Chapter 161: The Maiden Voyage of the Thousand Sunny

Drifting and floating, hazy and ethereal—with a sudden jolt, Victor opened his eyes.

He was back, sitting inside the cave in front of the dream totem. Deep within the young man's eyes lingered a trace of melancholy. Although their time together had been short, a brother was a brother.

And a blood-pumping battle like that would probably never happen again. Even if he were to undergo the dream trial once more, he would not meet Corlean, because the man was no longer fear, but his very own brother.

The five watching druids also noticed Victor regaining consciousness. Malfurion gave him an encouraging nod. "Well done. You had the best qualities of anyone in this trial..."

"Wh-Where is this... Am I still alive? By the way, this place really doesn't look like a lavish feast." Awakening, Arlan Drummond still wore a trace of confusion on his face.

Victor tapped his shoulder. "You'll go up to the heavens to enjoy a grand feast sooner or later, but not today, and certainly not now. Face reality, we're back."

Not long after he spoke, Big-mouthed Ulf and Jeroff woke up one after another.

"Haha! We did it! I knew we would succeed!" Jeroff jumped up in joy.

Ulf clenched his fists and thumped his own chest. "......"

The Dream Druids who had been silently keeping watch the entire time—Elder Malfurion and the four trial assistants—stepped aside, their expressions tolerant and kind. "Congratulations on passing the dream trial and overcoming your inner fears. You may leave now."

Bowing to thank the druids, Victor and the three members of the Drummond family left the unforgettable Dream Cave.

......

A few days later, on the day after the trial squad returned to Kaer Muire, inside Lord Drummond's fortress, Mad Lugos and Victor came face-to-face once again.

"I talked with my son for a long time last night. He's doing very well now. I want to thank you. By passing the dream trial, he clearly resembles a man much more."

"He was always a qualified Skellige to begin with. If you hadn't held such lofty and excessive expectations for him, I doubt he would have rashly challenged the dream trial."

Lugos waved a hand. "Don't lecture me on how to raise my son! It will only make things unpleasant between us, and besides, you're even younger than my boy."

Victor shrugged.

The lord continued, "In any case, bringing you here isn't just about empty words of thanks. Have you seen your new ship yet?"

"Yes, I went to check it at the harbor yesterday after returning. It's indeed crafted quite exquisitely."

"Of course it is. Drummond shipbuilding craftsmanship is second to none, losing to neither an Craite nor Turgach. But that's not the point. I asked Angoulême, and I heard you need a ship to go settling a score in the Black Hand's territory?"

Victor nodded. "That's right. A personal vendetta. An ac... an acquaintance was sold by pirates, and right before dying, he couldn't stop thinking about his childhood sweetheart. So I'm preparing to go to Faroe, find that bastard, deal with him, and free some slaves."

Hearing what Victor said, Mad Lugos let out a loud laugh. "You're planning to go like that? How naive. Do you even know that all human trafficking activities on Faroe are taxed?"

Taxed?! Understanding the meaning behind the lord's words, the young man's expression suddenly turned rather grim.

Seeing Victor's face sour, Mad Lugos laughed even more heartily: "Of course it's not open, and it's never been explicitly stated.

It's just that Faroe is simply too poor. Sometimes the captives plundered back aren't necessarily ransomed, and there's neither the need nor the means to feed so many people, so you understand."

It wasn't hard to comprehend. It meant the pirates served as a black glove, helping to conduct businesses that the lord himself could not openly touch. Hearing this at first sounded a bit difficult to accept, but upon closer reflection, the young man could understand.

Considering their values—where dying in battle was a destination and an honor—one would realize they did not advocate living to a ripe old age because they simply could not sustain that many mouths; if they could feed them all, they wouldn't always need to go out raiding.

And nowadays, in certain parts of the Continent, slave-catching has been explicitly outlawed, but the demand for labor has not disappeared as a result. Thus, pirates exporting labor overseas had become a profitable venture, and the earned money could sustain more able-bodied people, allowing those who stayed behind to live better lives.

"So you're saying my trip there will be in vain, and Hoyle will obstruct me?"

"No, no, no. I'm reminding you not to directly apply the Continent's rules here. Settling personal vendettas is fine, but don't blow things out of proportion or trace them back to the root.

You're a smart man, we've helped each other, and I'm very satisfied with your service, so I'm prepared to do you a small favor."

