For Ceres, there were few sensations in Nyarlea more gratifying than the thrill of combat. The adrenaline pumping through one’s veins, a test of mettle between hero and monster, the pride that came with felling a terrible opponent. It was the ultimate test of skill and heroism, and Ceres wanted for little more.

“Fire!” At Sir Cailu’s command, the cannons rained cannonballs against the tentacled monstrosity. Its appendages flailed in the air, its main body hidden beneath the wild tides. Ceres rushed to the starboard side as another cannon fired from below.

A gasp escaped Ceres’s lips, and she gripped the railing of the ship harder. Her inner kitten was screaming to fire a cannon, to brandish her poleaxe and shove it into—

“Ceres,” came Sir Cailu’s voice. Relax. Relax! Approach him with the same level of sophistication you were taught.

Ceres looked over her shoulder. “Yes, Sir Cailu?”

“Be ready. The cannons will not suffice. I have need of your assistance.”

Yes!

“As you say, Sir Cailu,” Ceres curtsied. Her poleaxe manifested in her right hand, and she spun it once for effect. Ceres curled and uncurled her gauntleted fingers, pleased with the newfound strength in her body. “Tell me where I must be.”

“I am assembling the archers,” said Cailu. “You will hold the line beside them. With any luck, the Defiled will be dispatched with haste.” His eyes landed on Kirti talking to a group of robed catgirls beside the foremast. “I have [Priest]s aboard who will protect us. I observed you had [Titan of Ice] during our battle against the Ejderha. Can you provide defense?”

“Absolutely, Sir Cailu.”

“Splendid. I am needed elsewhere. Remain on the starboard side and provide support as necessary to our archers.” With that, the man briskly approached Kirti’s group, her words too quiet to hear.

Two catgirls wearing matching leathers approached Ceres, flanking her. Each of them had a bow strung around their shoulder. “Your armor is exquisite,” said the blonde one to her right. She had her hair tied in twin braids around her shoulders. Her tanned skin suggested years at sea.

“Where did you have it made?” The brunette to her left had her hair trimmed above her nape. Two thick bangs framed her face in a large ‘M.’ Unlike the other woman, her skin was fair, her arms littered with freckles.

“You are most kind. It was graciously commissioned for me by Sir Cailu,” said Ceres without missing a beat. “It is the work of the Ichi Island citizens. I am in Sir Cailu’s debt.”

The girls looked at each other in surprise.

The intense etiquette training reminded Ceres that she should introduce herself. She glanced toward the Defiled’s thrashing tentacles in the distance. There is always time for courtesy. “My name is Ceres, [Magic Knight] of Sir Matt.”

“Kana,” said the blonde one.

“Yumi,” said the brunette.

Such unique names!

Ceres abstained from clapping her hands together and inquiring on the origin of their names. Instead, she put a hand to her chest, politely bowing at the neck. “My duty is to protect you.”

“We’ll be relying on you!” said Kana, her scarlet eyes like deep rubies in the sunlight.

“If she can keep up,” Yumi smirked, her violet gaze digging daggers into Ceres.

“Your concerns are lighthearted,” said Ceres. “Is the Defiled not a threat?”

The girls shook their heads. “Not really,” said Yumi. “We deal with Defiled on the weekly, sometimes more often than that, depending on where Master Cailu wants to go.”

Master. Should I be calling him master? That seems inappropriate.

“You never know what’ll happen, Yumi,” shrugged Kana.

“You are both Second Class, then,” Ceres assumed. The pair nodded. “[Hunter]s?” They nodded again.

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“Got decent instincts, I’ll give you that much,” said Yumi, a hand on her hip. “We’ll see how you hold up once the Defiled comes in.”

The Callisto was making a wide berth around the Defiled. As its tentacles neared, Ceres saw how little effect the cannons had on the Defiled’s body.

I shall let none perish this day.

“Let’s get ready,” Kana said with a flick of her head. Yumi affirmed her suggestion and jogged to the center of the main deck, their bows readied and their quivers dangling at their waists.

Ceres’s poleaxe bobbed at her side as Portia came to stand next to her with her harpoon shouldered. “Ready for this?” asked Portia.

“What Class are you?” As soon as the words left her mouth, Ceres had her guesses.

Portia gestured to a dagger around her belt. “[Rogue]. Usually, people aren’t a fan of them, but you’re a fellow ship lover, so you’re good people.”

Ceres cared not to judge Portia for her choice in Class. [Rogue]s were exceptionally adaptable, and she had no doubt Portia would be the same. Despite their reputation, Ceres had experienced Ara’s presence firsthand to know that one’s Class did not dictate their way of living.

