A week later, the situation in Nepo had more or less stabilized. Fronti, as it turned out, wasn't just a legendary sailor but also a proper lord. He summoned back all his admirals and famed explorers, the kind of people who sailed into hell and came back with maps.
As for the stolen treasures? Yeah… they were all returned. Reluctantly.
Amon had a really hard time walking away from all that shiny loot. But, well… he couldn't exactly haul it back into the waking world, so what was the point? Still, that didn't mean he left everything behind.
Apparently, Fraud's Bag was a storage-type memory, basically a dimensional backpack with good taste. So, naturally, he tossed all the soul shards inside like candy.
People were suspicious, of course. Accusing looks, awkward searches… But after a thorough pat-down and zero evidence, they let it go. Amon may or may not have framed the dead brat for the missing shards, too. You know, just to smooth things over.
Case closed. Long live plausible deniability.
But of course, another problem reared its ugly head.
They needed to secure Nepo's fleet, a force that would be vital for winning the war. Without it, their campaign might as well sail straight into a shipwreck.
Liparik tried. He pleaded with Fronti, explaining the situation in clear, somber tones. But the old sailor-lord remained hesitant. Not because he didn't want to help. No, Fronti wanted to but Nepo had been hollowed out, both militarily and economically, by that bumbling brat's reign of incompetence.
Eventually, Amon could no longer sit still.
He placed a firm hand on Liparik's shoulder, flashing a confident, reassuring smile.
Both Nika and Gray visibly paled, eyes widening in horror as they instinctively backed away like soldiers spotting a ticking bomb.
"Don't worry, Sensei," Amon said smoothly. "Just trust your disciple. I already tempered the Dao of Bullshitery in the mortal realm."
He stepped forward with a mock-heroic air, arms spread like a preacher ready to part the seas.
"So now… just let this Young Master cook."
Fronti narrowed his eyes as Amon stepped forward with purpose, hands behind his back like some overconfident philosopher. He didn't recognize this one. Liparik had mentioned there were four in their group, so this must be the fourth, probably.
"I've already given my answer," Fronti said firmly, voice heavy with regret. "As much as it pains me… I can't sacrifice the entire city. I'm responsible for these people, my boy."
Amon stopped. His head lowered slightly. And then he looked up.
His eyes blazed with a ferocity that didn't belong to someone his age. A fire forged not in wisdom, but in sheer audacity. His expression twisted into righteous fury as he raised a hand and pointed toward the crowd.
"Is that all!?"
The echo of his voice slammed through the hall like a thunderclap.
Liparik flinched.
The ever-stoic general, the man who massacred legions without blinking suddenly looked like he'd just witnessed a ship sinking in slow motion.
"A-Amon… wait-just wait a second..."
But it was too late. The chef had entered the kitchen. The heat was rising. And this dish? it was going to be spicy.
Amon stepped forward, voice rising with theatrical fury.
"Is this what the courageous warriors of the seven seas have become? Cowards hiding behind excuses?!"
He spun dramatically, pointing at random sailors.
"Is it better to live in disgrace... than die with honor?!"
Murmurs spread like wildfire. One of the older sailors scowled and stepped forward.
"And what would you know, boy?" he spat. "You've never seen the horrors of war. You speak like a fool who never bled for anything!"
Amon glanced at the sailor who questioned him with a glare that could curdle seawater. Then, without a word, he reached up and dramatically shrugged off his coat.
The hall fell silent.
On his back, etched in old ink and faded scars, was the unmistakable symbol of a warrior: banner raised, spear pointed to the sky. The emblem of the Kharan War-Tide: a only clan in Khar known across the continent for birthing martyrs and madmen.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"I am the son of Khazven!" Amon roared, his voice raw with emotion or something adjacent to it. "Legendary Warrior of Khar! My uncles, my aunts, my cousins, my pet goat all perished in battle! They died not just for land, but for the future. For hope. For the next generation!"
He paused, his eyes sweeping over the stunned group.
"I am smaller, weaker, and more ignorant than all of you, so how come I have more courage than you all combined?!"
Meanwhile, his heart was pounding wildly.
Don't laugh… Don't you dare laugh! Shit, what courage. I'm allergic to that stuff. Pfthh... stop it!
Then he took out the scroll and opened it, his gaze piercing through each one of them as he took a deep breath.
"What matters is giving new life a chance to bloom. What's the point of surviving if our children and grandchildren are doomed to live under Alerak's tyranny? My lord sent this letter, he had absolute confidence that you would answer the call of the Holy War. May I read his words of hope, Lord Fronti?"
Everyone was still reeling from his earlier speech, but now they listened in rapt silence. Fronti remained quiet for a while, his expression a mixture of regret, sorrow, shame, and a flicker of hope. At last, he looked up and nodded.
"...You may."
