At 6:15 p.m., just before the storm rolled in, the White Agate docked smoothly in Bayam, the capital of the Rorsted Archipelago, known far and wide as the City of Generosity.
Irina and Klein each grabbed their suitcase, neatly packed by Danitz, then stepped out of Room 312 and into the corridor leading toward the deck.
As expected, they ran straight into Donna's family, Cleves, and the others waiting there. The two siblings still bore a flicker of fear after Klein's earlier actions, shrinking behind their parents and bodyguards like deflated balloons, not daring to speak.
Irina offered a slight nod as a greeting, and Klein quickly followed suit.
Urdi Branch hesitated, then took a cautious half step forward. "Mr. Sparrow, will you be staying in Bayam? If I should wish to hire—no, request your help—how might I contact you?"
Suppressing the urge to pout, Irina couldn't help but feel slightly insulted. I understand that they watched me stand idle the whole time Klein fought, and I also wasn't present during the return trip, she thought bitterly, but at least keep up appearances! Not even a mention of my name.
Klein responded carefully, offering a one-way method of contact. The Branch family expressed their gratitude once more and left the cabin in orderly fashion.
Just as the gangway came into view, Donna slowed, stepping back to stand beside Klein. She raised her head, biting her lip nervously. "Uncle Sparrow, s-since that kind of power surely brings threats and madness, w-why did you choose to have it?"
She had wrestled with that question for a long time before finally summoning the courage to ask it.
Klein paused, startled, but then he instinctively smiled. "For my dream."
His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, "And... protect."
Irina watched silently from the side, her ruined scarf masking a grim smile. Weird... this reminds me of that one sentence, 'There are always things that are more important than others.'
'I won't lose too much, just myself.' The rest of the sentence resurfaced. She thought of the months since she first met Klein, and the decreasing time before the inevitable caught up with him. If my sequence stays this low, I won't be able to help him when it matters. And I've been stuck on the acting method for weeks...
After the Branch family had finally left the White Agate, Klein retracted his gaze and turned to Danitz. "You're free."
For a moment, Danitz blinked, unused to such unexpected liberty.
Without another word, without so much as a glance back, Klein pressed his top hat firmly on his head and carried his suitcase down the gangway.
Irina watched him go. Can I truly keep up with him? she wondered. We're both Sequence 6 now. I can help him with his potion formula, yes—but what about mine? Where do I even find them? How do I advance fast enough? I'm not that quick.
On deck, Danitz stood rooted on the spot with a doubtful expression. He had expected Gehrman Sparrow to hold him back, after all, it had happened before, but this time felt unreal. I'm worth 3,000 pounds! And Gehrman Sparrow just walked away. What kind of lunatic ignores that much money?
With his luggage in hand, Danitz descended the gangway and stepped onto the dock. Something made him pause though. He straightened and glanced back. Gehrman's silhouette was already disappearing down Coastal Street when he paused, looked around hastily, and glanced back towards the ship.
Danitz didn't know why he did it and couldn't care less, so he hurried away, weaving through alleys, changing directions multiple times, and glancing over his shoulder repeatedly until he was sure that no one was following him.
Relief swelled inside him. No more orders, no more servitude. Tomorrow, people would flatter him!
Whistling softly, he knocked on a dockside door with a precise pattern: three long knocks, three short.
Heh. The pirate contacts he gave Gehrman were the ones who didn't have a good relationship with them. There's no way he could guess that our Golden Dream point of contact is right at the dock. Danitz picked at his nose and breathed in the fresh sea breeze before a looming rain.
The door creaked open, revealing Old Rinn.
"Old man, did you not drink today?" Danitz grinned while greeting him.
But the scent hit him first—Lanti Proof. Old Rinn only drank Bayam Black Rand.
From the shadows, a tall, dark, muscular man rose. 'Steel' Maveti! The Admiral of Blood's second mate with a bounty of 6,000 pounds.
Danitz's pupils shrank as his heart pounded loudly in his chest.
Waves of sea breeze swept along Coastal Street, swaying the thin, sharp leaves of the trees in a precarious manner. Klein walked at a steady pace, calm and measured, while the people around them hurried past them, as if trying to outrun the growing storm.
His spiritual intuition told him the tempest wouldn't arrive for some time yet. There was plenty of time to find a hotel.
"Everything alright?" he asked softly, so quietly that even his own ears struggled to catch the words beneath the ever-rising wind.
Tree branches fell to the ground, and few people remained on the streets.
Ragged breaths, the steady drip of something wet onto the cobblestones—someone was running hastily, recklessly, straight toward them. Danitz, Irina concluded.
"Peachy," she called out loud enough for Klein to hear. My mood's a bit ruined now, but it will have to do. I have to work harder if I want to keep up.
He was about to reply when that same sound reached his ears as well.
"Our maid is about to make a comeback," Irina said, shifting the topic, hoping to lighten the mood.
Danitz ran on pure adrenaline, but the world tilted dangerously. Pain flared sharply from his wound as his vitality drained faster than ever. His Spirit Body began to slip, drifting toward the Underworld. The sounds dulled into a distant hum, and the street ahead blurred and faded like a half-remembered dream.
