind hit the crew as they loaded luggage and tightened the final ropes.
Seagulls screeched, never missing their chance.
Across the wet dock walked her—Vice Admiral Sana Asukai.
Her black cloak with red edges and silver embroidery on the shoulders swayed with each step.
A black tunic with a red eight legged sun stitched at the center, above a fitted mail shirt.
Black trousers matching her hardened leather boots.
Each footstep clicked against the now-wet planks that creaked under the weight of rain.
Her black hair was braided into a long braid falling to her lower back.
As she boarded using the gangplank, an older man—somewhere in his forties, taller than her, dressed in a similar uniform but with a single silver embroidery on his shoulder—approached.
"Fucking pirates," he spat. "Can't remember the last time they gave us this much trouble."
"It doesn't matter," Sana replied. "The sooner we deal with them, the sooner we get praised. And maybe they'll finally promote me to Admiral."
They walked across the wet deck as the navy soldiers finished boarding. Archers and sailors prepared for departure; the ship could take around fifty men plus cargo.
"I'm sure you'll become an admiral soon," the older man said, drinking from a wooden flask.
"So what are they waiting for?" she answered while climbing the steps toward the helm. "I became the youngest vice admiral—nobody here can match me."
He stared at her tiredly. He'd heard this story too many times. Everyone knew she became vice admiral at twenty-nine. Two years ago, after she wiped out that pirate group even the best couldn't handle, the emperor promoted her.
Everyone also knew she was the top student of Admiral Ariyori—that mattered a lot.
"They say he might get promoted soon too," he teased, but she remained cold, like the wind hitting the sails.
"Tch." She clicked her tongue. "Let's leave before the weather gets worse."
"Alright, alright," the veteran shouted. "Time to silence that captain and restore honor to our imperial navy!"
"Aye, aye, captain!" the crew yelled.
The sun was setting, though not visible behind the thick clouds. The sky dimmed—muddy, dirty, gray.
"We're nearing the customs point," Hugo said, pointing at the map.
All captains had gathered in his cabin.
"Holn Island is small and sits between two larger ones, serving as the customs point for merchants from Luganor and Ganalor."
Kjaran joined in, sliding his finger over the map and tapping the island.
"That's where we officially enter Ganalor. After we pass it, we have a clear route to Kelio port, where we disembark."
The ship rocked, the wind growing stronger.
The plan was clear—now they just had to pass customs.
Nuro stepped outside, followed by Elstan, while the others stayed in the captain's cabin discussing details.
Nuro stretched his arms wide, looking up at the sky.
"Rain's coming soon," Elstan said as he approached.
They walked to the bow where King Jin stood alone, his black cloak fluttering in the wind.
"King Jin," Captain Nualami greeted.
"Looks like we're approaching customs," the king said, pointing at the small island in the distance.
Elstan and Nuro examined it closely, faces serious.
"Time to go below deck," Nuro said with irritation etched on his face—even the thought of the stench horrified him.
They descended into the crew quarters where everyone except Kjaran waited.
Brann leaned against the wall, sweating.
He hasn't even been here ten minutes, Art thought.
Some sat on barrels, some on the floor. Ratko, Gerde, Ervin, and another Ganalorian royal guard member borrowed wooden dice from sailors to distract themselves from the rocking—though the dice rolled with the ship, making the distraction short-lived.
Elstan handed Brann a bucket, which he grabbed with both hands, while Desimir found a small hole in the planks where fresh air came through. He stood by it, inhaling gratefully, occasionally glancing at the agitated waves outside.
"Looks like we'll hit a storm once we cross into Ganalor," Elstan said, standing behind him.
The young man leaned on the wall, one eye covered with black wood, the other looking through the opening.
"It's already drizzling, and the waves are growing," Desimir explained.
At that moment Kjaran entered the room and shut the door, while Captain Hugo pulled down a black curtain to hide them as much as possible.
The sun was probably already down—it was dark and murky.
Hugo couldn't even tell if the bright celestial orb had finished lighting the day.
"Actually," he thought, "it finished hours ago when the clouds swallowed it."
They slowly entered the narrow passage between two coasts.
Holn Island was smaller than the other two, but still the same size as the rest around Ganalor.
Its structure was interesting—split clean in half by a channel that ran between two shores.
Perfect for customs.
Wooden houses and docks on both sides, sailors working, and in the center a wooden gate operated only by the main supervisor from his house after receiving approval from the ship inspector.
Stone steps led down to the docks from the stony shore—practically cliffs.
Hugo always admired them no matter how many times he passed here.
Moss covered the rocks, wet and green-blue—pitch black in the dark.
Lanterns and torches lit the passage and docks.