Amon nodded, a hopeful smile spreading across his face as tears welled in his eyes. He wiped them with his sleeve and inhaled the cold air deeply.
"To Lord Fronti:
Everything you thought had meaning. every hope, dream, or moment of happiness. none of it matters as you lie bleeding out on the battlefield. None of it changes what the enemy's sword does to our bodies. We all die. But does that mean our lives are meaningless? Does that mean there was no point in being born? Would you say that to our slain brothers and sisters? What about their lives? Were they meaningless?"
Amon's expression twisted into fury as his voice rose, echoing through the hall with passion and fire.
"THEY WERE NOT! Their memory serves as an example to us all! The courageous fallen! The anguished fallen! Their lives have meaning because we, the living, refuse to forget them! And even if we must ride toward certain death, we trust our successors to do the same for us! Because my warriors do not buckle or yield before the cruelty of this world! They shall be warriors the likes of which history has never seen and they will put the enemy horsemen to shame!"
A heavy silence fell over the hall. Eyes widened. Some sailors stared in awe, some cried, others looked down in shame, only to lift their gazes again, eyes burning with newfound resolve.
Lord Fronti rose to his feet, his voice thunderous as he raised his sword high.
"Nepo will answer the call of its king! Raise the flags and ready the battleships, boys. We sail to war for our one true king!"
Amon blinked. Then his mouth twitched... and he burst into laughter.
Luckily, everyone thought it was the laughter of joy, not the cackling of guy who just plagiarized an anime monologue and accidentally incited a war.
Looks like my Plagiarism skill tree is fully maxed out... Well, not that surprised. Erwin's speech really is something.
Sure, he had to improvise and add his own bullshitery to fit it to the situation, but holy shit. The entire city was going to war.
Liparik, Nika, and Gray walked up to him, all three staring with wide eyes like they'd just seen a miracle... or a war crime in slow motion. Nika blinked, then blurted out:
"When did you get that symbol? You never had it before!"
Amon pursed his lips and started whistling awkwardly.
"Well… not that hard when there's a neighborhood artist in the port."
Just survive a few more days. Before they figure anything out, the war and this nightmare will be over.
Liparik sighed. He opened his mouth... then closed it. Then opened it again... and closed it once more. He looked like a man desperately trying to find a sentence in the middle of a stroke.
Gray, on the other hand, wasn't even watching the roaring crowd. He was staring at the scroll in Amon's hands.
There was nothing written on it. It was Blank. Just ink-stained nonsense.
If anyone finds out, that's not just lying. That's high treason! Gray's eye twitched violently.
And what the hell did that bastard say back there?
"My pet goat died in battle"?!
That didn't make sense! It wasn't even relevant and he didn't even own a pet goat!
Gray stared at the back of Amon's head, veins popping.
If I survive this, I'm throwing him in the sea myself.
Amon felt a sudden chill run down his spine as they stepped outside the castle.
What was that?
He glanced up in confusion, just in time to see lightning crackle across the sky, splitting the heavens like an angry signature. Moments later, rain poured down in a relentless torrent, thunder booming overhead as if the Storm God herself was personally offended.
Soon, they were all drenched, water dripping from their hair, cloaks, and dignity.
Gods, what have I done? Amon groaned internally, wiping water from his face.
Why is the weather beefing with me? I didn't even do anything that bad! …Well, not recently.
He sighed dramatically and kicked a rock on the path. It bounced forward… and slammed right into the base of the Storm God's statue.
At first, nothing happened and he barely paid it any attention.
Then… faint cracks formed on the lower part of the statue. A second later, the Goddess's leg snapped clean off. The entire monument groaned before collapsing in slow, catastrophic fashion, shattering into a hundred sacred pieces.
Amon froze mid-step, eyes wide.
"...Welp."
He stared at the remains of the divine statue as the rain kept pouring.
Yeah. Definitely need to pray to Leodero now.
He glanced around nervously, no one had seen it. For now, he was safe.
He sighed again and stepped forward-
Only for Liparik to yank him back by the collar.
A split second later, lightning struck the exact spot Amon was about to step into, exploding in a blinding flash and shaking the earth.
Amon blinked, his whole body trembling as he slowly clasped his hands together and began to mutter a prayer in fear.
"King of the Skies;
Emperor of the Seas; Lord of the Calamity;
God of the Storms"
His voice dropped to a desperate whisper.
"Please protect me, Chad God. I know you hear me! Don't make me run side quests for atonement..."
But nothing happened.
The storm didn't calm.
In fact, it intensified.
The thunder got louder. The rain turned into a downpour. Another bolt of lightning struck in the distance, just close enough to make him flinch.
Amon stared up into the sky, rain pouring down his face as he slowly wiped it off, eyes narrowing with betrayed spite.
"…LEODERO!!"