Vincent, captain of the Foggy Dreamboat and occasional associate of the adventurer's guild, was having a blast.

“Yaargh! We’ve taken control of yer ship. Take out yer baubles, empty yer pockets. This be a good day for a pirate, and noone else.”

He only got to take out the pirate costume every couple of years, but the looks he got from his passengers always made it worth it. He made sure to always double down and doll up, with a cutlass and woolen breeches and a hat with a fancy feather sticking out of it. He’d swapped his eyepatch to the other eye, and his crew had even taken the time to paint a jolly-roger, which his boatswain was waving on the end of a broomstick. He watched how the contestants reacted to his charade, especially once he’d buried two of the nastier looking ones in a pair of barrels.

“Yurgh, be no-one brave or daft enough to challenge me, the great and terrible Captain Curk?” By the looks of it, there were at least a few brave faces among them. Brave, but stupid. Running to your deaths didn’t give bonus points in his books. Those who were hiding or just observing for the time were the smart ones.

“I didn’t know Vincent had a pirate brother,” he heard someone whisper from below deck. “Sounds like he’d be terrible at family dinners. Are pirates even still a thing on Wett?”

“Shhh! Be quiet!”

He grinned. Two promising contestants. There was only one person that had boarded his ship that he couldn’t feel, and that was practically a free pass.

All of a sudden, he felt someone launch themselves up the netting. The Foggy Dreamboat shook as they impacted the deck. His right eye twitched as a bold spearwoman stood up, ignoring the split plank under their feet.

“An’ who might you be?” he spat, because she was too high tier to be a contestant, and too well equipped to not be someone’s lapdog.

“The lady of justice, head of the planetary guard, Aya de Fou.” She was wearing a wetsuit that was made to look like armor, and her hair was fluttering in turn with the tassels woven into it.

“You’re the governor's daughter.” Vincent dropped the act. “This is the second time you’ve interfered with adventuring society business.”

“That business is deriving our planet of its best fighters.”

“And the second best leave the planet through other channels once they reach Tier 5, so what’s your point?”

She flourished her blade, practically twirling it the way only someone of at least fifth tier could. “We do not need adventurers, we are children of Wett. Do we not hold strong when our planet is ravaged by catastrophe every seven years? Does the empire not ignore us in favor of more economically important planets? Are we not suffering from the constant skill-drain?”

“Maybe,” Vincent said. “But the adventurers have always been there to pull the worst of us out of the muck for every single goddamn Tide. They saved my cousin. Point your spear elsewhere, or I might be inclined to make a point with mine.”

“A challenge it is, then,” she said with a smile that could cut glass. Then, with a voice as loud as it was bold, she bellowed: “The pirate Curk has taken the Foggy Dreamboat hostage. All who have an inkling of bravery in their souls, to me. We shall see them off together, by my blade.”

A few of the contestants sidled up next to her. Plus points for tactical mindedness. Negative points for playing into the drama queen’s game.

Still, sweat beaded across Vincent’s forehead. He was Tier 5, an ex-Delver like the rest of his crew. She was one tier higher while looking half his age; the benefits of rising through the tiers. But she had to limit how much injury she caused, and he had a few tricks as well. She was on his ship after all. Its planks were creaking, eager to heed his call.

She leveled her overly embellished sword at his face. “You are not an adventurer, you are just a pirate. A subcontractor. There are tens of thousands like you, and only tens of adventurers on Wett.”

Vincent looked at her and broke out into a full-bellied laugh.

“Arr, well, yeh can’t all be reasonable, aye? Don’t come cryin’ tah me when I take yer magical tools, ye pissbabies, ye coddlelubbers, ye land-whateverhaveyous.” A single eye roamed around and settled on the boy that had scratched his Beauty’s new paint job. He ducked, but it was too late. The sound of the grin in his voice grew ever wider. “Scour the decks! Leave no crate unturned! I want tah see riches, I want tah see goodies. Leave the prissy poppet to me.”

+++

“Scrub the decks, leave no barrel unturned!” The pirate’s yells turned loud as the entire ship began to creak and rumble, as if coming alive under their feet. “Gah — I’ll see you in court!”

A pile of barrels was animating with crawling planks and whipping rope. It burst out of the cargo bay and ontop of the deck, showering everything in a rain of apples and microwave meals.

“I think it’s time to leave,” Isaac said.

“This dreamboat isn’t exactly big enough for hiding,” Sophia commented. “Maybe we can jump overboard, hang out with the merpeople in the drag nets? How good are you at holding your breath?”

Isaac made a strangled sound.

“Right, almost forgot. But Isaac, it’s a good idea. Where’s the harm in getting a bit wet?”

