As soon as Milo came onto the deck, he sighed in relief. I should leave this ship as soon as possible, he thought.
His eyes fixed on a group of kids smiling, giggling, and one of them was Marco. Tch… Marco really is a player; not only is he handsome, but he's also good with words. It seems he's found his place among the flowers… but my dear Marco… you'd better leave the garden before we're bitten by a hidden snake and stung by the thorns.
Soon, he approached the group, but before he could speak, a voice coming from outside the ship interrupted him.
A weak, desperate voice drifted up from the dock below the ship.
"Please… ma'am… take me with you. Don't leave me here."
The person's plea, cracked and hoarse, sounded as if his throat had been worn raw from begging. A compact figure, no taller than Milo himself, knelt in the dirt. His thin arms were trembling, his little hands clutching at the hem of a noblewoman's skirt as though his life depended on it.
"I'll do anything you want… anything," the boy begged again, voice breaking on the last word. "Please… I don't want to stay here. I don't want to die."
The response was a vicious kick that sent him sprawling.
"Accursed mixed-blood!" the woman spat, her voice dripping with disgust. "Get lost! How dare you touch me!"
Her boot connected with his face this time, a sickening thud echoing through the quiet dock. The boy rolled on the ground, whimpering, blood seeping from his split lip and painting the dusty boards beneath him.
"Not killing you is already a mercy," the woman hissed, her tone cold enough to freeze marrow. "Everywhere you go, disaster follows. Why don't you just crawl off somewhere and die?"
***
Milo stopped near the group, but his eyes didn't leave the scene below. He'd read about slavery in the archives of this world: legal, regulated, even glorified in some lands. But seeing it with his own eyes struck differently.
In his old world, people were free. Here, freedom had a price tag.
A cold tightness spread through his chest. Every muscle in his body tensed as the boy below lifted his head, a small, trembling figure no taller than Milo himself. His wrist twisted at an unnatural angle, ending in something that wasn't human. A claw, dark and sharp, glinted faintly under the sunlight.
It wasn't the violence that got to him. He'd seen worse in both this life and the one before. It was their faces. The crowd's expressions weren't of fear or disgust; they carried something older, heavier, a hatred so natural it seemed inherited.
He turned slightly, glancing at Seraphine. Maybe she'd look away. Perhaps a part of her would flinch.
But no, her gaze held the same icy contempt as the others.
Milo's stomach twisted. What the hell did that boy do to deserve this?
Catching his look, Seraphine's lips curled faintly. "He's a mixed-blood of the lowest kind," she said almost casually. "Look closer. His hand below the wrist, it's beastlike. Such creatures are born cursed. They bring misfortune wherever they live."
Her tone hardened, a colder edge slipping into her words. "A slave trader scammed us into accepting him. We buy them in bulk, so no one noticed. Let him die here; it'll bring your village good luck."
She smiled, but it wasn't kind. It was the kind of smile that made his skin crawl.
Footsteps echoed behind him. Pedro and Lily were returning, chatting idly, unaware of the ugliness below.
Whatever… Milo exhaled slowly, forcing himself to look away. It has nothing to do with me. Best to leave before I get involved in something pointless.
But Marco lingered, still laughing with Seraphine and her friends as if nothing had happened.
"So, Milo!" Marco called, cheerful as ever. "Did you see how grand the ship is? Satisfied your curiosity yet? If you want anything, just ask Sister Seraphine."
Sister, my ass, Milo thought darkly. More like a viper in silk. But he smiled, because that's what people expected from him.
"Ahh, I'm honored," he said with mock reverence. "But shouldn't a gracious host treat her guests to a taste of noble cuisine? You know… broaden our horizons a little, Miss Seraphine?"
The deck fell silent.
Marco's grin froze. His cheeks reddened. Lily looked down, biting her lip, and Pedro groaned softly.
Seraphine's expression didn't change, but the faint twitch at her jaw told him she was irritated.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" Marco laughed too loudly, too quickly. "Miss Seraphine, we should get going! I'll treat this fool myself."
He grabbed Milo by the collar and dragged him toward the gangplank. Lily and Pedro followed, faces flushed with embarrassment.
Once they were off the ship, Marco exploded. "What the hell, man? Asking for food? Have you lost your mind?"
"Yeah," Pedro muttered. "Have some dignity, Milo. You might not have much, but don't drag us down with you."
