Chapter 234

It didn’t take long for the first problem of the expedition to reveal itself. And, of course, it wasn’t a monster. It was Viola.

When they’d left the harbor, she’d looked ready to conquer the sea itself, standing at the bow with her red cloak snapping dramatically in the wind, one hand on her sword and the other shading her eyes like a commander surveying her domain.

But as the waves started to rise and the rhythmic sway of the warships grew rougher, her expression… changed.

First came the tight jaw. Then the slightly hunched shoulders. Then the color draining from her face like someone was slowly pulling the life out of her with a straw.

By the time the third heavy wave rolled under the hull, Viola was gripping the railing with both hands, eyes unfocused, her skin a lovely shade of pale-green nobility.

Arslan noticed first. He frowned, walked over, and gave her back a firm pat. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who was ready to ‘storm the southern sea,’” he said.

Viola didn’t look up. “Mhm.”

He arched a brow. “First time on a ship?”

She nodded weakly, still staring straight ahead.

“Ah.” Arslan nodded sagely, as if that explained everything. Then he patted her again. “You’ll get used to it.”

She made a noise that sounded somewhere between a groan and a threat.

A few steps away, Ludger leaned against the railing, arms crossed, trying and failing to hide his smirk. “You know, there are easier ways to look heroic than turning the color of spoiled milk.”

Viola glared weakly. “If I survive this, I’m punching you.”

“Good spirit,” Ludger said dryly. Then, softening a little, he added, “Try closing one eye. It helps your brain stop fighting your balance. And keep your gaze fixed on the horizon, don’t look down or at the waves.”

She blinked at him. “You sound awfully experienced.”

“Earth mage,” he said simply. “We

hate

moving ground.”

Arslan chuckled under his breath. “He’s not wrong.”

“Also,” Ludger continued, “small sips of water. Don’t hold your breath, it makes it worse. And don’t eat anything heavy.”

Viola nodded miserably. “Already regretting the breakfast.”

“I told you not to have three helpings of salted fish,” Ludger said.

“Shut up,” she muttered, gripping the railing again as another wave rocked the ship.

Kharnek’s booming laugh erupted from the next vessel over, carried by the wind. “Ha! The Lion’s daughter can slay monsters but not a few waves!”

Viola groaned louder. “I hate him too.”

Arslan gave her another encouraging pat that was probably doing more harm than good. “You’ll be fine, Vi. Everyone gets their sea legs eventually.”

Ludger smirked faintly, eyes flicking toward the horizon as the fleet surged forward, cutting through gray waves and gusting wind. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Eventually.”

Behind him, Viola leaned over the railing again, muttering something that sounded like a prayer, and maybe a few death threats.

The expedition to the southern archipelago had officially begun. And its first casualty was Viola’s dignity.

Viola had gone from pale to ghostly in less than an hour. She sat slumped against the railing, cloak wrapped around her neck like it could somehow anchor her to the deck. Every time a wave rolled under the ship, she grimaced as if the ocean itself had personally insulted her.

“Does it…” she muttered weakly, “…does it take long to get used to this?”

Ludger leaned beside her, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Might be,” he said, tone flat but not unkind. “Depends on the person.”

Viola groaned, closing her eyes. “Great. Maybe I’ll evolve into a corpse before that happens.”

For a few minutes, neither said anything. Just the sound of creaking wood, distant gulls, and the muffled thrum of the ship’s mana conduits humming beneath the deck. Ludger watched the waves, mind half on her condition and half on the mission ahead.

Then he sighed. “You know,” he said casually, “if you’d rather not vomit yourself to death before we reach the island, there’s another way.”

Viola cracked one eye open. “Oh? You’re going to carry me?”

“Not exactly.”

She squinted at him, suspicious. “You’re being nice. That’s suspicious.”

“I just don’t want to deal with you puking all over your sword before the fight,” he said bluntly. “You lose your breakfast before a battle, you’ll be a pain to look after.”

That earned him a slow, silent glare—but he wasn’t wrong, and she knew it. After a long pause, Viola exhaled, resigned. “…Fine. What’s the plan?”

