The Violet drifted leisurely across the endless ocean. The season remained favorable on both sides of the equator. Yet even with fair winds and the aid of magic, the thirty-thousand-league journey from the continent of Alaz to Nightingale would take no less than six months.
Grace was practicing channeling her magical core atop the ship's deck. Her mother had taught her the fundamentals of cultivation and explained how to progress from Stage 1: Core Formation to Stage 2: Meridian Opening.
For the past month, Grace had worked diligently toward this goal—only pausing for meals, card games with the sailors, and conversations with her family.
The Roman Empire's system of power cultivation was renowned for its simplicity and structure—simple enough that even a child could understand it. To advance to the second stage, one only had to circulate core energy through the body, seeking out the natural pathways known as meridians.
Practice stances helped tremendously. When the energy flowed more easily in certain positions, a practitioner was to memorize the stance and temper the pathway with their core energy. In time, the body adapted and became a true conductor of magic.
Gray, whose magical core had been shattered during his awakening, had no such option. Following Katarina's advice and under Cassia's careful supervision, he trained with daggers instead.
He drilled standard combat stances, slashes, and thrusts. His movements looked clumsy and unnatural.
Gray bore no resemblance to the boy who had dispatched the thugs attacking his sister. He was an absolute novice with a blade. Truth be told, neither he nor Grace remembered that day clearly.
They still believed a mysterious figure in black had saved them. The eerie glow surrounding Gray—and the attackers' deaths—were chalked up to rage and helplessness.
Katarina, who learned the full story only a week after they set sail, held the same belief. She'd been furious when she discovered that her subordinate had concealed such vital information. Though she understood his reasons, she vowed to teach him a lesson in obedience should he ever show his face again.
Half an hour later, Katarina clapped her hands, signaling the end of the day's training. She approached the twins, gently wiping the sweat from their faces with a damp cloth.
For the past month, she'd watched her children throw themselves into their practice with impressive diligence. While she admired their determination, she didn't want them to lose their childlike joy and spontaneity.
"My darlings, don't push yourselves too hard. Rest is just as important for your growth as training."
"But Mother, it's so boring!" Grace groaned, flopping down onto the deck. "Water, water, and more water. If I don't move, I'll go crazy! I thought a sea voyage would be full of adventures like the stories you told us."
Katarina chuckled. "Oh? And yet, you've been playing cards with the cook and the boatswain. I hear they avoid you now as though you carry the plague."
"Hmph! They're too weak! If Captain hadn't called them away, I would've taken all their breakfasts in two more games."
[Little devil…] thought the rotund cook, who just happened to be passing by with a frying pan balanced atop his head and a pot in hand.
[If not for the Captain's orders, I would've tanned your mischievous hide with my skillet a week ago. You've already robbed me of three breakfasts. How much more do you want?! Wait… just wait until Uncle Jack gets permission for the operation.]
While Katarina spoke with Grace, Cassia was explaining to Gray how a properly balanced ship like the Violet couldn't capsize—even when it listed heavily.
But Gray interrupted suddenly. "What's that?!"
"What did you see, Gray?" Cassia straightened, peering over the rail.
"There! Right there!" He pointed at a speck in the water.
Cassia squinted. The cook, noticing where the boy pointed, suddenly shouted, "Starboard bow! Floating wreckage ahead!"
His cry stirred the entire crew. Off-duty sailors scrambled onto the deck. Captain Simbad emerged from his cabin. Katarina, Cassia, Grace, and even the ever-unflappable, narrow-eyed helmsman leaned over the railing, studying the object bobbing in the waves about three miles off.
"What is it?" a young deckhand asked.
"Looks like a whale's belly. Those beasts are common in this part of the ocean. Let's hope it's not a pack of aggressive scavenger whales. They get nasty when someone nears their meal."
"I don't think so," another sailor, Peter, disagreed.
"And what do you think it is, Peter?" asked another.
"I'm with the cook. That's the hull of a capsized ship. I can even see the polished wood glinting in the sun."
"Bear down on it, Bolton. Head straight for that wreck!" Captain Simbad barked.
"Aye, Captain!" came the helmsman's reply.
"I still say it's an animal," the skeptical sailor grumbled. "Five cigars from the Barbarian Plains and a bottle of ape wine says I'm right."
"I'll wager a gold piece it's a ship's hull," Katarina interjected coolly.
The Violet adjusted course slightly to port.
The sailors watched with greedy curiosity. If the wreck held an intact cargo hold, they could transfer its goods aboard and perhaps earn six months of carefree living on Tortuga—the infamous pirate haven near the continent of Velnora.
Five minutes later, the Violet drew within half a mile. No doubt remained—it was a capsized galley. Its deck stood nearly vertical. Broken oars floated nearby. The masts had snapped clean off. A massive hole gaped in the starboard side, its framing and planking stove inward.
"A Roman galley," the cook declared. "Must've collided with something big."
"Exactly," Simbad confirmed. "But I'm amazed it didn't sink outright. That's a miracle."
"Think the cargo's still aboard?" asked a sailor, rubbing his hands as he lowered the longboat.
"Hear that?" Grace suddenly exclaimed. "A dog's barking! Someone save it—why are you all standing around? I'll rescue it myself if I must!"
"Easy now, dear," Katarina said. "The poor thing must be starving."
"Then give it my soup. I won't eat everything I won from the fat uncle anyway."
The cook cursed inwardly. So now my meals are dog food? Just wait, little devil. Just wait until the Captain gives the order.
Ten minutes later, the sailors returned with a dripping wet, emaciated black puppy—though calling it a puppy might have been generous.
It had three heads.
"A Cerberus?" Simbad exclaimed.
"Yes, Captain. This one could fetch at least three gold at any imperial auction," a seasoned sailor declared proudly, cradling the creature.
"He's mine!" Grace shouted, snatching the pup and offering it the stew she'd set aside.
But the little Cerberus ignored the food. It rushed to a water barrel and drank greedily.
"Why is he drinking so much? Didn't he have water aboard the wreck?" Grace asked, puzzled.
"Saltwater can't quench thirst, darling. It only makes it worse," Katarina explained gently. She sometimes forgot that her clever children still lacked certain basic knowledge.
"I see," Grace replied.
Simbad forced a strained smile. The valuable pup had gone to their wealthy passengers. Greedy as he was, he held his tongue. But he couldn't help asking, "What else did you find? Report everything."
"Yes, sir. It's the Roman galley Nix. Not a soul aboard—just corpses of slaves and shattered oars. No coins found. But the hold contains barrels of incense from the Empire of the Six Pillars.
"Looks like smugglers. The galley collided with another vessel and sank. The attackers must've left in a hurry, taking only the most valuable goods. The pup was hidden so well they missed him. The rest of the cargo is worth maybe two gold at most. Far less than the Cerberus."
"Understood. Don't be greedy, Locke. Two gold is enough for a week of indulgence on Tortuga. Take some strong men and transfer the cargo. Don't antagonize our passengers."
"Aye, Captain."