Lily said nothing, only shot him a disappointed look before turning away.
He ignored them all...
His gaze drifted back toward the dock. The boy was still there—bleeding, trembling, striking his head against the planks.
"Please… I don't want to stay here. I don't want to die."
Milo frowned.
Die? Why would he die just for being left here? The woman was already gone; no one else paid attention. He scanned the dock. The fear in that boy's voice was predominantly from pain or hunger, but there was also a tinge of something else. It was something more profound. Something he didn't understand yet.
He turned away, but the question stayed.
***
The moment Marco dragged Milo off the ship, the group headed straight to Uncle Chang's shop. The air inside was thick with the smell of fried noodles and sea salt. Pots hissed. Steam curled between the wooden tables.
They sat together in the corner, bowls clattering as Uncle Chang's booming laugh echoed from the counter.
"So," Marco said between mouthfuls, pointing his chopsticks at Milo, "you think I was only flirting?"
Milo arched a brow, expression flat. What else could it be?
Marco leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I got information," he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You'd better start preparing. We're heading to Cliverland Island for the final test."
The words hit like a thrown stone. Conversation around the table stilled. Even the sizzling wok behind the counter couldn't drown the sudden hush.
Lily blinked. "Cliverland? Shouldn't Driftmoor Academy be hosting it?"
"That's what I thought," Marco said, shrugging. "But Miss Seraphine told me herself. Seems the Academy's got another plan. She said the rewards will be worth it."
Milo tapped his fingers on the table, eyes narrowing. "What kind of test?"
"Monster hunt," Marco said. "Group or solo, she wasn't sure. But she said to be ready. The Academy should send the notice by tonight."
For a moment, no one spoke. Outside, gulls screamed over the waves. The clink of bowls filled the silence.
"Then it's settled," Lily said finally, standing up. "We prepare for tomorrow."
One by one, they left the table, chairs scraping and boots tapping against wet cobblestone, until Milo was the only one still seated, staring absently at the rippling tea in his cup.
***
The sea roared beneath the ship's iron hull, hurling white spray into the air as waves rose and broke against its sides. The vessel groaned like a living beast, pushing through the endless blue, its masts swaying under the weight of storm-brewed winds.
Dozens of teenagers crowded the deck, some clutching crates and luggage as if afraid the sea might swallow them whole, others leaning against the rails, pale and dizzy from the motion. Their laughter and chatter were snatched away by the wind, scattered like gulls across the sky.
Near the prow, one boy stood apart.
He gripped the cold railing with one hand, fingers tightening as the next wave crashed against the hull and sprayed him with saltwater. The other hand hung loosely at his side, holding a worn travel bag that swung with the rhythm of the sea. He also had a second, smaller pack strapped across his back, and a belt lined with pouches wrapped his waist, each one packed with precise intent.
His gaze lingered on the waves, dark and glimmering and endless. For a moment, the chaos of voices behind him faded. Only the pulse of the ocean remained, rising and falling like the breath of something ancient.
"Ha! Ha! Ha! Milo, never thought you'd enjoy a storm like this! Shouldn't you be rushing to grab a room before they're gone?"
A deep, familiar voice rose above the crash of waves. Marco strode toward him from behind, tall and broad-shouldered with his uniform half undone, laughter booming louder than the wind itself.
Milo turned, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Why should I worry, boss? I'm sure you've already reserved one for me."
"Tch. Stop calling me boss." Marco folded his arms, pretending to glare. "You dump all the work on me, then call me that like it's a joke."
"Oh, come on. You're the son of the Harbor Guild Master. 'Young Master Marco' sounds too formal." Milo grinned, voice dry. "Boss just rolls off the tongue better."
Marco sighed, shaking his head. "You and that tongue of yours."
"By the way," Milo asked, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Where's Lily?"
"Where else? Probably scouting the competition. She's not a bottom-ranker like us." Marco leaned on the railing beside him, the wind tugging at his sleeves. "All I want is to pass. She wants the prize. Knowing her, she's already sizing up the top students."
Milo chuckled softly. "Still… a day at sea just to reach Cliverland, not to mention the time we have to spend there. That's too long for one exam." He looked down at the dark, heaving waves. "Ahh, I'm gonna miss grandma. She's all alone now. Damn it, Grandpa! Did you really have to head for Brinewall now of all times?"