Without his Shadow Cloak, the ambush would have ended him outright. Even so, he was bleeding out—one misstep away from dying in the gutter. Only the thought of warning the captain, of telling her that the Admiral of Blood had compromised their contact, kept him going. That, and the faint hope that the mad yet terrifyingly capable adventurer was still around.
If it's him, then he would definitely be able to escape from the hands of "Steel" Maveti's henchmen...
His pace faltered as cold seeped into his bones. Just as his knees buckled, he saw them—Gehrman and Elena, waiting quietly at a street corner. For a fleeting moment, the man's refined face, edged with madness, almost looked kind. I really AM dying.
Danitz collapsed on his back, hands limp over a deep, gaping wound in his chest.
"Tell Captain... Old Rinn's been found out. Steel Maveti's after the treasure!" he rasped, as Gehrman knelt beside him.
"Admiral of Blood?" Klein asked sharply.
"Yes—tell Captain! T-tell Captain!" Danitz gasped, forcing a weak smile. "Don't worry about me... I'm... about to die. All my savings are in real estate, Units 12 to 16, Amyris Avenue, Bayam. Deeds... in Unit 13's basement wall. Sell them. Take the money... to South Intis, Elema Town. Give it to my parents. Tell them I made a fortune..."
His voice trembled. "...Tell them I became an outstanding adventurer. And... say I'm sorry."
Moisture welled in his eyes. I'm sorry, Old Man. Mother. I can't come home.
Darkness closed in.
But then the pain jolted him back. Gehrman's hand pressed firmly to his wound. The agony in his chest vanished, replaced by the sharp, unnatural fracture of his left hand.
He looked at Gehrman blankly, and the madman returned the gaze. Neither spoke for two long seconds.
Finally, Danitz's eyes fell open, astonished. His lethal wound had strangely healed, and in exchange his left arm was left badly mutilated with bones jutting out grotesquely.
I-I'm fine now? Danitz blinked, still drowning in sadness and frustration from his narrow escape.
"Why didn't you treat me first?" he asked blankly.
Klein's gaze drifted toward the empty street across Coastal Street. Calmly, he said, "Waiting for you to finish. That's basic courtesy."
Courtesy, you son of a b*tch! I was really saying my last words! Danitz thought fiercely. He jerked upright, rolling to his feet.
His eyes scanned the dock, where thick smoke rose into the sky. That was the unmistakable aftermath of the battle he had barely survived.
Because the house had been set on fire by him, Steel Maveti had hesitated and vanished, afraid the display would draw the official Beyonders' attention. That was why he hadn't pursued Danitz. Suddenly, the chain of events snapped into place in his mind.
"Let's find a place to stay first." Klein spread his hands, catching a drop of rain as it fell.
Not yet sure if danger still lurked nearby, Danitz nodded without hesitation. "Okay."
I can tell that this madman, Gehrman Sparrow, isn't afraid of Steel Maveti at all. He's not even afraid of Admiral of Blood... at such times, I especially admire his craziness...
Damn, I just exposed my wealth to him.
With Klein at her side, Irina walked silently ahead, her suitcase in hand and a single thought echoing in her mind: Godd*mmit, he's that much richer than I am. Mark my words, I WILL take him shopping one day—and he's paying for EVERYTHING!
Outside, rain lashed relentlessly against the windows, and the wind howled through the streets like a wild beast. But inside the luxurious suite, the fire crackled warmly, and the air held a rare calmness.
Klein sat quietly in his chair, watching without a word as Blazing Danitz carefully tended to the severe fracture on his left arm. Nearby, Irina was scribbling furiously in her notebook, barely glancing up. Weird, Klein thought. She looks even more motivated than when we were on the ship.
Danitz began his dramatic retelling about the rustless key—also called 'Death's key'—some pirate fighting, traitor theories, even parroting Edwina's speculation about pre-Cataclysm civilizations, and some more.
All according to the novel here, she mused, jotting down some variations in the margins of her notebook.
Gehrman remained stone-faced, speaking only to deliver his classic one-word jabs and quiet judgments. When he finally asked Danitz to list Admiral of Blood's crimes, Irina could already guess the list without the need for the novel: murder, abduction, general atrocities, and no mercy for women and children. The usual.
But then came the shift.
She heard Klein rise, boots scuffing softly against the wooden floor and chair creaking. Irina's pen paused mid-sentence. Her eyes lifted from the page as he moved to the window, rain tracing streaks down the glass.
"Tonight, Gehrman joins the hunt," he muttered, low and steady.
A slow grin tugged at Irina's lips. Finally some profitable pirate hunting!
This is going to be so much fun!
The next day, at the Cathedral of Waves, in the City of Generosity, Alger Wilson, who had been granted the Sanguine's anesthetic gas, was preparing to sail out for another of the Wind-blessed's rare ingredients when he received a summon from the local diocese bishop.
"There have been rumors recently," the bishop said gravely, "that Vice Admiral Iceberg received Death's Key. All the pirates in the Sonia Sea are roused by this. Investigate this matter."