“Any particular Skills I should expect from you?” asked Ceres.

“I have [Plagiarize] and [Lockout].” The Defiled was nearly next to the ship now. “I got a few other tricks up my sleeve, so I’ll fill in the gaps.” Portia lifted the harpoon over her shoulder, two-handing it.

The Defiled was eerily fast. Within seconds of approaching the Defiled, one of its slimy tendrils slipped between the railing posts, slithering around one catgirl’s leg. Ceres pivoted on the spot, flourishing her poleaxe and severing the tentacle from its captive in one fluid motion. A gasp escaped Ceres’s lips as she felt the axehead of her weapon cleave through a plank.

My goodness, I used far too much force for that swing.

Adjusting the newly found [Strength] and [Dexterity] found in her armor was going to take some getting used to. So swift and powerful was her strike that the damage to the plank was nearly perfect in its cut.

At least my technique has not faltered.

Three more tentacles slithered on board, Cailu carving the latter of the three in half. An ear-piercing scream bellowed from beneath the waves, and the ship rocked to its port side. Portia and the other girls on board maintained their footing, but Ceres fell to one knee, grasping the post in front of her for purchase.

“Not a lot of experience on ships?” Portia cried as she stabbed another incoming tentacle. “[Lockout]!” Each tendril that had managed to snake its way on board froze for a split second. Ceres frowned, noticing how the appendages no longer appeared to have any desire to wrap themselves around the girls. Portia extracted the dagger from her belt and swiped it at the tentacle, severing the tip. Violet blood poured onto the deck, and the waters blew upward from where the Defiled resided.

“What did you do?” Ceres asked, astonished at what she had just witnessed.

“The Defiled won’t be wrapping itself around us anymore! At least for a good thirty seconds!”

Arrows soared through the air, forcing the Defiled’s tentacles back into the water. Ceres steadied her footing and returned to her prior stance, her gaze firmly attached to where the Defiled was last seen.

“Amazing,” Ceres marveled. “You are a fine [Rogue], Portia.”

“Thanks! This is what I’ve been waiting for all my life! Me and the ocean going toe to toe!” She flashed a pearly-white smile.

When the water broke again, a large body surged onto the deck. Portia and Ceres dove to the side, the wave of the monster’s approach spraying mist on her dress. Ceres turned to behold the beast in all its blasphemy.

A creature shaped like a long dining table skittered across the deck with tiny clicking canines underneath. Around the ridges of its body were black beads blinking in an asymmetrical fashion. Ceres counted as many as twelve tentacles. What was most disturbing of all was the rate at which they were regenerating. Two nubs where Ceres and Portia had cut the beast had already stopped bleeding, the appendage growing back quickly enough for the eye to perceive.

“[Split the Arrow]!” cried one catgirl on the port side. The Defiled snapped toward her and rolled.

“[Titan of Ice]!” Ceres cried, her hand extended toward the archer. The girl gasped as the Defiled collided with the barrier, shattering it instantly. The other girls froze around her, yet the Defiled was unaffected. The beast wrapped itself around the girl in an instant, the teeth moments away from impaling her.

“[Disarmament]!” Cailu’s Skill rang through the air alongside his shield. The shield struck the Defiled and stuck to it like glue. “[Call Arms]!” He extended his hand, and the shield returned to him, dragging the Defiled away with it.

The archer fell to her knees, her eyes wide with terror. Catgirls with crossbows buried bolts into the Defiled’s leathery skin as it approached Cailu, halted only when he had retrieved his shield and stamped his foot on the beast. As the Defiled reached up, a hole opened up at the front where its mouth should be.

“[Lockout]!” Portia cried once more. The Defiled’s ‘lips’ sealed shut, met by the cold embrace of Cailu’s blade.

A blood-curdling screech filled the air, Cailu’s expression cold and distant. He muttered, “[Purging Flame],” and the Defiled burst into flame like wildfire.

Ceres had expected the Defiled to scream again. To writhe, wriggle, crawl, struggle, anything. Instead, the roaring flames drew beads of sweat from Ceres’s forehead, and the Defiled steadily slumped over, the black pearls of its eyes popping from the intense heat.

Relief washed over Ceres. Sure enough, Sir Cailu was every bit the man she imagined. He was the truest hero she had ever gazed upon. A man in beautiful shining armor, protecting the innocent with the word of Saoirse.

Ceres balled her hand and brought it to her chest, inspired by Cailu’s brutal efficiency.

If only I could be so grossly incandescent.

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