The Demonic Scourge at Sea

“Folks, it’s almost time!” Borok bellowed, and with a chorus of dull thuds as cups were set down on wooden tables, the once boisterous reception hall instantly fell silent.

Saranya bent to retrieve the small leather boots from the floor, helping Kaelan put them back on. Kaelan, in turn, cast aside her languid posture, sitting upright beside Saranya, both poised to discern the true nature of Borok’s intentions.

“Firstly, I must apologize to our two little princesses,” Borok began, his wide mouth stretching into a boisterous ‘haha’. “I was terribly negligent; I actually forgot to add your names to the guest list.” The other guests, quick to gauge the atmosphere, either offered sycophantic laughter or feigned indignation, creating a lively din.

Saranya inwardly seethed, cursing Borok for his thoughtless bluster, yet she offered a subtle nod, feigning acceptance of his apology.

“Alright, alright,” Borok continued, “everyone here is interested in the shipbuilding project, so I won’t beat around the bush. There’s a slight problem with the plan, and I’m going to need everyone’s assistance.”

“What? What kind of problem?” someone pressed.

“Is it a lack of funds? As long as you can get us out safely, we don’t mind paying a bit more!” another chimed in.

“Yes, money is no object!”

“No,” Borok replied, raising his hands. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ve all guessed incorrectly…”

Borok raised both hands, urging everyone to quiet down, his voice now laced with a grim undertone. “It’s the demonic scourge.”

The sailor’s expression was grave; he paused for a second before continuing his account. “Several of my captains have reported back to me, one after another, saying that about thirty nautical miles from Vero, a band of dense grey fog has appeared. This fog severely obstructs visibility for navigation, and wherever it passes, the seawater turns a strange blackish-purple. Every ship that has attempted to sail through this dense fog has failed to return…”

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. ‘Could even the seas be affected by the demonic scourge?’

Saranya had never heard of such a phenomenon. This was primarily because maritime trade was underdeveloped in her homeland, the Northern Reaches; there were hardly any proper ports, and no one had ever embarked on long voyages from the imperial Northern Sea. Consequently, their first encounters with the demonic scourge had always been on land: a terrifying progression of black magical storms sweeping through, leaving the earth barren, living things withered and transformed into corrupted dark creatures. Demons would then seize the opportunity to invade, their passage marked by festering corruption and ravaged life. This was the only image of the demonic scourge etched in her memory.

As for a demonic scourge at sea, she truly had no conception of its form. The only certainty was that encountering such a force on the open water would undoubtedly be far more perilous than on land.

“Heavens… are we surrounded?!” a voice cried out in alarm.

“No, not yet,” Borok reassured them. “There are gaps in the fog band; our ships can still slip through and reach the safe outer waters. So what I mean to say is, the plan must change. There’s no time left for us to build larger ships. We must depart immediately, using the vessels we currently have. Regardless of any past grudges among those present, I presume our interests are now aligned at this critical juncture…”

As he spoke, Borok’s gaze flickered to Saranya, his expression momentarily sheepish. It was abundantly clear that Saranya and Kaelan would find it exceedingly difficult to align their interests with those of these desperate fugitives.

“The first fleet will consist of four three-masted sailing ships, fully laden with supplies and escorted by our elite sailors. Who wishes to sign up?”

“Me!”

“I’ll go!!”

“Take me too!”

As soon as Borok finished explaining the dire situation, the crowd erupted into a desperate scramble, eyes red with urgency. Each person frantically raised their money pouch, and for a moment, the entire hall echoed with the clinking and clattering of coins. This frenzied reaction was hardly surprising; according to Borok, the dense fog would gradually envelop and close in on Vero. Time was life, and the sooner they departed, the better their chances.

“First, register with me and pay the down payment,” Borok instructed. “Tomorrow night, the lighthouse at the dock will extinguish for a quarter of an hour. When it relights, you are to gather at the West Dock with the remaining funds, your supplies, and all your subordinates and family. A ship will be there to pick you up!”