Ludger opened a small pouch at his belt and scooped out a handful of sand. He let it pour between his fingers, mana thrumming through his veins as he knelt on the deck. The sand scattered in a perfect circle, then began to tremble.

The wood underfoot vibrated as two slabs of stone began to shape by Ludger’s will, drawn from sand and suspended over the sea like twin floating platforms. The air around them shimmered faintly with mana threads, holding them steady against the ocean wind.

He stepped onto one, testing the stability, then glanced at her. “Ready?”

Viola hesitated only a moment before pushing off the railing and stepping gingerly onto the second platform. The motion was smooth, nothing like the constant sway of the ship. She straightened slowly, the nausea already fading from her face.

“…I’ll admit,” she said, “this feels much better.”

“Told you,” Ludger said.

From behind them, Arslan’s voice carried across the deck. “You two sure about this?”

“Perfectly,” Ludger called back.

Arslan shook his head, crossing his arms but smiling faintly. “Just be careful. If the wind catches you, I’m not fishing either of you out.”

Viola smirked weakly. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

“Try not to test that,” Arslan muttered, though there was a note of pride beneath the concern.

Ludger crouched, pressing a hand against his platform’s surface. The stone responded instantly, gliding forward with a low hum as if carried by an invisible current. Viola’s followed close beside his, the two drifting smoothly away from the fleet and toward the bridge in the distance.

As the ships grew smaller behind them and the sea opened wide ahead, Viola let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Alright,” she said, voice steadying, “I’m officially never getting on a boat again.”

Ludger smirked. “Noted. I’ll put that on your epitaph if this thing collapses halfway there.”

“Very funny,” she said, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling now.

The platforms skimmed over the waves like silent gliders, sea spray bursting harmlessly beneath their path. Before long, the broken silhouette of the bridge rose ahead.

When they reached the structure, Ludger lowered his platform with a flick of his wrist. The stone slabs merged seamlessly with the bridge’s surface, and both of them landed with light thuds.

The air here was different, dense with salt, mana, and memory. The last battle’s scars were still visible: shattered railings, and dried blood. The rhythmic sound of the waves striking the pillars below echoed like the heart of something still alive.

“Let’s move,” Ludger said. “We’ll cover the span before the fleet does.”

Viola nodded and fell into stride beside him, her earlier seasickness apparently burned out of existence by sheer stubborn pride. The two broke into a steady run across the uneven bridge, their boots striking wet stone in rhythm.

When they reached one of the collapsed sections, Ludger slowed briefly, eyeing the thirty-meter gap where the sahuagins had smashed the stone clean through. The coral pillars still stood firm, glowing faintly under the water.

“Over there,” Ludger said, and without hesitation, he vaulted over the edge. His boots hit the nearest pillar’s flat top with a crunch of grit. He landed in a crouch, absorbed the impact with earth mana, and looked up. Viola was already airborne.

She landed beside him a moment later, light-footed, the breeze tugging at her scarf. “You’re not leaving me behind that easily,” she said with a smirk.

Ludger glanced at the next pillar. “Good. Keep it up.”

They leapt again—thirty meters of open air, salt wind stinging their faces. Ludger shaped small bursts of mana underfoot midair, pushing himself farther; Viola followed flawlessly, landing beside him without breaking stride.

They sprinted along the narrow path, leaping from coral to stone to bridge again, moving in perfect rhythm with the roaring sea below. By the time they reached the next intact section of the bridge, Viola’s face had color again, her eyes sharp and steady. Ludger almost laughed, it was hard to believe this was the same girl who’d been ready to make an offering to the ocean gods ten minutes ago.

“Keep the pace,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “The ships are moving fast. If we don’t finish this before nightfall, this will be a problem.”

Viola nodded vigorously, tightening her grip on her sword’s hilt. “Right!” she said, her voice full of energy and maybe a bit of overcompensation.

Ludger arched a brow. “Glad to see you’ve recovered.”

“I wasn’t

that

bad,” she said defensively.

“You turned the same color as boiled kelp,” Ludger said dryly, already jogging ahead.

Viola huffed but followed, her boots striking the stone as the two raced forward across the long scarred span of the bridge—two shadows against the dying light, rushing toward the island that waited like a promise at the edge of the sea.

