On the deck of the pilgrimage ship, a man dressed as a captain leaped down from a rope with effortless grace, landing lightly in front of Ray.
"It's been a long time, Sir Ray."
It was Brant.
Even after so long apart, Brant's personality hadn't changed a bit. His smile carried that same carefree, roguish charm.
"Indeed, it's been a while, Brant." A genuine smile tugged at the corner of Ray's lips.
Just then, an exquisite suitcase suddenly fell from above, landing with a thud on the wooden deck.
The lid sprang open, and out popped a little girl with twin ponytails.
She rushed to Ray, gently tugged at his sleeve, and said in a soft, sweet, yet utterly flat voice, "Brother Ray, long time no see."
"Roccia's here too?"
"Of course." Brant laughed, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "As the first mate of the Fool's Troupe, how could I not bring our reliable little assistant on a rescue mission of this scale?"
Ray bent down and gently ruffled the little girl's hair. "That's amazing."
Roccia tilted her head slightly, subtly stepping back half a pace.
"Don't touch my head," she said softly, as if sharing a secret. "I won't grow tall."
Ray's hand froze midair. He suddenly remembered what this child had once earnestly told him, she wanted to become an elegant, tall big sister like Miss Carlotta.
Though...
that goal was set a bit low.
And sure, the Second Young Miss had elegance, but as for tall...
Well, she needed improvement no, enhancement.
"Big Sister Ciaccona?"
Roccia's gaze drifted past Ray and suddenly stopped on the antlered young woman, softly calling out her name.
Ray looked at Ciaccona in surprise. "You know each other?"
"Mm." Roccia nodded gently, her hair swaying in the sea breeze. "We met a few times before... during tours."
The antlered young woman smiled shyly, her fingertips gently brushing the strings of her instrument.
"Is that so?"
Ray nodded thoughtfully, then turned to face the anxious people on the deck. Their eyes were like startled birds, wavering between hope and fear.
"We can catch up later," he said, his voice as steady as a rock. "The most important thing now is to get everyone to safety."
Brant's smile faded, and his expression turned serious. "Indeed. As soon as we received Miss Carlotta's message, we set sail immediately. But finding a ship on this vast ocean... fortunately, we made it in time."
By now, the crew of the Fool's Troupe had begun throwing ropes to the pilgrimage ship, preparing to set up connecting gangplanks.
"Wh-Who are you people? Pirates? Listen, there's nothing of value on this ship! And besides... this is the Order of the Deep's pilgrimage ship!"
A middle-aged man stood up trembling, looking at these strangers.
Ray's gaze swept past his trembling shoulders to the frightened faces on the deck.
"Pilgrimage ship?" He chuckled softly, almost mockingly. "This is nothing more than the Order of the Deep's path to hell for you."
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are not pirates, nor do we want anything from you. On the contrary—" He paused deliberately, letting each word sink in. "We are here to take you away from this tomb."
"Away?"
The word stirred a commotion among the crowd.
Some eyes flickered with a faint light, but more people lowered their heads in doubt.
A voice came from the corner. "We are atoning... we don't need rescuing."
"Yes, we are completing our own redemption."
Of course, there were dissenting voices.
"Redemption?! What kind of redemption? The Order of the Deep threw us on this ship, gave us no food or drink, left us to drift aimlessly with the wind, without even knowing our destination! How am I supposed to atone? To whom should I atone? And most importantly what crime did we even commit?!"
"To hell with the Order of the Deep!" Another young man kicked a mooring bollard in fury.
"I'll go with you!" More and more people began to stand behind Ray.
After much debate, while most were willing to leave with the Fool's Troupe, a small group of devout believers stubbornly chose to remain on the ship, determined to complete their own redemption.
A pair of sisters held hands tightly, yet found themselves divided on whether to stay or go.
"I have to stay..." the younger sister said, her voice trembling. "If we leave the pilgrimage ship, we can never go back to Ragunna."
The elder sister gripped her shoulder firmly. "Wake up! In all these years, has anyone ever seen a pilgrim return? They've all perished at sea..."
"But Father is still waiting for us!" The younger sister wept. "If we both leave, who will take care of him?"
"Big brother will take care of Father." The elder sister pulled her into an embrace, her voice suddenly soft but resolute. "But we need to live. Only by living can we see them again."
After patient persuasion from the others, the younger sister finally nodded through her sobs, resting her forehead on her sister's shoulder, agreeing to leave with her.
Of course, not all persuasion was met with understanding.
A few figures still stubbornly huddled by the ship's railing, refusing to leave.
"Please, listen to me," Ciaccona hurried over to them, her voice urgent. "The Order of the Deep has planted bombs on this ship. It's going to explode soon. Staying means certain death!"
An elderly man with white hair looked up, his cloudy eyes holding an eerie calm. "Child, if this is the divine will..."
"This is not divine will! If the Sentinel were truly as merciful as the legends say, would he send you to your deaths?"
But the believers only shook their heads slowly and continued their prayers.
Strangers' warnings could not compete with faith rooted deep in their hearts even when that faith was pushing them toward the abyss.
Ray gently pressed Ciaccona's shoulder and shook his head.
Some obsessions were harder to shake than dynamite.
"Brant, what about the bombs?"
Brant said, "I sent a few people who know their way around explosives down below. If nothing goes wrong—"
Before he could finish, chaotic footsteps sounded from below deck.
Several crew members who had been sent to disarm the bombs came scrambling up the stairs, their faces pale as paper, lips trembling uncontrollably.
"Looks like something's going wrong." Brant watched their dazed expressions, the corner of his mouth twitching. "What's the matter? Can't disarm them?"
One of them nodded frantically, his mouth opening and closing but unable to form complete words, only broken syllables escaping through clenched teeth.
"T-Ten more—"
"Ten what?" Brant frowned.
"Nine."
The number struck like an ice pick into everyone's heart.
The deck fell into dead silence, this wasn't a status report, it was a damn countdown!
"Everyone evacuate now!" Brant's roar tore through the heavy air.
Ray had no time to explain. With swift blows, he knocked out the stubborn believers and tossed them onto the nearby troupe ship.
The moment the last one left his hands
Boom!
The entire pilgrimage ship shuddered violently. A sickening tearing sound came from below deck.
Amid flying splinters, the horrified crowd watched as the ship's hull was lifted high by an invisible force yet the expected devastating explosion never came.
That terrifying shockwave seemed to freeze like solidified amber, suspended in midair, surging within a golden light.
The shockwave spread like tangible silk, each ripple clearly visible.
Ray stood before the crowd, a molten gold-like radiance flowing in the depths of his pupils.
"Go. I'll handle this."