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Chapter 68
Volume 2: The Northern Gunslinger
Chapter 68. Red Sea
As a large commercial cog, the Frank sailed five hundred kilometers in its first week, leaving the Holy River and entering the border shared by the Saphile Empire and the Tairentin Empire—the Red Sea. Its destination was the North Saphile Royal Docks.
Aside from the members of its own merchant caravan, almost everyone aboard this merchant ship bound for the north was a dream seeker heading to North Saphile.
Among them were young people in their early twenties, their eyes burning with a refusal to remain ordinary, as well as middle-aged commoners dragging their families with them, their faces weathered by hardship yet still carrying resilience.
W е̃b̃_n о̀vē l Е̂ ň.ûm̌_а̊
“North Saphile was originally a bitterly cold and barren land on the kingdom’s border. Its wilderness stretched endlessly, and refugees were everywhere. Yet several months ago, it suddenly underwent a world-shaking transformation, as if it had received heaven’s favor and every dormant thing had awakened.
“Magic Crystals flowed in endlessly, trade routes gradually opened, workshops sprang up from the ground, and countless opportunities grew like wild grass across the wasteland.
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“What moved people’s hearts the most, and what spread the farthest, was that someone had discovered natural Magic Crystals. They caused no addiction, were purer than Black Crystal, and a single one could buy a commoner’s residence in Saint-Denis.
“Those who could no longer survive inland, or those who longed to escape mediocrity and fight for a future, swarmed there.
“The crystal rush followed. Everyone carried the dream of changing their fate overnight and establishing a home and career. Their eyes were filled with longing for the future. Even though the road ahead was full of unknowns and hardships, they were still willing to remain in North Saphile.”
In the open space at the center of the dining hall, a bard wearing a coarse long robe and clutching a wooden lyre was telling his story with spittle flying.
W̄ё b̀ ńо́ v.е̃ l̂ Еň ǔ ḿ а̂
People had gathered around him in dense layers. There were plainly dressed commoners, solemn-faced low-ranking knights in light armor, and small-time merchants. All of them listened with rapt attention, even forgetting to drink the ale in their hands.
“All right, as the captain requested, that is enough of North Saphile’s stories. Let us talk about what recently happened in Saint-Denis.”
The bard plucked the wooden lyre, his voice loud enough to drown out the swaying noises of the cabin. “Everyone, do you know that the kingdom’s most legendary figure today is none other than the man known as the 【Great Talent】—Mr. Fick Louis!”
“I know him! The author of 《Don Quixote》!”
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“The witch’s partner! He really is insane enough.”
“The youngest Academician in history! He even received the Royal Literary Society’s recognition without ever attending university!”
Е̌ ǹ ǔm а̀. i d̀
The crowd instantly erupted in exclamations. Everyone leaned forward one after another, afraid they might miss a single word.
The bard embellished and exaggerated Fick’s deeds, saying that at such a young age, he had already subdued the Royal Literary Society with his astonishing talent and single-handedly created a literary legend.
“Master Fick cares for all under heaven. During his speech, every word was a jewel. He pointed out the path of the kingdom and illuminated the road for its development. Even nobles and powerholders treated him with deep respect, while commoners regarded him as an idol and example.”
“In the end, Mr. Fick said, 【How delightful, Leonard. I will probably never forget you for the rest of my life】, and Leonard was angered to death on the spot.”
Under the bard’s vivid performance, these exaggerated legends left the northbound commoners and knights present with eyes full of worship and yearning.
Everyone began discussing that if they could receive Master Louis’s support, or if they happened to meet this lord in the northern border, they would surely rise to success in this life.
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“Bard, tell us what Master Louis looks like.”
“Ah, well…”
“In my opinion, he must be a red-haired man with a face full of pockmarks.”
“I would say he is probably a big-headed, tall fellow,” said a wandering knight with red hair.
Meanwhile, in the most remote corner of the dining hall, at a small table for one, Fick Louis sat quietly.
