"Raffie, you're the last to arrive—come, sit beside me."
Barely had Raffie set foot on deck when a young male apprentice in a voluminous wizard's robe called out warmly, patting the empty space next to him in invitation.
With handsome features, deep-set eyes, and a smile so tender it could melt the heart of the girl sitting beside him, he was as eye-catching as Raffie herself.
Yet Raffie ignored him entirely, sauntering to a seat on the opposite side without a shred of courtesy. Her exquisite face was as if veiled in frost; she cast the overeager apprentice a sidelong glance and said coldly, "Hmph. And since when have we been acquainted?"
"You—!"
The apprentice faltered, his warmth vanishing at once. His tone hardened. "Just as the rumors say—sharp tongue, foul mouth."
"Courting death!"
Before tempers could flare into violence, Green stepped in swiftly to block the way. Idly playing with a razor-edged dagger, his eyes narrowed at the offending youth.
"Fireball King? Bruhn the Spellcaster?"
"Hmph. Anyone who's survived this long aboard this vessel has wit enough to live. Spare us your hollow courtesies—they only insult our team, as if we were no better than those thrown overboard."
"What you think is your affair…"
With a cold snort, the man turned away, feigning indifference.
Yorkris ran his blade between his teeth, baring the steel-hard muscle of his chest, and snorted in agreement. "That's more like it. No need for false games."
"Haha! I've long heard Raffie commands two formidable champions—this must be Yorkris, famed for his valor, and this, I presume, is the ruthless Green?"
The speaker was a well-bred young man in the most immaculate noble attire—finely tailored suit, silk cravat, plumed hat, and jewelry in abundance. Most striking were the twin gemstone rings upon his left hand, one sapphire-blue, the other amethyst-violet—pieces so exquisite that even a common-born man like Green knew they were treasures beyond the means of ordinary nobility.
This was Armlond, one of the few apprentices aboard with a decent reputation. Privately nicknamed the "Holy Sword Caster," he could summon a blade of golden energy with terrifying force.
Green had earned his own name over the past month—not merely as Raffie's companion, the Vine Caster, but through his own caution and ruthlessness, having slit the throats of no fewer than six who had set their sights on him.
Green returned Armlond's nod with a curt one of his own, but made no move toward friendship. Aboard this ship, power mattered—alliances did not.
"Armlond, perhaps you'll tell us why you've called us here?"
The question came from a girl with a doll-like face but a voice rasped in imitation of an old wizard's. This was Imis, the Doll Caster—seemingly pure and delicate, yet in truth the most cold-blooded among them. Green had once witnessed her white puppet slaughter an entire team of apprentices in mere moments.
The final figure at the gathering was silent, face perpetually shrouded in shadow. One of his sleeves hung limp and empty—this was Vebimod, the Mind Caster, who had lost his arm during a sea beast's attack. His sorcery was strange, woven from illusions that bent his foes' wills, and—Raffie suspected—was the only one among them who needed no enchanted tools to wield his art.
Vine Caster Raffie, Fireball Caster Bruhn, Holy Sword Caster Armlond, Doll Caster Imis, Mind Caster Vebimod—these five were the most feared aboard, dubbed by the other apprentices as the Five Great Spellcasters.
Silence fell over the deck.
Armlond let his gaze sweep across them, then burst into sudden, hearty laughter—a sound so abrupt that it set everyone ill at ease.
"My fellow casters," he began, "though our peers call us kings, we know our own limits. Save for Vebimod, we rely on enchanted tools for our craft. Against the ignorant, our might is absolute—but to true apprentices, we are hardly invincible."
"We know all this," Imis cut in impatiently. "Get to the point."
"The point?" Armlond's eyes gleamed. "It is simple—our future. Not just aboard this ship, but at Blackspike Tower Academy. If the ship is this cruel, imagine what awaits us there."
He let the words sink in.
"Once at the Academy, small groups like ours will be swept away—just as so many here have been swept into the sea."
The realization sent a ripple of unease through them, even Green's face tightening.
"So I propose," Armlond continued, "that all surviving apprentices aboard form a single alliance. When we reach the Academy, we stand together."
The idea was tempting.
Raffie frowned. "A fine suggestion—but how do you build an alliance in a place where the rule is mutual slaughter? Everyone not closest to you is an enemy."
A flicker of admiration crossed Armlond's gaze—he had long suspected this "vain, foolish beauty" was far shrewder than rumors claimed.
"True, our alliance will have conflicts. But that is not the alliance's fault—it is the will of the Faceless Masked Wizard…" He cast a glance at a distant tent before amending, "…the great Faceless Masked Wizard. Which means, yes, we can form such a pact."
Vebimod gave a cold laugh. "If we must still fight each other, what's the point?"
"At least," Armlond said, voice sharp as a drawn blade, "we can kill those outside the alliance first."
"You mean…" Vebimod's eyes widened.
"Hmph. Exactly. The seventeen sailors aboard. That's seventeen fewer apprentices dead—three and a half days of safety. Enough for both fear and favor to bind the rest."
He paused. "Those here will be the founding elders. Power will determine rank within."
"If we can defeat the sailors, it's worth trying. If we fail, the alliance is a farce. Still—I agree."
One by one, assent followed: "Agreed." "I support it."
The next day, the Faceless Masked Wizard made his usual count, noting five fewer apprentices, then vanished into his tent with his customary barbed "encouragement."
The deck, once crowded, now lay sparse—each survivor keeping distance, eyes cold, weapons in hand. None aboard were weak; those still alive had been forged in blood.
Killing five in a day had grown difficult. Caution and cunning now reigned, and the unwritten rule was clear—no one touched the Five Great Spellcasters or their allies.
Then Armlond stepped forward, voice ringing out:
"Today, with the support of all five casters, I announce the founding of the Bloodsail Alliance! Strength shall grant position, unity shall be our shield, and our first members shall be drawn from this ship alone—newcomers must earn a veteran's recommendation!"
And so the name Bloodsail Alliance spread swiftly through the ship, known to every apprentice aboard.