"Quit whining," Marco said with a grin, tone half-teasing. "The Academy's giving us free rations, new uniforms, even ten gold coins each. Ten! That's a small fortune for students like us. Even if I fail, I'll enjoy the ride and treat it like a vacation."
He spread his arms as if welcoming the wind, laughter lost in the crash of waves. His eyes gleamed with carefree excitement, the kind that didn't belong on a ship headed for an exam that could change their futures.
Milo only smiled, but a thought flickered behind it, quiet and sharp. Ten gold… special rations… days for tests… too generous.
He glanced at the restless sea, its rhythm heavy and uneven. "Still," he said softly. "We shouldn't let our guard down."
Marco just chuckled. "How come the shameless one among us is the paranoid one today?"
The sound of laughter drifted across the deck, light and melodic and unmistakably feminine. Milo turned toward it, squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun.
Lily was walking toward them, her auburn hair catching the light, a playful smirk already tugging at her lips. Beside her was another girl—tall, elegant, with the composed grace of someone used to being admired.
"So you two decided to hide up here?" Lily teased as she stopped beside them. "Anyway, let me introduce you. This is Melody."
Milo and Marco exchanged quick smiles. "Nice to meet you," they said almost in unison.
"You may not remember," Lily continued, grinning, "but Melody's one of the top ten in our institute, skilled in both combat and alchemy."
"Lily, please," Melody said, feigning embarrassment. "You exaggerate. Everyone knows how dominant Brother Marco was during the selection. I'm nowhere near his level."
Her words were polite, but when her gaze shifted to Milo, her expression changed. The corners of her lips curved upward, not in warmth but in something faintly condescending, as though she were smiling at a stain she'd rather not touch.
Milo didn't react. He returned the smile, calm and unreadable.
The air thickened as another group approached from the far side of the deck. Their arrival drew glances from nearby students. At the front was a striking young woman draped in extravagant silks, her followers trailing behind with piles of luggage stacked in their arms. A tall young man with sharp features and cold eyes walked beside her, his posture radiating arrogance.
They stopped before Milo's group. The woman's perfume clashed with the scent of salt and iron in the air. Her eyes swept over Melody, then Marco, and finally landed on Lily and Milo with open disdain.
"Melody, Marco," she said coolly. "Why not join our group? We elites should stick together." Then her tone sharpened as she glanced at Lily and Milo. "If you spend time with trash, you'll only become trash yourselves."
"Pixie," Marco snapped, his voice low and edged. "You're out of line. Apologize."
"Why should I, cousin?" Pixie tilted her chin upward, eyes flashing with mock innocence. "Just look at them, they don't even have proper luggage. Everything they own probably came from the Academy's charity. I even heard that Milo's own grandfather doesn't believe in him. With his reputation, if he had any talent, he wouldn't be standing here like a beggar."
"Pixie—" Marco started, but Milo raised a hand lightly.
"Ah, the young Miss Pixie is absolutely right." Milo's tone was smooth, disarming. "My grandfather already told me I'd be taking over his blacksmith shop someday. I could never hope to match his skill, but I'll manage. Compared to someone as great as you, I'm nothing."
He dipped his head slightly, his lips curving in an unreadable smile. Inside, his thoughts were far less polite. Shoo!, Shoo… get lost already.
Pixie smirked, clearly satisfied. "See? He knows his place. Don't disappoint Uncle too much, cousin. Come along."
As she turned to leave, the arrogant young man beside her stopped, eyes narrowing at Milo. "You'd better withdraw from the competition before we reach the island," he said coldly. "Otherwise, you might find yourself without a hand to lift that hammer of yours."
Then the group swept past, leaving a faint scent of perfume and contempt in their wake.
"What the hell was that?" Milo muttered, blinking. "When did I even offend him? And who is that guy anyway?"
Melody answered, her voice quieter now. "That's Cannon, the second-ranked student in our group. His father's the current Chief of the Red Citadel."
"And as for why he's pissed off…" Lily crossed her arms with a knowing smirk. "You kicked his younger brother out in the second match. Guess humiliation runs deep in their bloodline."
Milo groaned inwardly. Better hope that Zara woman's skills were worth it; otherwise, I'd have just picked a fight with Red Citadel for no reason.
Melody suddenly straightened. "Well, I should get going. All the best for the test." Her tone was polite again, but her eyes didn't linger on him this time. She turned and walked away, skirts swaying.