Constant creaking of boards as sailors walked, and the occasional fall on slippery planks coated in moss made them even more dangerous. But even if someone fell it wouldn't take too long to pull them out. The water was not deep between two shores,just enough for ships to go through.
Upon reaching the middle of the island, the wooden ramp was lowered, and with swift work, they stopped the ship, furling the sails and deploying oars to slow it down, paddling backward.
"Captain Hugo," shouted a shorter, stocky man with a beard. He wore a dark blue leather tunic and brown trousers tucked into worn black boots. He had worked at customs for many years and was known for always having a pipe in his mouth, the thick, foul-smelling smoke damaging his teeth.
Hugo stepped down the gangplank, relieved to see the old veteran—not some stranger. This would make things easier, he thought.
As Hugo stepped down, the inspectors climbed up, carrying lanterns and cloaks with hoods.
Hugo subtly scanned their number—five.
"Good to see you, my friend," the old man said with a smile, moving the pipe from his mouth to his left hand. "You don't usually arrive this late. You know it's at least half a day's sail to Kelio from here—and with your ship, even more. And that's if the weather helps you."
He was right—experienced and cautious.
Once a great captain, he had retired to work customs.
"I know, old friend," Hugo answered, glancing around while rain gently drizzled over both of them. "That's why I'd like to get this done as quickly as possible."
He leaned toward him and whispered, and the old man chuckled.
"Don't worry, I already told my boys to finish you quickly. Ah, here they come now."
The inspection didn't take long.
"All clear," said one of the hooded men, handing the old veteran a wet list of the items they found aboard.
Taking another deep pull from his pipe, the old man exhaled smoke over the damp paper and studied it.
"Alright, looks like no irregularities. I see you've got a lot of coal this time. They say it'll be a cold winter," he noted.
"Winters are always cold—be glad you don't live in northern Luganor," Hugo replied, taking the paper and rolling it before stuffing it into his back pocket.
"Good seeing you, my friend," Hugo said and walked back up the gangplank.
"Take care, Captain," the old man warned. "Storm's coming." Then he signaled the officer to raise the ramp, the old mechanism creaked, especially soaked, making lifting harder. Hugo stood on the deck, watching the old man.
"Don't worry," he thought. "When the sea gods weren't on my side…"
The rain hammered the deck, stronger now but still bearable, as Vice-Admiral Asukai and Captain Mizukani stood, their black cloaks flapping and soaking in the rain.
"I have some intel from my spies that might be useful to you," he said, his voice deep and hoarse.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" she snapped sharply. The wind hit the sail, and the 'Sekibune' cut through the waves—fast, built for bad weather and strong gusts.
"One ship left Luganor yesterday. Rumor has it there are important passengers aboard."
"Why should I care about passengers from Luganor?" she interrupted.
"Could I fucking speak freely for once?" he asked calmly, not angrily, practically seeking permission in his coarse voice. They only exchanged a glance.
"They're heading to Ganalor. Most likely to Kelio port."
"Where our pirates usually hunt, is that what you mean?"
"Exactly. But that's not the most important part." She leaned in, eyes dark and intrigued, capable of piercing even the night.
"Remember the stories about the soldier who became the youngest captain in Luganor?"
"Yes," she interjected. "They say he's the best fighter among the kingdoms."
"Exactly," he paused, staring at the dark blue waves foaming white. "He is leading the mission."
A smile broke across her face. "Captain Kjaran Brin. Or, the Black Shadow of the North. Will we finally meet?"
Below deck, it was quiet. Desimir widened the gap in the planks to let in more air, helping everyone breathe. They continued with their tasks until Captain Hugo hadn't entered. And when he did,everyone stood silent.
"I assume we passed customs safely," Kjaran concluded with a smile.
"Ha ha," Hugo chuckled proudly, "without a single problem." Everyone exhaled, knowing that now only reaching Kelio port remained. They knew the harder part awaited there, but for now, they could relax.
"I'm coming to the deck with you," said Kjaran, following Hugo. Brann and Ervin joined, as did Nuro and Art. Fresh air was never lacking, they thought, and the light rain would refresh them further.
"So far, we've passed the harder part. In about half a day, we'll be in Ganalor, so relax," Hugo reassured, standing on the bow with Kjaran, watching the darkness. No stars were visible in the sky. A fog suddenly descended,an unnaturaly thick fog, forcing them to navigate carefully; the rain increased, and the waves grew higher and higher.
"Looks like that broken bottle didn't mean anything after all," Hugo concluded. "Let's go inside before we get soaked." He turned to go down, but Kjaran stopped him, grabbing his shoulder.
The first division captain turned to the right, and in the distance, he saw a light—not very far. Squinting through the fog, it appeared to be about a hundred meters away.
"Impossible," Hugo muttered—and then, through the air, a miniature spear whistled past the fog cutting through, striking him and tearing off his right arm.