Rumors like these appear every year, Alger thought bitterly, but none ever proved true. Such whispers drifted endlessly across the sea, stirred by fear and greed. Even if it were true, he had no right to get involved, it wasn't worth the risk after all. I'll go through the motions and skirt the edges, he resolved silently.
He clenched his fist solemnly, striking it over his left breast. "Yes, Your Excellency! May the Storm be with you!"
Diocese Bishop Chogo smiled with approval and returned the salute. "May the Storm be with you!"
The bishop expected Alger to leave immediately, but instead, the man lingered.
"Is there something else you need to report?" the bishop asked, tone laced with mild impatience.
Alger's mouth opened, then closed again just as quickly. Silence stretched longer than the bishop liked.
"Well?"
On the seas, pirates shared three passions: liquor, women, and gambling. At quarter past eleven, only the last was still in full swing. Alger Wilson checked his silver pocket watch, then turned sharply down a narrow alley, heading for a casino he knew well, a notorious front for a gang leader connected to the governor general's office. A place where pirates fenced their loot by morning and lost it all by night.
He pushed through the half-closed door under the bouncers' watchful eyes and scanned the sparse crowd. Dice rattled, cards slapped the green felt, but one player caught Alger's attention immediately. Beneath the gambler's worn disguise was the man he'd recognize without hesitation.
He crossed to the poker table, laid a hand on the man's shoulder, and murmured, "Blazing."
Danitz nearly jumped out of his seat, a flicker of a fireball sparking at his fingertips before he caught himself. After Steel Maveti's attack, he'd been careful to stay hidden, yet barely an hour after that, his disguise was already dissolved. He glanced sideways, spotted Alger's dark-blue hair, and relaxed slightly. Around them, the other gamblers remained absorbed in their games, completely ignoring them.
"Why are you here?" Danitz asked cautiously.
They'd met at a private gathering before; Danitz knew Alger commanded a ghost ship crewed by a dozen men—small, but deadly. Such crews were often backed by a powerful faction, gathering information or handling delicate, unsavory tasks.
Alger dragged a chair close and sat down. "I heard that your captain obtained Death's Key?"
Danitz barked out a laugh. "Use your head. If it were that easy, we'd have sold it already. Why, interested?"
"Maybe it hides other secrets," Alger said casually. "Maybe someone wants your captain dead."
Danitz cursed at his cards under his breath. "That thing doesn't seem like a creation made by humans. It might belong to the giants or devils."
"Creation? Your captain still insists on teaching language to all of you?" Alger asked with amusement. Vice Admiral Iceberg's daily reading classes were infamous, and judging by Danitz's grimace, still despised.
"Harder than fighting," Danitz grumbled. Then, lowering his voice, he warned, "Keep an eye out for Steel."
Alger's gaze dropped to the Danitz's bandaged arm. "Attacked? For the key?"
"His brain has already been eaten by his zombies!" Danitz stressed.
"You want to seek revenge on him?" Alger guessed from the other's tone and request.
Danitz only smiled faintly, eyes back on his cards. Alger pressed on, mentioning Steel's last confirmed sighting and warning him that he couldn't win alone. Danitz simply tossed a chip across the table, "Call."
"Who's helping you?"
"You wouldn't know."
That answer nagged at Alger. If it were someone strong enough to stand against Steel, then they should have a name. Unless... a secret organization, a newcomer in these waters. His thoughts jumped to only one possibility.
He tapped the table lightly. "Was Bansy Harbor fun?"
Danitz's head snapped up, surprise flashing in his eyes. He opened his mouth to answer, but his words died in his throat as his gaze darted behind Alger. Then, abruptly, he turned his eyes back to his cards, ignoring Alger completely—as if some invisible annoyance had appeared just out of sight.
Alger's confusion barely had time to surface when he felt a feather-light touch on his shoulder. His head snapped toward the source, eyes landing on delicate, manicured fingers. Long nails painted in black and blue, as well as two fingers hidden in a strange blue half-glove. The hand of a woman.
I didn't feel her approach at all! Alger's instincts flared up. He tensed, raising his guard, preparing for an attack. But none came. Instead, his gaze drifted further back, trying to spot the figure, but she stepped to the side, making him catch a glimpse of only a green gem.
Then another feather-light touch, this time on his other shoulder, gripping lightly before the figure leaned in, shifting her weight on him. A composed, amused laugh followed soon after.
An eerily familiar laugh.
Alger froze, heart pounding. No... impossible. I must be imagining it. But the voice, that tone—he had heard it just a few days ago.
"Well, well, who do we have here~" The voice coiled around him like a snake, smooth and leisurely, yet laced with dripping venom.
For a split second, Alger swore the room had fallen into a deathly silence. The chatter of patrons faded, their figures blurring into shadows as if they had just vanished. He was alone, acutely aware only of the mysterious figure behind him, the one who had haunted his past days.
Cold sweat trickled down his back as he swallowed hard, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. His breath caught when the voice leaned closer, whispering a promise of madness straight into his ear.
"Mr. Hanged Man~"