Milo watched her go, then glanced at Lily. "There goes your helper. If you and Marco want to switch teams, I won't mind."
Lily shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. "After all these years, you're still testing me, you bastard!"
"Ha, just kidding." Milo raised his hands in surrender, grinning. "Besides, who qualifies and who fails is yet to be decided." He turned toward Marco. "Well, boss, shall we go find our room?"
Marco rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. "Sure. Come on, I'll show you."
"I'll see you both at dinner," Lily said, already walking off. "And maybe I'll drag a few more decent people into our group before then."
The sea wind caught her hair as she left, her figure swallowed by the bustling deck. Milo watched her go with the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
Above them, gulls cried, and the waves crashed, carrying laughter, rivalry, and something darker waiting beyond the horizon.
***
Golden chandeliers swayed with the ship's motion, scattering soft light across polished tables overflowing with roasted meats, jeweled fruits, and juice that shimmered faintly in crystal goblets.
Students filled the hall with laughter and noisy bravado, their excitement clashing with the rhythm of the sea outside. Plates clattered, music played, and even the scent of spice and salt couldn't drown the thrill of adventure in the air.
Amid the bustle, Milo sat near the end of the table, a small plate before him, half-touched, barely disturbed. He chewed absently, gaze fixed not on the feast but on the rippling reflections in his cup, lost in thoughts that had nothing to do with celebration.
"It's a rare thing to see you not jumping on food. Did the ship's rocking kill your appetite?" Marco asked lightly, setting down his fork.
Milo gave a faint smile. "Yup. Even though I eat a lot, I've got a weak stomach," he mumbled, then met his friend's eyes. Something in that calm, unreadable stare, along with his seemingly odd statement, made Marco's amusement fade.
"Tch… fine," Marco muttered under his breath, pushing his half-finished plate aside. "I'll entertain your paranoia just this once. You'd better be right, or we're missing out on a feast."
"What are you two talking about?" Lily's voice cut in from the side, curious. She'd caught the word paranoia and the odd tone between them. A few of the students she'd dragged into their group leaned closer, their interest quietly piqued.
"Nothing much." Milo raised his cup, voice even. "To tomorrow's test."
Cups clinked in unison. Laughter returned, but among Lily's new companions, a few began eating more slowly, their eyes thoughtful, as if they'd caught something hidden in Milo's words.
When the music faded and the tables cleared, the students drifted off toward their cabins one by one.
***
The cabin was narrow and dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of salt and oil. Two rows of double-decker bunks lined the walls, six beds in all, just enough for their assigned group of students. Wooden beams creaked with every roll of the ship, the sound mingling with faint murmurs from the cabin next door.
Within minutes, the others were asleep. Soft snores filled the cramped space, one after another, until even Marco's steady breathing joined the chorus. Only Milo remained awake, sitting on the lower bunk, eyes half-open in the dark.
It could have been minutes or hours when a strange, sweet scent crept into his nose. Faint at first, then heavier, like blooming flowers soaked in syrup. His pulse quickened.
Shit… Somnus Mist.
He moved fast. Reaching under his pillow, he pulled out a small vial filled with shimmering blue liquid and downed it in one gulp. The taste was metallic, biting. His lungs burned for a second, then cleared.
Footsteps, several of them, soft but deliberate, echoed through the wooden hall outside and reached his ear.
Milo's hand shot out as he grabbed Marco's shoulder, yanked him off the bed, and shoved him beneath it. In one smooth motion, he tugged the blanket back into place, shaping the pillow so it looked like Marco was still lying there, then did the same for his own bed.
Then he slipped below the opposite bunk, crouching low, every sense stretched thin.
The door creaked open.
"Tch… all the goods are asleep. Not a single one awake," a rough voice whispered, dripping with satisfaction. "Good harvest this year."
Another voice answered from the corridor, quieter, colder. "You handle this room. I'll take the next."
What's there to handle? Nobody is awake.
"Just do your job and take care of them," Voice One replied, footsteps thudding softly as he stepped inside.
He moved toward Marco's bunk first, the floorboards groaning beneath his boots.
Then he stopped.
"…Huh?"
From across the cabin, Milo saw that a hint of Marco's leg was visible, jutting slightly from under the lower bed. Milo's hand slowly moved toward the knife, ready to spill blood for the first time in this world.