My name is Trident. Captain of the Barbarossa Pirates.
One day, that absolute idiot Ollie stole a gem called 'Tears of the Saint' from the Royal Cathedral. It's no ordinary rock—it's a crystallized mass of magical energy the Empire spent a century collecting. Without it, every defensive mechanism in the Empire shuts down. That means monsters flood the city.
And that's not all. After stealing it, Ollie had the nerve to say, 'That's half my objective complete.'
I chase him. I need to know why h
Crazy Ollie: A Thief's Requiem - The sea breeze that divides the scars
The cold air before dawn bit into the skin.
On the cobblestones of Norden River Port, the damp traces of midnight dew still lingered. The sky remained a deep indigo, stars flickering faintly in the distance. The masts of merchant ships and fishing vessels moored at the harbor swayed in the faint salt breeze.
Trident pushed open the iron grate of the underground waterway with his back, probing the surrounding presence. The stench of rotted mud and sewage clung to his coat. Behind him, he heard Garnet cough quietly.
"Quiet."
He spoke without looking back. His deep navy eyes, sharp even in the dimness before dawn, were counting the torchlights of the imperial soldiers stationed throughout the port. Fifty meters from the waterway exit, behind the eastern supply depot—that was where the Red Bull should be moored.
But between here and there, three patrol squads stood in the way.
Two men each. Six in total. Lightly armed, but if they called for reinforcements, it was over. The marine unit under the command of Jäger Captain Erich Kreitz had laid a cordon across this entire river port area.
Trident spun a silver coin between the fingers of his left hand. An unconscious habit. Twelve years as a pirate, countless brushes with death—it was precisely in moments like these, when all seemed lost, that his mind grew coldest.
"—Let's move."
He kept low and ran from the shadow of one stacked wooden crate to the next. Garnet followed desperately behind. Her footsteps were surprisingly light. *For a sheltered saint raised in a cathedral, she's got decent instincts*—thinking this, he crept up behind the first patrol soldier.
The moment he rounded the corner of the supply depot, a second soldier stood directly in front of him.
The young soldier's eyes flew wide open. He drew breath—he was going to scream. Faster than he could draw the cutlass at his hip, Trident loosed the grappling rope in his left hand. The hook at the rope's tip coiled around the soldier's neck, and Trident yanked him down with brute force. A crushed gasp escaped the soldier's mouth as he slammed into the ground.
"Who the hell are—"
Before the other could turn around, Trident's right fist buried itself deep in the man's solar plexus. A dull impact that could be felt even through the armor. The soldier dropped to his knees without a sound and collapsed unconscious.
Garnet pressed both hands over her mouth. Her crimson eyes wavered, but it wasn't just fear—deep within them lay a strange stillness.
" I'm sorry…"
She looked down at the fallen soldiers and apologized in a thin voice. *This is happening because I'm here*—that was likely what she was thinking. Trident said nothing. He grabbed her arm and started walking.
The eastern sky was beginning to pale, ever so faintly.
As they cleared the supply depot, the view opened up. The murky waters of the Norden River reflected the dim light before dawn with a dull gleam. And beyond them—the black silhouette of the Red Bull rose into view.
A medium galleon with three masts. The bow was carved in the likeness of a sea dragon, and twelve cannons lined her broadside. The sails, weathered by salt winds, were a patchwork of repairs, but that only added to the intimidating presence of a battle-hardened pirate ship.
Garnet stopped in her tracks.
" …So this is…"
She stared at the pirate ship—the first she had ever seen in her life—as if devouring it with her eyes. It was nothing like the merchant vessels or warships she had read about in the cathedral's books. The hull was covered in scars, and at the tip of the mast, a pirate flag—the emblem of the Barbarossa Pirates, crossed tridents on a red field—billowed in the wind.
But what surprised her even more was the sight of the crew moving about on the deck.
Ruffians, every last one of them. Scarred faces and voices hoarse from drink. Cutlasses hung at their hips, and their arms were densely tattooed with nautical charts and seafaring motifs. Yet their movements were not without discipline. Each man understood his station, and they moved as a single living organism, coordinated without waste.
"About damn time, Captain!"
A giant of a man called out from atop the gangway. Rolf, first mate of the Barbarossa Pirates. A gray beard covered half his face, and a well-worn brass eyepatch sat over his right eye. Once a gunnery officer in the Imperial Navy, he had abandoned the military alongside Trident twelve years ago.
" Situation?"
"The pursuers are stalled in the underground waterway. We set fire to the oil casks. That'll buy us ten, maybe fifteen minutes. No more than that."
"Ten minutes is plenty. Prepare to set sail."
The moment Trident gave the order, the atmosphere on deck shifted. The crew sprang into action all at once. Men casting off mooring lines, men preparing to unfurl the sails, men inspecting the helm—forty-two ruffians following their captain's command without a shred of hesitation.
Rolf glanced over at Garnet.
" Whoa there, Captain. Is that the saint lady I've been hearing about? She's pretty cute—"
" Watch your mouth, Rolf. She's our guest."
Rolf shrugged and walked silently toward the bow. Garnet felt the weight of curious stares upon her, but strangely, it didn't bother her. If anything—no one here treated her like a saint. That brought her an odd sense of relief.
" The deck's slippery. Watch your step."
Trident supported Garnet's arm as they climbed the gangway. His hands were rough, covered in the hardened skin unique to sailors, but the strength of his grip was unexpectedly gentle.
Once on deck, the salt wind tousled her silver hair.
Garnet caught her breath.