“In the head mostly. Psychological and whatnot. Side-effects include flailing, screaming, and violent sobbing.” Isaac slipped on some spilled beans in the kitchen, just barely catching himself against a cold stove. The stove looked at him angrily. He patted it and went on his way before it could flambee his behind.

“You do realize you have to learn to swim one day, right? We’re literally in a boat surrounded by nothing but ocean.”

Thank you, I’ve been trying hard not to think about that terrible fact.

They pushed past hammocks and strew-about backpacks, the constant thumps of footsteps and cracks of skills going off above raining on the deck like thunder. He could see flashes of [Lightning zaps] and an [Orb of frost] blitzing back and forth through the cargo-hold grate above. A half-meter-long blade thunked through the floorboards, a finger’s length away from his face, before cutting through the boards like butter.

“Stop destroyin’ mah shiiip!” Captain Vincent yelled over the din.

Isaac crawled the last of the way to the short stairway leading down into the cargo hold. He practically tumbled downwards, pulling himself upright on a crate of crab apples just as Sophia followed after in short, quick steps.

The cargo hold ran the entire length of the ship, and it was stacked. Barrels and crates mingled together with every kind of sack filled with whatever needed transporting. It was food and water for the most part, though Isaac did catch a few crates of cloth and some sort of plastic-wrapped action figures for a moderately famous delving team.

The sound of battle was muted down here. Isaac took in a deep breath, remembered that he was now in the part that was entirely underwater, and breathed out just a tad shakily.

“You know, I can hardly believe no one on the ship noticed any pirates boarding us,” Sophia said. “Are you sure this isn’t part of the adventurer exam?”

“I don’t know.” There were so many accounts that all differed so much that Isaac couldn’t even tell which ones were obviously exaggerated and which ones weren't. “Anything can happen, I guess.”

“Like us being stuck in a dead end,” Sophia hissed before they both stilled. Heavy boots stomped overhead, walking towards one of the ladders. “Shit, someone’s coming below deck.”

“Hide,” Isaac hissed, “there’s space between those crates.”

“What about you?” Sophia asked as she wedged herself into the opening. “You can barely stand without hitting your head.”

“I’ll find… something.”

His eyes flitted here and there as he paced deeper into the cargo hold, but good hiding spots weren’t forthcoming. Too small, too large, too obvious, that crate looked unstable, that was too close to the sloshing wall, that place was wet…

“You there!” came a loud voice from behind and Isaac knew he’d taken too long.

Slowly, he turned around, and was immediately presented with what pop-culture had declared the ideal form for a pirate lackey. He was large and fat, with a mean look to his eyes and a dark shadow instead of a beard. His once-white shirt was a healthy gray, with lighter splotches that could have only been rum, and darker splotches that were most certainly not.

The way he moved, there was quite a bit of muscle below all the tubbiness.

The image of the large beefcake who’d not so gently massaged Isaac’s shoulder came to mind. If it came to a fight between the two, he wouldn't bet on the pirate. But if it came to a fight between him and the pirate, well, Isaac didn’t rate his own chances all too highly. Sure he’d trained with Claire, and Hammond was always sure to force his constant awareness during any training bout, but it was just that: training.

Luckily, there was one thing he had proven more than good at.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“I would like to parley,” Isaac said.

“We can parley all day once you hand over your goodies,” the pirate said in a bored voice. “Yar, yoho, et cetera.”

“Is this a test?” Isaac asked. “Am I supposed to show my unwillingness to negotiate with criminals?”

“Gimme loot. Grrr, and so on.”

He’s ignoring me. But he’s not really… in character either.

“Hey, is your boss making you do this? We can just sit down and chat for a while until they’re done up top.”

“Much as I’d like some beer, orders are orders.” The pirate sighed and brandished a wooden cudgel.

It was a fight then. A real fight. Isaac gulped heavily. He got in a straight stance and hit his head on the ceiling.

The pirate took that chance to lunge at him with a wide sweep of his hatchet. Isaac ducked, parrying a follow-up blow more by luck than anything, then swung with his bat. Halfway through it caught on some netting.

Shit.

They were both equally tall, but Isaac had the longer weapon. Initially, he’d thought that this was an advantage. However, cramped quarters called for short weapons, and the cargohold was cramped indeed.

A heavy thud rang through the central mast. Both the pirate and Isaac paused, waiting for something worse to happen.

“We’re not sinking, are we?”

“Its not in the script.”

“Oh, thank Maerdon.”