In this manner, Borok swiftly compiled the lists for three separate fleets. Those who secured a spot were visibly relieved, rushing home to begin preparing for their evacuation. The remaining individuals, fearing they would be left behind, became clamorous and agitated, their discontent threatening to tear the roof off the building. Borok quickly announced that a second batch of ships would return to port within three days, offering more available spots, and only then did the restless crowd finally subside.

Carrying feelings of either worry or relief, the vast majority of guests exited through the main door. Those who remained silently in the hall were all faces Saranya recognized.

****

“Xiao Ya, what do you make of this?”

‘My master must be testing me,’ Saranya thought, ‘it’s so obvious, even a fool could see something is amiss…’

“Uh…”

If it were truly as Borok claimed—with the demonic scourge upon them and no time to construct larger vessels—would he really allocate such scarce, life-saving spots to outsiders? Saranya didn’t believe it for a second.

If she were in Borok’s position, she would undoubtedly prioritize getting her own people onto the ships, then fill every remaining crevice with supplies and valuables, and finally, slip away under the cloak of a moonless, wind-swept night. Selling passage and allowing various outsiders onto the vessels would only introduce a host of unstable variables; it was surely less reliable than simply loading more precious cargo and coin.

Indeed, before Saranya could even voice her suspicions, Rogni of the Rust Chain Brotherhood could no longer contain himself. The lean man rose from his seat, hooked a finger, and rapped his knuckles twice on the tabletop. “Borok, care to explain yourself?”

“Explain? Explain what?” Borok stammered, his voice trailing off. “I just finished explaining, because of the demonic scourge—”

“I said, *explain yourself*.” Rogni’s voice was sharp.

“This…” Borok began, but no words followed.

“Speak, Borok,” Nazareth’s hoarse voice cut through the tension. “Everyone’s here; there’s no way you’re getting away.”

At his threat, the Bloodsail Alliance sailors in the room immediately drew their knives, beginning to close in on the reception table where everyone was seated.

“What are you doing?!”

“Whoa… whoa… think this through, Borok…”

At Rogni’s unspoken signal, the Brotherhood’s ruffians overturned tables and chairs, sending metal cutlery clattering to the floor, only for Nazareth and his associates to kick it aside. High above, two Shadowscale Gang scouts, agile as monkeys, scaled the reception hall’s pillars to the rafters, quietly observing the escalating situation below.

The situation rapidly deteriorated into chaos. Amidst the turmoil, the Night Lily Knights swiftly moved to Saranya’s side, while a faint, arcane glow flickered ominously around Kaelan.

Having surrendered their weapons upon entering, Saranya raised her hand and snatched up a dining fork. “Among businesspeople, violence is a means that is both effective and foolish,” she declared, her voice sharp. “Borok, if you wish to test that assertion, the Redwater Gang is always ready to oblige.”

If such a meager threat could intimidate her, then her many years as a legion commander would have been for naught. Apart from her master, Saranya Kerfen truly feared no one.

She wondered if it was her imagination, but whenever she displayed such a strong-willed side, she felt Kaelan stealing glances at her from the corner of her eye, her expression showing a slight softening. Kaelan, it seemed, had always appreciated Saranya’s assertiveness, though she rarely vocalized it.

“The Brotherhood has maintained a neutral stance for many years now,” Malacar, the arena owner, scoffed, his lips pursed. “What, does your Bloodsail Alliance intend to start a war at a time like this?”

The burly man hadn’t risen from his seat the entire time, even going so far as to casually snatch a cup of Rogni’s wine and drink it.

All indications suggested that none of those present were easy targets, and Borok’s attempt to settle matters through intimidation was futile. The various bosses were sending the sailor a unified message: either halt immediately, or prepare for a fight tonight.

Borok’s gaze swept around the room, meeting the eyes of each opponent. Ultimately, he backed down, putting on a theatrical display of changing his tune for everyone to see. “Stand down! Stand down! Who taught you to threaten guests? Are you mad?! Put those weapons away!”

The sailor’s next words brought smiles to the faces of everyone present.

“Actually, the shipbuilding project was completed long ago. To contend with the demonic scourge, the Bloodsail Alliance had a colossal ship prepared in advance…”