Spreading out before her was a vast sky and an endless river current. The morning sun, streaming in from the horizon, dyed the water's surface gold. Birds took flight in flocks, and in the distance, the townscape at the river mouth lay shrouded in morning mist.
" …Beautiful."
It was an almost unconscious murmur. In her life of kneeling in the cathedral's underground sanctuary, devoted solely to prayer, this was a sight she had never once seen.
For just a moment, Trident gazed at her profile.
Her silver hair shone in the morning light, and her crimson eyes reflected the glow upon the water. Bandages concealed the countless scars carved into her left arm, but her fingertips trembled faintly—not from fear. It was the tremor of anticipation and anxiety toward a world she was seeing for the first time.
He quickly averted his eyes and walked over to the helm.
" Set sail. Hoist the sails. We ride the Aether Current."
*Creeeaaak—*
The pulleys groaned, and the massive sails filled with wind. The hull began to move slowly, and riding the flow of the Norden River, the bow turned westward.
Imperial soldiers standing on the quay were shouting something. The pursuers must have arrived. But it was too late. The Red Bull accelerated, gliding out toward the river mouth.
The morning sun fully revealed itself.
In an instant, the sky shifted from blazing vermilion to blue, and the sea reflected the light, glittering like jewels. From the free port of Ragnaroka to Fortica—and now, toward the frontier of western Midgards. The journey had only just begun.
---
Four hours had passed since they set sail.
The flow of the Aether Current was favorable. The magically charged tide pushed the ship along, propelling the Red Bull westward at nearly twice her normal speed. The sky was a cloudless blue, the horizon stretching on endlessly.
But a faint sense of unease lingered in Trident's heart.
Leaning against the railing of the sterncastle, he glared at the horizon while spinning a silver coin in his left hand. The air—had changed. Mixed with the scent of the tide was a faint, burnt smell.
" Captain, look."
The lookout crewman shouted from atop the mast. His voice was laced with unmistakable tension.
Trident raised his head.
The sky was splitting open.
He meant that literally. In the eastern sky—along the Valt Line, the boundary of the Valt Shield barrier—a fissure was running. A semi-transparent wall, about five meters wide, was cracking radially, like fractures spreading through glass. Something was seeping out from within the cracks. Like black smoke, yet possessing undeniable mass—
" All hands, battle stations!!"
The instant Trident's roar echoed across the deck, the fissure expanded all at once—and from it, countless flying creatures burst forth.
Wisps.
Small flying monsters. Each was about thirty centimeters long, but they beat their translucent wings at high speed, and the tips of their tails gleamed with sharp, venomous stingers. They moved in swarms, surrounding their prey, stinging to paralyze, and then slowly devouring them. Individually, their combat strength was low, but their numbers were a different matter.
Dozens—no, a swarm of hundreds covered the sky like a disturbed hornet's nest, descending upon the Red Bull.
" Wisps! All hands, to arms!"
After a moment of silence blanketing the deck, it erupted in roars and the clashing of metal. Crewmen grabbed cutlasses, axes, and grappling hooks, rushing to their stations. The gunners aimed the small swivel cannons skyward and began loading.
Trident looked back over his shoulder.
Garnet stood frozen at the entrance to the sterncastle. The color had drained from her face, and her crimson eyes were simply wide open.
" You—get to the cabin! Do not come out!"
" But—"
" Just go!"
Trident pushed her back into the cabin and shut the door. At that moment, an ear-splitting buzzing exploded overhead.
The first wave swarmed the deck.
" Here they come!"
Rolf swung his axe, swatting down three wisps at once. But in that interval, another drove its tail stinger into his arm. Before the paralytic venom could be injected, he tore it off with his bare hands and crushed it.
Similar battles were breaking out all across the deck. The crew met the wisps with practiced hands. But there were simply too many. No matter how many they struck down, more kept coming. Reinforcements continued to pour in from the rift in the barrier.
" Rolf, support the starboard guns! Gunners, lay down suppressive fire!"
Shouting, Trident launched his grappling rope toward the yardarm of the mainmast. Confirming the hook had bitten into the wood, he gripped the rope and leaped with force. In midair, he slashed through three wisps with his cutlass and landed atop the sail.
The vantage point from high above opened up the full view.
(*There's too many… At this rate, we've got fifteen minutes, tops.*)
Trident analyzed the situation coldly. Monsters became more active on the Aether Current. They couldn't linger in these waters. But if they left the current, they'd lose speed and eventually be caught by the pursuing Imperial Navy.
He wrapped the grappling rope around another mast and leaped again. Using the momentum of his fall, he cut down four clustered wisps in a single flash. The moment he landed, he impaled two more at his feet with a reverse grip on his cutlass.
His tactics were almost acrobatic. Leaping from mast to mast, traveling along ropes to strike from blind spots. It was a fighting style forged over twelve years at sea.
However—
" Aaaargh!!"
A scream rose from the forward starboard side.
One of the gunners had been stabbed in the neck by a wisp's stinger and collapsed, foaming at the mouth. The paralytic venom had spread through his entire body. Before his comrades could rush to him, several more wisps swarmed over him—and a pool of blood began to spread across the deck.
Garnet watched it all through the cabin window.
Beyond the small round window, a real battle was unfolding. The "battles against monsters" she had read about in the cathedral's books were heroic tales adorned with flowery rhetoric. Fairy tales of holy knights receiving divine protection and striking down beasts.
But this was different.
Men shouting crude words, taking wounds, shedding blood, and still figh
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