"Is that... a submarine?!"Miguel's voice trembled in the sea wind, his shock exploding like a wave breaking against rock.
The ocean had its own kind of magic:Shouts and clamor dissolved into foam—gone in an instant.What truly lingered was the silence between the swells and spray, bottomless and consuming, capable of swallowing one's thoughts piece by piece.
The mysterious craft that had burst from the sea now hung motionless like a nail driven into the ocean's surface.It had drenched the three on the reed boat from head to toe, but now floated quietly, its metallic hull dripping in rhythmic rivulet patterns, beads of water sliding down its rivets in shimmering trails.
Beneath the vast dome of sky, only the Leviathan's body continued to twitch.Its dying groans, low and thunderous, sank into the water, only to be carried back to shore by the waves.The iron-sweet scent of blood was torn open by the wind, clinging to the back of the tongue.
"Are you alright, Mr. Fernando?" Fais leaned over to steady him, worry visible in his eyes.
"Of... of course. Everyone gets soaked now and then—mm, thanks for the towel."Fernando took the towel and wiped his face roughly. His soaked hair slicked back as water still dripped from between his fingers.At last, he looked up—his gaze froze, locked on the massive steel form beyond the deck.
"My God. That... that's—"
"What is it? You recognize it, old man?" someone asked.
"...No."The old man shook his head outright, though his voice carried a reverence he couldn't hide."I've never seen anything like it in my life. All-metal construction... split Leviathan open like it was paper... and it came up from the seafloor. Are ships from your era all this powerful?"
"Old man, you're seriously overreacting," Miguel scoffed, spinning his greatsword in one hand with adolescent bravado."Even one of our cargo carriers—like the Mercury—could outmatch this rusty tin can a thousand times over."
"...Though we couldn't bring any of them with us into this world," Fais added flatly, like popping a bubble of bluster.
"It's alright, old man!"Miguel slung his sword over his shoulder with a bright grin."Even if these guys come with bad intentions, we've got more than enough ways to deal with them."(Huh? Why hasn't the energy gauge on the Super Ultimate Five-Color Divine Radiant Flame–Dawn Blade of Demon-Slaying Annihilation recharged at all?) he thought silently, smile frozen in place as his palm tightened subtly on the hilt.
"Look—someone's coming out of the vessel," Fais warned.
All three looked up in unison.The hatch of the submarine lifted slowly, and a black flag unfurled—white bones and crossed short swords spread in the wind, like a cold, unblinking eye.
"A pirate flag?" Miguel gasped.
The steel beast that had raised the flag lowered four small boats.Three circled Leviathan's corpse, their sides lined with gleaming tools—measuring, it seemed, against the beast's belly.The last boat rowed straight toward the reed craft. The rhythmic splash of oars beat against the heart.
Strangely, the youth at the bow looked more nervous than anyone—frozen stiff, like he was seeing real pirates for the first time.
"H–hello," the boy stammered.His voice came thin, sliced apart by the wind on the open sea.
"...Hello there!" Miguel waved enthusiastically.
The boy only grew more awkward. "I'm so sorry—"
"Huh?" Miguel tilted his head. "What for?"
"I… I think we might have stolen your kill… Really, I'm very sorry."As he spoke, his fingers unconsciously rubbed the old calluses in his palm.
"So you rowed all the way here just to apologize, little captain?" Miguel teased.
"Ah—n-no, I'm not the captain... You know what, never mind. I'll let Rena handle it."He stepped aside with a resigned look.
"You're really no good at this part, little brother."A tall woman stood up from the edge of the boat with a graceful motion. Her smile came and went like the tide—measured, composed.
"Everyone, we're crew members of the amphibious assault vessel Capitano.I'm Boatswain Rena, and that's our mechanic, Arran—as you've probably figured out, we're pirates."
She spread her hands, her smile both elegant and apologetic."So yes, while we're very sorry for taking your quarry, the big guy's coming with us.As compensation—our captain would like to invite you aboard the Capitano for a proper visit... What do you say?"
When they stepped onto the deck of the Capitano, sea water still dripped from the edges of their clothes.The metal plating had been worn smooth by countless boots. The air was thick with the scent of salt crust and old oil.Down the hallway, the yellowed bulbs gave off a dim, sepia glow—like a layer of time that couldn't be scrubbed off.
Faded paint, rusted bolts, and aging but carefully maintained rubber cables flashed by as they walked.From deep within the ship came a low mechanical hum—like a distant bellows breathing slowly in the dark.
To Miguel Wegenstadt and Fais Allenbell, the Capitano felt like a massive time capsule—not a journey backward, but a sideways collision with the late Industrial Age.
"Designs from the late 19th to early 20th century…" Miguel murmured."Funny how tech in these other worlds always seems to follow the same track."
"Not just similar—it's an expression of what some call the Iron Law," Fais replied, his eyes tracing rivets and wiring."The last museum curator I studied under had a theory: all civilizations evolve under the constraints of this 'Iron Law.' They're bound to follow it."
"Who the hell would understand that?" Miguel scratched his head.
Fais thought for a moment, then rephrased:"Put simply—no matter how different a race, location, or environment, if they want to survive, they have to move forward.And in moving forward, their creations tend to converge—toward similar forms and principles.Even if the methods differ, the outcomes look alike.In a way, once they began building, the end was already determined by the Iron Law."
"Uhh… right." Miguel nodded vaguely, not quite following.But his steps slowed, instinctively quiet—like he feared waking a ghost asleep behind the metal walls.
They passed more ladders and chambers.The scent of salt and oil thickened, slowly mixing with hot metal and dry air—that was the breath of the engine room.
Suddenly, Miguel turned around."By the way… where exactly did you get this amphibious assault ship?"
"Are you… asking me?" Rena glanced over, one brow arched.
"Well, who else? Your mechanic barely speaks. Why would I ask him?"
"Pfft—he's actually very chatty once he warms up," Rena replied, glancing at Arran."Right?"
"Uh… I guess," Arran muttered, rubbing his wrench reflexively.
"So where's this submarine from? You guys don't look like you're from the 20th century."
"We're not," Rena replied with a half-smile, her gaze urging them forward."But no need to be impatient—our captain will explain everything shortly. It's not my place to get ahead of him."
She lifted a hand, pointing up toward the staircase.
A colder breeze slipped in through the cracks in the portholes, carrying a hint of open sky.A promise of a wider view.
"Come on," she said."The captain is waiting for you on the bridge."