The roar of the ocean faded into the background as the warships drew near the bridge’s outer edge, their hulls gliding through the churning waves in perfect formation. The fleet had followed slowly at first, their cannons angled outward, mana conduits humming in anticipation.

When the ships approached close enough for the banners of House Hakuen and the Lionsguard to be visible, Viola grinned and waved a hand high above her head. “Hey! Still alive!” she shouted across the distance.

From the lead vessel, Arslan lifted an arm in response, and several crewmen cheered from the decks. Even at that range, Ludger could see the faint glow of Lucius’s saber being raised, a small signal flare of firelight against the dull sky.

“Guess that’s their way of saying we didn’t die yet,” Ludger muttered.

“Encouraging,” Viola said, still smiling.

The reassurance was brief but necessary. With the fleet shadowing their path, Ludger and Viola continued forward across the bridge, their pace steady and deliberate. The hours bled away into a rhythm of running, leaping, and balancing along the uneven stone spans. Three hours later, the horizon changed.

Through the haze of mist and salt, the archipelago came into view, a cluster of jagged islands rising from the sea like the teeth of a broken crown. Black cliffs lined with coral glowed faintly under the sun, and streams of white spray crashed against the reefs. Somewhere deeper in that maze of rock and ruin, Ludger could feel it, the faint, rhythmic pulse of mana that belonged to the labyrinth.

Viola slowed beside him, her expression sharpening. “There it is.”

“Yeah,” Ludger said quietly. “Time to go back.”

She groaned immediately. “We

just

got here.”

“If we stay, they’ll have to watch our backs while fighting,” Ludger said.

Viola sighed, glaring at the island one last time before nodding. “Fine, fine. You’re right.”

Ludger retrieved another handful of sand from his pouch. A soft hum of mana vibrated through the air as two earthen platforms formed beneath their feet once again.

“Hold on,” he said, and with a thought, both slabs of stone lifted off the fractured bridge, gliding upward until the ocean wind pressed cold against their faces. The platforms turned smoothly, angling back toward the fleet that now formed a crescent near the bridge’s end.

It took three minutes to cross the distance this time. The warships loomed larger and larger until the scent of burning mana and saltwater filled the air. As they approached, crewmen scrambled to the rails, ropes ready to catch them. Ludger adjusted the mana flow, easing both platforms down until they touched the deck with a soft

thud.

“Welcome back,” Lucius said, meeting them as they stepped off. His tone carried a calm authority, but his eyes were sharp, taking in their expressions. “I trust the bridge is still stable?”

“For now,” Ludger said. “We saw the island. It’s waiting.”

Lucius nodded once, then raised his voice so it carried over the deck.

“All right, everyone, gather up!”

Officers, Lionsguard, and Ironhand captains moved closer, forming a semicircle around him as the ship’s mana lights dimmed to a low, steady glow.

Lucius drew his saber, the fire along its edge burning low but steady as he pointed it toward the horizon where the archipelago loomed.

“This is it,” he began. “Beyond that fog lies the labyrinth, the source of the sahuagin attacks and, possibly, the one controlling them. Our goal is simple: establish a foothold, identify the enemy command structure, and secure the labyrinth’s entrance before nightfall.”

He glanced toward Ludger and Viola, then to Varik and Rathen. “Each faction has its role. The Silver Talons handle sea defense and suppression fire. Ironhand and Lionsguard will form the forward strike teams once we make landfall. Gaius and Ludger will fortify the landing zone the moment we’re ashore.”

His gaze hardened, voice cutting sharper. “We expect resistance. Coordinated. Intelligent. Don’t underestimate them. This isn’t a raid, it’s the beginning of a campaign.”

The air on deck grew taut, the sound of the waves falling away beneath the weight of his words.

“Prepare yourselves,” Lucius finished, lowering the blade. “By sundown, we set foot on the archipelago.”

As the crews dispersed to ready weapons and check runes, Ludger looked back toward the mist-wrapped horizon. The island waited in silence, its coral glow faint but pulsing—steady, deliberate, alive. And for the first time since the expedition began, the sea itself felt like it was holding its breath.

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