Chapter Eighteen: The Pontal River Is Very Safe

The sensation of boarding a three-masted sailing ship in a fantastical world for the first time—no, let’s omit “fantastical world,” it’s simply the first time boarding a three-masted ship—was profoundly strange and wonderful. It felt as though he had been transported to the Age of Exploration. Correction: this could already be considered the eve of the Age of Exploration.

Victor silently mused on the voices and faces of legendary captains—Captain Hook, Captain Sparrow, Captain Li Huamei, Captain Plank—and the great river flowed eastward, sweeping away the heroes of ages past. Drifting downstream on the ship, Victor's thoughts wandered to the peculiar matters of his own heart.

Suddenly, Angouleme gave him a gentle push from behind; he nearly toppled into the river. But as she pushed, she grabbed hold of his belt, so it was only a fright and nothing more.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her round eyes wide, not giving him a chance to retort.

“You could’ve scared me to death! ...I wasn’t thinking about anything,” Victor replied. Since learning of the girl’s hardships, he’d developed a fatherly tenderness toward her and rarely raised his voice.

Angouleme stepped forward to gaze at the water, putting on the air of a confidante. “Actually, even if you don’t say it, I know what you’re thinking. You’re upset that Zoltan doesn’t like you, right?”

No, I brushed that off immediately; it was never on my mind.

“Don’t be mad. He only acts that way because he cares about me, and he doesn’t understand you. He hasn’t seen the look on Ciri’s face when she talks about you, so he doesn’t trust you. He just overthinks everything.”

That’s normal—precocious and decisive for his age. In his place, I’d be cautious too.

Angouleme gripped Victor’s arm with both hands. “Anyway, Captain, don’t worry about what he says. I believe in you absolutely.”

Let there be misunderstandings, then; it’s nothing serious. “All right. Thank you for your support, Angouleme.”

“But there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” She released his arm, intertwining her fingers and speaking in a low, embarrassed voice.

Honestly, Victor was unaccustomed to seeing her like this; it was unsettling for someone used to her tomboyish ways. “Let’s hear it. Not in the mood to study today? Or do you want pocket money?”

“No…” She took a deep breath, then spoke with determination: “It’s about business…”

Victor said nothing, simply gazing into her brown eyes.

“I… think that, though selling virility tonics is profitable, it doesn’t seem very respectable…”

A faint, thin white scar traced across her nose, barely visible, yet clear.

“Uh… what I mean is… The Phantom Company should be righting wrongs and fighting evil, shouldn’t it?”

She stumbled over her words under Victor’s gaze, but her meaning was clear enough. Thank goodness she had realized it herself, otherwise Victor would have been embarrassed to point out the emperor’s new clothes, especially since she had been so enthusiastically representing the company every day.

After she finished, she lowered her head, avoiding his eyes. Clearly, she knew full well how much her new leather armor and sharp steel sword had cost.

To this, Victor simply replied, “I agree.”

“Ah?!” Angouleme’s head shot up, her blue eyes searching his.

He narrowed his eyes, a smile curling within the blue. “I said, from now on, the company won’t sell virility tonics. We’ll focus on heroic deeds and making a name for ourselves!”

…

Bucky was a carefree twenty-eight-year-old sailor—he drank heartily, ate his fill, enjoyed robust health, and had no family burdens. In both Floatport and Vergen, he had skilled lovers. This voyage—he’d lost count how many times he’d made the journey to Floatport—would, unfortunately, mark the abrupt end to his cheerful life.

It was late at night. The sailboat was anchored in the river, secured by a magical anchor. He squatted at the stern, heedless of polluting the water, his eyes on the dark forest along the bank. Who knew how many Squirrel Party archers lurked there, ready to send an arrow through his throat at any moment? The thought made his hair stand on end, but he relieved himself all the more enthusiastically.

Then, a sudden rush of water—a loud, shattering crash—the sound of tentacles slapping the hull. Bucky’s eyes went wide, his mouth agape, as he watched an enormous octopus, the likes of which he’d never seen, rise from the water like a mountain. Grayish-red tentacles coiled around the wooden ship, which groaned and splintered in helpless protest.

Terror overcame him; his body went limp, everything—front and back—relaxed in perfect synchrony, his waste pouring like rain.

Before long, a tentacle struck out wildly. He blacked out, ending his respectable life with abrupt finality.