He wore that silver-edged mask, covering most of his face and revealing only the clean lines of his lower jaw. He was dressed in the fine clothes Shulia had insisted he wear, and his whole body carried an aloof, noble air that was utterly out of place amid the noisy crowd around him.
Е̇ n̂ů m̊ ӑ
A serving of roasted lamb chops sat on the table. The skin had been roasted crisp, while the meat inside was fresh and tender. It was paired with delicate bread and seasoned sauce. Food of this kind was absolutely not something ordinary commoners could enjoy. At a glance, anyone could tell that he was either rich or noble.
When passing diners saw him like this, they secretly guessed at his identity, feeling that he must be an official sent by the kingdom to North Saphile on important business, or perhaps a noble son from a famous family who had come to the northern border to supervise crucial affairs.
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Over the past few days, there had often been well-dressed merchants hoping to attach themselves to the powerful, as well as several pretty women whose eyes carried expectation.
Seeing his extraordinary bearing, these opportunists approached him with wine cups in hand and tried to strike up conversations. Some wanted to ask about business opportunities in the northern border, while others wanted to cultivate a connection and seek convenience.
Yet he always replied in a hoarse, deep voice, “I am here on official business.” The only thing people learned was that his name was Bruce Wayne.
Mr. Wayne ignored all attempts at conversation around him. The sense of distance around him grew even stronger. Those who had approached him encountered a soft rebuff, and when they saw that he remained silent and indifferent from beginning to end, not only did they feel no dissatisfaction, they became even more certain of their guesses.
Е̂nǔḿа̄
This mysterious nobleman must be carrying out some confidential and important mission, making it inconvenient for him to speak much with outsiders. He was likely afraid of delaying official business or inviting unnecessary trouble.
Thus, everyone tactfully withdrew in silence and no longer dared to disturb him. They only occasionally looked secretly toward the corner, their eyes carrying a bit more awe.
Fick did not care about this in the slightest. He enjoyed the food alone, listening to the storyteller’s exaggerated praise of himself, while feeling utterly pleased inside.
Was this what it felt like to travel incognito among the people?
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After finishing the lamb chops, Fick stood and pushed back his chair. The gazes that had originally been secretly sizing him up all hurriedly moved away in an instant, and no one dared to look at him again.
His room had been specially arranged beside the captain’s quarters. Apart from the captain’s own bedroom, it was the finest cabin on the entire Frank. It had none of the cramped suffocation of the lower cabins, nor the mixed smell of sweat and mildew.
Ĕ ňū.m а̃
Pushing the door open and entering, he found the room properly tidied. The bed was covered with clean coarse-linen sheets, and a small wooden table and stool had been placed by the window. River wind blew in through the half-open window, carrying a faint fishy scent. It was far more comfortable than the noisy, chaotic environment of the dining hall.
He had only just put down his satchel when a gentle knock sounded outside the door. Fick calmly gave permission, and a young sailor in short work clothes, with an honest-looking face, entered with a basin of warm fresh water in his hands.
“Mr. Wayne, the captain instructed us that you are an honored guest. This is fresh water just taken from the wooden barrel. It is for soaking your feet and relieving your fatigue.”
Fick looked at the wooden basin in the sailor’s hands, then remembered the awe everyone in the dining hall had shown him, along with the bard’s ridiculously exaggerated praise.
A laugh was trapped in his heart, but his face still maintained an indifferent expression. He gently waved a hand. “Leave it here. I will take care of it myself. Thank you for your trouble.”
Seeing that he refused, the sailor did not dare persuade him further. He quickly and respectfully put down the water basin and withdrew, even thoughtfully closing the door for him.
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Only after the door shut tightly, cutting off the sounds outside, did Fick finally become unable to hold back. He bit down on the Azure Crystal in his mouth and muttered in a low voice, “With a Magic Crystal in my mouth, even my voice has turned into a karaoke mic-hog voice.”
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