Chapter 17: The Docked Ship
The ship had not stopped once in all these days. Whether this halt marked the final destination or merely a layover was uncertain. Judging by the volume of goods piled in the hold and their limited shelf life, a temporary stop seemed improbable. Most likely, the ship had been running at full steam toward its intended port. Even the recent turbulence had grown noticeably rougher compared to the earlier days.
If we had indeed reached the destination, the captain's first priority would undoubtedly be to unload the cargo. Whether this was a trade hub or merely a storage facility, these goods wouldn't stay here for long.
"Cough… cough… ugh!"
A fit of violent coughing tore through my chest, forcing me to spit into the crude chamber pot nearby. The phlegm I expelled was thick and yellow, tinged with streaks of blood.
The opportunity was here, but my body… was failing me.
Each cough felt like a hammer blow to my nerves, and my illness had worsened to the point that even such minor exertion left my vision swimming.
Hold on. Just hold on a little longer.
My head felt unbearably heavy, and even the wooden planks beneath me seemed to sway like the sea. My fists clenched tightly, trembling as I feebly struck my chest in an attempt to fight the encroaching weakness. My connection to my body was fraying; it felt as though my very existence was unraveling. All I could do was grit my teeth and will myself to stay conscious.
Then, voices.
"Wait, Marquis Cecilia! Down here is—"
"I am fully aware of what's down here. That is precisely why I've come."
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The Common Tongue.
Though distant, the commanding tone of a woman's voice carried clearly from the stairwell, resonating with undeniable authority.
A woman's voice... and that precise articulation—she must be a noble. Only those accustomed to commanding others spoke with such deliberate poise.
Forcing myself to look, I turned toward the source of the sound.
Descending the stairs was a striking woman clad in a tailored black nobleman's suit. Her golden hair, braided elegantly, gleamed faintly even in the dim light. Her tall frame exuded confidence, and her commanding presence was accentuated by her masculine attire. Yet, the cut of the outfit seemed to highlight, rather than diminish, her feminine stature.
"My apologies, Mister Damian, for the inconvenience caused by my master's curiosity."
"Not at all, not at all! Your presence honors us,"
A man is trailing closely behind her.
He had wavy, dark red hair and carried himself with a calm and collected demeanor, though his presence was less imposing than hers. His own dark attire lacked the subtle sheen of hers, suggesting a subordinate position despite his polished manners.
"Listen here, goblin brat. The lady doesn't mind coming down here, so why are you getting so worked up?"
"I'm not a brat! And don't you dare look at us goblins with your siren arrogance! Do you even realize who this esteemed guest is?"
"Ugh, you're so noisy."
"This isn't just noise!"
Trailing behind them were two more figures. One was a goblin, short and wiry, his large nose and long ears silhouetted in the dim light. His dark green skin and shifty eyes gave him a sly, almost comical appearance, though he seemed anything but amused. Clutching a notebook tightly, he gestured animatedly as he argued.
Beside him walked a siren—a tall woman wearing a pirate captain's hat tilted at a rakish angle. Her carefree smirk and casual demeanor contrasted sharply with the goblin's frantic gestures.
The clash of voices and the rhythmic sound of boots against wooden stairs grew louder as the group approached. My breath hitched, and I instinctively drew back, feverish and weakened. My mind struggled to process the implications of their presence, even as their figures moved closer, shattering the oppressive quiet of the hold.