…

At the same time, on a certain bank along the Pontar River, deep in the forest.

“Damn it… Which bastard said the Pontar was safe?” Victor cursed bitterly, clutching Angouleme’s wrist as they scrambled ashore in utter disarray.

Dropping to one knee, he positioned the waterlogged girl’s stomach across his bent thigh, her head down, and pressed—not unlike a celestial maiden scattering petals—until a rainbow of vomit burst forth.

This girl can’t even swim… and made the captain go to such lengths to save her. Clearly, she needs more training.

Though few in this era could swim, Victor nonetheless resolved to add “must know how to swim” to his list of requirements for new members.

In the moonlight, the three-masted ship had been utterly wrecked by the monstrous octopus. Its tentacles were as thick as a man’s waist—one swipe could flatten anyone, armor and all, into a bloody pulp. Only a cannon could deal with such a beast—if this era had cannons…

Or perhaps a massive bomb?

Victor shook his head to clear the fantasy. Angouleme had nearly finished vomiting; she rolled over, lying on her back, gasping for breath.

Victor stood and witnessed the ship’s final moments—a mountainous octopus sank beneath the water, a whirlpool swallowing the last fragments of wreckage. The moonlight shimmered on the ripples; no trace of the ship remained.

A while passed.

“What was that monster?” Angouleme’s voice was hoarse and still tinged with fear. She’d seen monsters before—ghouls, necrophages, even a chort hadn’t fazed her—but this one’s sheer size was beyond reason, sapping her courage to even curse it.

“It looked like an octopus. A very large octopus! One tentacle could feed you for days,” Victor said with a calm smile, his joke falling flat.

Clearly, Angouleme lacked Lambert’s dry humor; she simply glared in response.

Seeing he hadn’t managed to lighten her mood, Victor cleared his throat. “Whatever it was, we’ll have to walk to Floatport now. Luckily, it shouldn’t be too far.”

Angouleme got to her feet, checked her gear, then cried out, “Ah! Your magic herb pouch! Did it fall in the river?”

In the scramble to rescue her, Victor hadn’t thought about the pouch, figuring he’d retrieve it later. He hadn’t expected Angouleme to notice first.

But these were minor matters. Victor tilted his head at the girl. More importantly, “How did you know that was a magic herb pouch?”

“Ciri told me!” Angouleme replied, as if it were obvious.

Victor felt a slight flush creep up his face. So, she’d known all along—how silly all his attempts at secrecy must have seemed. As for Ciri knowing, that was to be expected; living together for half a year, he’d never tried to hide it, never imagining he’d one day be forced to leave home.

“What else did she tell you? Did you tell anyone else?” he pressed.

“When we were sharing a bed, I asked her about you. She said her brother had a magic herb pouch that could hold a lot of things,” Angouleme said, making a circle with her hands about a cubic meter in size. “He treasures it, always takes it wherever he goes, and used it to get the potion that saved me.”

“As for your magic pouch, that’s our Hansa’s secret of secrets. I’d die before telling anyone else.” Bathed in moonlight, her damp golden bangs clinging to her brow, her eyes shone with an unwavering certainty.

Suddenly, Victor was moved. He knew he would never trust or be loyal to anyone so completely, yet he couldn’t help but admire and cherish such people.

He relaxed, realizing the flaw in his previous thinking. In this world, with its stretching spells and spatial folding magic, his herb pouch would seem merely a rare magical item. The real danger lay with knowledgeable mages, who must not discover that his pouch was not magic but something beyond comprehension.

He straightened, lifted his hand in a gesture, and spoke in a voice clear and resonant, words piercing the void.

He said, “Come!”

In the gentle jungle breeze, with summer cicadas chirping in chorus, he continued, “Pouch, come!”

And thus, before Angouleme’s astonished eyes, ripples shimmered in the air, and the herb pouch materialized in Victor’s hand.

“Eek?!” Her startled cry alarmed the Phantom Company, who were engaged in group activity nearby—this fantastical scene had other witnesses.

In an instant, Victor barked, “Stop her!” Grabbing his pouch, he dashed after the source of the sound.

Angouleme, even faster, shot off into the woods like an arrow, wild instincts kicking in, far outpacing Victor.

He soon lost sight of her in the forest, but following the direction, before long he heard the unmistakable clash of steel ahead.

Well done—Angouleme had caught up with their quarry.