NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter-128 Warship
Morning came and the sound of dawn nudged Ewan and gently woke him up. After refreshing, he walked out to the lush lawn attached to his designated room and lounged on the marbled bench in the open pavilion. Yesternight’s feast and the peculiar method of cooking Ketaby was off his mind, his deal with the Ensils now occupied him. It was a win-win situation, both sides would get what they wanted. Thus, he intended to hold his end.
Phantasm.
He traced the circuit of the new spell he learned from his Spellbook and targeted the marbled bench in front of him. This was the most difficult spell he’d learned so far. He failed and failed and failed before succeeding once. The demanding curves, the intersecting points, the thickness, the angles—none of his other spells could compare to its complexity.
The surging Mystic-Anima that flooded his body drowned the bubbling exhilaration from completing the spell circuit—the amount was too much. Soon, it edged at the limit of Step-0 spells and stopped. One inch further sat the realm of Step-1 spells, and if he jammed his way in at his current level, the backlash would crush his soul.
The bench blurred when the spell took effect, its smooth texture coarsened, and it turned into an age-old stone bench. Ewan broke the held breath and panted as the spell completed, his heart racing. It strained him—spirit, body, and mind. Yet, the effect he produced was just a simple change in texture, instead of a complete illusion.
<Phantasm>, it was a spell that deceived, and he needed to own it before he could fulfil his part of the deal with the Ensils. Not only that, but he also needed it to solve a problem of his own. He could use this spell on Frost to hide his identity and use him freely in battles as his Astylind—at least until he became strong enough to shoulder the burden of his Demon status. And those weren’t the limits either. His imagination ran wild when he worked the spell. Illusion—it was a field of its own, the possibilities were endless.
The gray sky brightened as his thoughts wandered, the time to set sail drew close. So, he ended his practice and headed to the rocky beach.
……
The unfurled sails caught the wind, the masts creaked from the force, the waves crashed against the bow, and the ship inched away from the island carrying the payment boxes. Ewan and Kiev said their farewells to Malcolm from the deck, then put away their polite smiles when they were far off.
“Those aren’t Novas coins, I presume,” Ewan said. If they were, that was an astounding number.
“Local resources,” Kiev said. “They fund the war.”
“That’s quite the funding.”
“It’ll all be used up soon,” Kiev said. “Most will end up as rewards against contributions in the war.”
“I still haven’t received mine yet,” Ewan said.
Kiev chuckled. “No one’s snatching it away. Take what you want from the list when we get back,” he said. “By the way, had you seen a Ketaby prepared before?”
“No, why?”
“Then have you seen something gory like that before?” Kiev asked.
The memory of the Frosthelm festival—his bloody birthday—flashed in his mind. Those gruesome deaths, the tormented deceased, the gory corpses, they were quite like what happened yesterday with the Ketaby. He wasn’t numb to them yet, no matter how much he forced himself to be. But the experience did mellow the impact.
“Not really,” Ewan said. “Why’re you asking?”
“You didn’t seem much…affected.”
“Well, I was more interested in how it worked, so didn’t have much time to vomit my guts out,” Ewan said.
“It was those burning feathers, I can't stand that stench,” Kiev said.
“If I remember right, you vomited before that.”
“You remember wrong then.”
Ewan shrugged and Kiev strutted back to his room. Before he could make it to the stairs though, a vibrating noise trickled in. It started from a hum, then evolved into an ear-ringing buzz. It shook the ship—the sails fluttered, and the woods rattled. Ewan stared in shock as a small dot on the horizon gradually swelled into a shadow that covered the sky. Kiev dashed back and stood beside him, also gaping at the gigantic silhouette passing above them, his eyes glittering, and his fist clenched.
The world darkened beneath it, the waves thrashed around, the wind revved up. The ship rolled left and right, almost to the point of capsizing, broken droplets from the ocean raining on the deck. Some sailors fell off board, some swung from the ropes, screaming. The captain held onto the wheel and struggled to steer the ship, preventing it from overturning. Ewan and Kiev too toiled to stay on board, both using Ryvia to grab onto the mast.
The mayhem remained for a few minutes, then the ocean slowly calmed down—the enormous shadow shrank and faded away into the distance. Before breathing a sigh of relief, both Ewan and Kiev took command and gathered the sailors to save the ones who fell off. Luckily, they were all veterans, so no one drowned, and the injuries remained to a minimum.
“Captain, check the crates. Report any damage,” Kiev said.
“Yes, sir,” the captain said and raced down to the storage compartment with some sailors in tow with lanterns.
“Was that…the expedition Warship…,” Ewan murmured.
“It was,” Kiev said, staring at the path it carved in the clouds.
“You look like you want to join,” Ewan said.
“Who doesn’t. I’m more interested in Ashevagord though, the masked conclave….”
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