A quick sweep came at Isaac from the right, and he only caught it because it was obvious. Wheeling back, he almost stumbled on a jutting box before catching himself again. The pirate seemed almost casual in the way he brawled underdeck. With every step he took Isaac backed up until he felt a heavy door at his back.

“Ya shouldn’t pray to mergods while on a ship. It’s bad luck.”

“That so?” Isaac said, huffing. For all that the fight had taken less than a minute, he was breathing hard already. “Got anything else I can ask for a handful of luck? I’m a practical believer, I’ll pray to a rock if the rock’s magical enough.”

The pirate had stopped advancing. He was still holding his cudgel, but his hand hung casually, loosely even. “Don’t pray to the titans, or they just might hear you. It’s best not to be noticed.”

“I think it’s better to ask not to be eaten.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement behind the pirate. “Communication is key to a healthy relationship after all.”

The pirate let out a snort, a smirk teased at the corner of his lips. “You’re a funny guy.”

Then he whirled around and caught Sophia who’d been sneaking up to him by the arm. A shock ran through Isaac. Before he’d rationalized what was going on, he had pounced forward and reeled back for one hell of a swing. His Tier 2 bat made a crack sound as it smashed into the side of the pirate’s shoulder.

He stumbled, but didn’t fall. A metallic sheen had flashed over his body, then disappeared just as quickly. Isaac knew that skill. [Bronze skin] was famous for its defense, saving delver lives and allowing them to take risks they otherwise would not. If not for the price tag, Isaac would have considered it for himself as well.

“How do you have a self-buff skill!?” And it even had some sort of reactionary trigger support skill.

“I get good hazard pay,” the pirate said before suddenly crying out. He dropped Sophia, who scampered backwards, cradling Zachs dagger. A trickle of blood ran down it, and down the pirate’s arm. “Everyone thinks they're a hero today.”

Suddenly, the big oaf didn’t seem like he was taking this casually anymore. He swung wildly, pressing towards Sophia even as Isaac smacked his side and back. He was doing nothing, or not enough, even as the oaf only bothered to block half his attacks. His swings hit arms, legs, and his chest, but not anywhere critical. When he used [Cavitate] to push him, the resulting stumble was only barely enough for Sophia to slip out of his reach.

And then he was on Isaac again. Where was Sophia?

Sneaking about along the outside, cutting ropes and nettings, apparently.

Oh. I get it.

The pirate lunged for him again and he pushed him away again with [Cavitate], then again, and again. By the fourth cast, the force had weakened enough that the pirate powered through, stumbling forward as Isaac backed up, past the merchandise crate, past the heavy water barrels, past bananas and nets and other things until…

The next [Cavitate] was geared to pull in, and with multiple pushes worth of karmic force saved up, it wrenched the pirate onto the floor. What’s more, the stacked barrels of crab-apples and other crates teetered, then tipped, burying him under a metric ton of foodstuffs.

And also burying Isaac.

The unborn second half of Isaac’s plan came undone as the last of the heavy cargo knocked him over and buried the both of them in a pile of fruits and rations.

Judging by the swearing, I think plan ‘cargo cave-in’ was a success.

Besides the burying-himself part. A barrel full of apples was pancaking him against the ground. He felt the weight shift around his hip as someone climbed around the pile.

“Hey Sophia. Great plan. You ok?”

“Worry about yourself first,” she groaned as she pushed a crate off of him.

“Hey, this isn’t so bad. I’ve had worse.”

“I know.” She tugged his arm, roughly. His pinkie hurt.

Yikes. Wrong thing to say.

“Hey mister pirate?” he asked as they slowly unburied his head. “Are you alright?”

The big oaf looked up at them from under the chaos. “I am dead. Bleh.”

Isaac turned to Sophia. “What about you? ”

“I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her arm. “Just not used to getting grabbed like that.”

They glowered at the fat guy lodged under three crates and seven burlap sacks.

“I’m a pirate,” he grumped. “Grabbing people‘s what I do.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

He shrugged. Hopefully Sophia hadn’t stabbed or cut him too hard.

The deck no longer sounded like two landslides were having a fistfight, so up they went. When they poked their head out of it, most of the combatants were either knocked out cold, or sitting on their butts while miss floating-spear was giving them a lecture in her now slightly scuffed, but still fashionable one-piece. They caught the tail end of it.

“...thus, you cultivate a healthy body from a healthy mind, senses, and listening to the desires of your core. Master yourself and you will master the world. Eat healthy. Do you get enough fruit on this ship?”

“Yes ma’am,” muttered half a dozen tired, beat-up voices.

“Snazzy. Alright, that’s all from me, always remember that if you want to prove yourself, if you desire camaraderie, or you’re just having a hard time, the planetary guard will take you in as brothers and sisters.”