Lugos picked up a letter from the side and handed it to Victor. "When you get to 'Hovik' and meet Hoyle, hand him this letter. He will provide you with assistance, allowing you to find the pirates you're looking for in the shortest time possible."

"According to what you said, aren't those pirates Hoyle's subordinates? Can a single letter from you make him sacrifice these people?"

"Normally, they have to be cleared out once every so often. How can a lord not crack down on pirates to protect the safety of his people?

Hey! Don't look at me with that gaze. I haven't done such things myself, but I'm sure he doesn't feel good about having to do it either."

"Sounds like you two have a very good relationship?"

"Not bad. Turgach and an Craite are the wealthiest, and the two clans are closely related by blood now. If the rest of us don't stick together and get them to help us out more, life would be very difficult. Want to hear more about archipelago politics?"

"Forget it. I just want to settle a personal vendetta, beat up some monsters, and finally make a trip to Todoroque to borrow some tools. Whatever business doesn't concern me has nothing to do with me."

"Hahaha, like I said, you damned bastard are a smart man. I like you, and I wish you a safe journey."

Stepping out of the fortress at Kaer Muire and heading down the winding mountain path, the young man entered Holmstein Port.

......

When the Phantom Troupe was ready to set sail, Arlan Drummond came to see them off. As for Arlan's nickname, the previous night Vig had enlightened the captain, explaining that it was supposedly because he was always covered in bruises throughout his childhood.

Some said those scars were inflicted by his cruel beatings with leather belts, sticks, and fists from his father, who feared spoiling the child, meaning Arlan was punished for every mistake, big or small.

Hearing this explanation and comparing it to what he had witnessed in the Dream Cave, Victor had to admit that rumors occasionally revealed the truth unintentionally.

Anyway, Arlan came to say goodbye and also shoved a letter into Victor's hands. The letter was a letter of introduction addressed to Hoyle the Black Hand's nephew, "Haabjon"—the future heir of Faroe.

"Vic, Haabjon is a decent guy. We've fought together and hunted together. Seeing this letter, he'll know you're my friend, and he'll host you to the best of his ability."

"Thank you, Arlan. I'm a bit flattered, because as you know, participating in the trial with you was because I owed your father a blood debt."

He shook his own head. "But from the days spent with you, I truly feel I've benefited immensely. Whether it's the attitude toward life or the perception of Continentals, you've broadened my horizons. I am honored to share a trial with a warrior like you."

The young man thought for a moment, tilting his head. "May your axe remain forever sharp."

Arlan burst into laughter, stepped forward, and embraced Victor. "May your blade remain forever sharp."

......

Born in Holmstein Port, the Thousand Sun was a prideful creation of the Drummond family, and its hired sailors were mostly locals from Drummond. It was slightly larger than the Going Merry and could accommodate a crew of sixteen.

On the night of the second day after the ship left port, the second mate was patrolling the vessel as usual, confirming whether the crew members were holding fast to their posts.

Meanwhile, the captain was holed up in his cabin as usual, stirring a mysterious cauldron. As for the first mate—the only female on board—she was also reading books in the captain's room while discussing the troupe's future action plans.

"So this trip to Faroe for us is basically acting as that Hoyle's thugs, helping him clear out a batch of pirates!" Angoulême said, an open book resting on her thighs and a pair of decorative spectacles perched on her face.

"According to the script Lugos arranged for us, that's indeed how it goes. We will be the Dragonborn righteous messengers who accidentally arrived on the island, busting a ruthless and merciless pirate syndicate."

"But is this really okay? Clearly, the lord of Faroe, that bastard Black Hand, also profits from this. Besides, if not for his incompetent suppression, how could the pirates have become so arrogant!"

With a flash of light, Victor stopped stirring and began bottling the contents. He replied with exasperation, "Mobilizing manpower costs money, and people dying in battle costs money; a barren island simply cannot support so many people.

For the sake of survival, many things can be forgiven. We cannot use our Continental perspective to demand things of the archipelago. If we lack the certainty to save them, it's best not to interfere.

Of course, if you're determined to give up Toussaint's brothels and change your ideals to become the Lord of Faroe, I wouldn't mind helping you brainstorm a few ways."

Rebutted by the young man, the girl pushed up her spectacles. "Never mind then. But shouldn't we tell Vig about this? As a local, he might want to know these things."