Her smile was a bit too cheery for someone who’d caused all this chaos. She noticed Isaac and Sophia extricating themselves from the ship’s underbelly. “Oh. Are you pirates? If so, go lie there with the rest of the pile.”

“Just contestants.” Isaac tried not to stare at the trickle of blood drooling from her nose. “We were trying to hide under the deck.”

“Well. That is all right. No need to feel shame; a coward is still useful for running.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder that oozed of a one-sided shared understanding, snorted a glob of blood onto the ship’s deck, then hopped off the boat and onto her windsurfing board. With a few armstrokes and likely some magic, she sped along, shrinking into the far distance.

“Who the heck was that?” Isaac asked.

“The governor’s daughter,” Vincent answered, his fake eyepatch slinking off his head. “Fuckin’ nosy, goody-two-shoes. I’m filing a report for damages.”

“She beat you all up?” Sophia asked, mouth gaping. “How!?”

“She’s ex-legion. Took the commission, then rose through the ranks before coming back to Wett. She’s Tier 9, and closing in on 10 at sixty-nine years old. Didn’t even need to use a skill.”

“Terrifying.”

“Yeah, she surfs real fast,” Sophia said. “Think she crosses the entire ocean on that board?”

“Terrifying.” He turned to the pirate captain. “So Vincent, did we pass?”

“Isaac…”

“What?”

Vincent chuckled. “We’ll see. Alright. Boys, let’s get up and get our guests sorted out. And you two, come with me.”

+++

“So, you beat old Hansen with a trick like that.” Vincent chewed thoughtfully on a wad of tobacco. He was filling out a form because one of Aya’s sword-swipes had damaged the mast. Either that, or he had a skill that could turn the words ‘psychological and physiological damage to key elements’ into solid golden gups.

“We thought it was a test,” Isaac said. “That was the trick right? The exam’s already started.”

Vincent snorted. “You think you’re smart, but you’re still nowhere near the starting line. I suppose that outfoxing one of my bigger mates counts for something.” He finished filling out his form, held it against a lamp. “Y’know, I get paid for failing people like you. The perks of having proven myself a good examiner. But I get more if someone I pass makes it to the end.”

“How much?” Isaac asked.

“More than you could ever spend.” He put a stamp on it, then motioned for Isaac and Sophia to sign. “Adventurers are filthy rich, but that doesn’t mean they don’t share.”

After he’d filed it away before handing Isaac a small wrapped object. It was a ring. “Take it. This is my old light ring.”

“Oh, does it make things lighter so I can carry more?” Isaac asked. It felt quite heavy.

“It makes light,” Vincent deadpanned. “It’s got a few hundred hours left in it. It might help you get that big win, it might not. I certainly won’t miss it.”

“I… thanks Vincent, but I was only planning to really make it halfway, for the certificate.”

“Yeah, Isaac is trying to learn some self-moderating behavior.”

“You punched the merfolk’s vice-minister for foreign relations off my ship,” Vincent deadpanned. “I read your file. If we go by attitude, you’re already half an adventurer.”

Ortho’Wuur was a vice-minister?

…crap.

Isaac stared at the ring for a while before deciding that he’d need every advantage he could get. “Thanks Vincent. I mean it. And if I get abducted in the middle of the night, tell everyone that Ortho’Wuur wanted to cuck my dad.”

Vincent chuckled. “Of course. But say, if you’re not here to win, why are you taking the adventurer exam?”

“Money,” Isaac said and found his voice growing smaller. “I need it to help my brother. He lost a hand. My boon is crap, and I can’t get a job that pays enough to heal him.”

Vincent scrutinized him for a long while, long enough that Isaac could practically hear his disapproval in the silence. “Let me see your invitation.”

Isaac and Sophia exchanged a glance, then gave him the piece of paper. Vincent took a lighter, and without hesitating one second, set fire to it.

Isaac and Sophia both practically fell out of their chairs as they lurched forward.

“What are you doing!?”

“Calm down, youngsters.” The fire ate through the paper in a flash, leaving behind a smaller, blackened scrap with bright writing. “It’s a liar’s card. They take two pieces of paper and wrap it around a fireproof one. You put one message on the outside, then a more important one on the inside.”

He was right. As Isaac stared at the snippet, he could make out white lines spelling an unfamiliar sentence. The letter wasn’t just an invitation and a test on gathering information, but on cleverness. And as Isaac read it, his heart skipped two beats.

Belay standing orders; find the starting line in Wett-City. Guides are marked with the association’s badge. Entrance closes at 7PM WMT, 6th of Jane.

The capital. The real testing ground was in the capital.