"Don't tell him for now. Wait until you've given him a basic education so he can accept these gray areas and won't do anything foolish, then... Oh well, I'll decide for myself when to tell him. This ought to be an untold secret; I shouldn't even have been telling you."

She rolled her eyes at him in annoyance. "Big deal. I noticed that after your trip to the dream trial, you seem to have changed quite a bit upon returning. You've become much more cheerful. Did something good happen?"

Thinking of the process of battling his brother, Victor smiled knowingly, his expression immensely punchable. "Indeed something good. I resolved the doubts in my heart during the trial and lifted a heavy boulder of worry.

Remember I mentioned looking for someone to test my sword on? I don't need to now, and from now on you won't need to worry about my mental state going haywire. It's just that for this raid on the pirate stronghold, I'll probably still have to trouble you and Vig; it's not yet time for me to make a personal move."

Watching Victor busy with his hands and feet, Angoulême nodded. "Understood. Come to think of it, what are you making right now?"

"Mh... it can also be considered a result of this trial. I'd never considered making this before. Here! Smell this treasure." Letting Angoulême extend her hand, Victor poured a tiny speck of powder from the vial onto her palm.

At this distance, the powder looked completely unremarkable. Without any suspicion, the girl leaned in and took a sniff, and in an instant, the foul stench sent her spinning into a dizzying abyss resembling the depths of hell, making her wish she could immediately take a knife and slice off her nose.

"Ta-da! Isn't it a surprise? The legendary Devil's Puffball, compounded from drowners' glands, swamp hag warts, skunk's mysterious fluid, chili powder, vomit, feces, body odor, hair-burning ashes, and a variety of precious medicinal herbs, refined through miraculous alchemy.

This scent is truly potent, extremely potent! Guaranteed to leave anyone who smells it unforgettable for a lifetime!"

Scrubbing her hands and flushing her nose with water continuously, Angoulême was sniffling and crying as mucus and tears sprayed wildly. Hearing him still proudly introducing it, she glared at Victor with eyes turning completely red from fury!

Enduring her piercing gaze, Victor still grinned. "Why glare at me? I'm not going to apologize. Didn't you also bring a whole bag of drowner materials to prank me last time?"

Finally catching her breath after a long struggle, the first mate slumped back into her seat in a disheveled state, glaring viciously at the captain. "So what on earth is this damn thing? Where did you get the inspiration to make such a terrifying gadget?"

"It popped into my head during the trial. Back in Bell Town, I used to make a kind of poison gas bomb called Devil's Puffball, alternatively known as a Peasant's Fart. The toxic gas released through burning would enter the lungs and cause poisoning effects.

However, that was meant for open spaces and isn't very suitable for environments like ours involving close-quarters combat. So I improved it. Breathing this stuff into the lungs won't cause direct harm, but it will cause people to lose their mobility in a short time.

Imagine if, while fighting someone else, you suddenly put on a mask, threw out a thing like this, and then all took a deep breath together—what do you think would happen next?"

"Pfft! Hahahahaha!" Angoulême, who had still been trying to keep a straight face, couldn't help bursting into laughter at the mental image.

Having experienced that bone-deep irritation firsthand, she was certain the enemy would instantly lose their combat capability and be left entirely at her mercy.

Unable to hold back her smile, the girl asked concernedly, "So you're going to make this into bomb*s and distribute them to us?"

"That's right. For this raid to wipe out the pirates, we can't be sure how many opponents there are. Rashly using Honeycomb or Dancing Star might cause casualties among the captives, so I'm preparing this weapon that causes people to lose their combat capability. You and Vig will each take a pouch of it."

"This powder is truly disgusting yet so covert. Holding it at a distance, I didn't realize it was such a dangerous thing at all; the moment it was sniffed into the nose, it exploded on the spot. But speaking of which, since it's not fatal, you can use this stuff freely too?"

"Indeed. That was the original intention behind my developing it."

"Vic, I'm telling you... give me some of this powder!"

"What do you want?!"

"I want to go share it with Vig. Such good things shouldn't be enjoyed by me alone!"

After pondering for a moment, Victor filled a small vial and handed it to her. "Getting you all used to it isn't a bad idea either. In a moment, call him in together with you, and I'll make facial molds for the two of you. We need to produce gas masks."

"Understood!" Full of vigor, Angoulême happily strode out of the cabin.