Of course, such a demonstrative blow didn't go unnoticed. All the rebels immediately put aside their tasks and turned in my direction. The anger at Cristo's words wasn't feigned, and I had struck with full force. Despite his "Enhanced Body," the earthling was now in a state of grogginess. The fact that I had hit the one whom the former slaves had elected as their helmsman left no room for doubt among them. I could practically feel a wave of aggression rolling toward me from the former galley rowers. Four of them took a step in my direction, unsheathing their blades. Among this foursome was Duar, a warrior of Full Steel. The others didn't reach for their weapons but demonstratively stood behind the braver ones.
"Looking for trouble?" Duar gritted through his teeth, tracing a furrow with the edge of his sword on the deck planks. "Or did Da'Nann bite you?"
From what I understood of this man's character, he preferred to act first and think later. Literally, his credo: hit first, ask questions later. And the fact he hadn't attacked me yet indicated that he was afraid of me. Or rather, not afraid, but wary.
And his caution had its reasons. I, thanks to my new ability, could see the ranks of others. Such "vision" is quite a rare skill. Most people in Ain determine rank by Guild Signs with a symbolic depiction of the Core. But wearing these Signs isn't an obligation, more of a tradition and part of guild heraldry. Of course, you can determine an opponent's level by indirect data, but in my case, such analysis fails. In my wootz armor, with a spear made of Tal wood and girded with an orcish belt, I didn't look like a warrior of Bronze at all. Moreover, I had killed a pirate boatswain with a single strike before the rebels' very eyes, and he, as I surmised, was a better fighter than Duar despite their identical ranks. A bystander looking at me would likely think of Wootz or at least Full Steel. Such an adversary, especially clad in armor and ready for battle, was not an easy target for the former slaves, who, of course, had managed to arm themselves but had not yet replaced their rags with at least chainmail.
On the other hand, there were enough of them to kill me, even if I were a full Wootz, and that gave them courage. But if a fight were to occur, it wouldn't go without casualties on their side either. And dying now, just when they had gained their freedom, wasn't something any of the former slaves were eager to do. But they also couldn't ignore my attack on "one of their own."
From the standpoint of common sense, my punch to Cristo's nose was a foolish move. But I'm not a machine, and I can be provoked. And that guy, after claiming that I worked for the questers, deserved what he got. I don't regret what I did in the slightest; Cristo fully earned his broken nose.
Without making any sudden movements, but also not putting away my spear, thereby demonstrating both readiness for combat and a simultaneous reluctance for this fight, and maintaining outward calm, I raised my left hand and said:
"It was personal."
This simple statement calmed most of the rebels. Many of them had heard my words about Cristo and me being countrymen, and my explanation was more than satisfactory to them. Who knows what conflicts could exist between people who have known each other for a long time? The key point in my words was that my attack wasn't an act of aggression towards the others, and most got the right message.
Many got it, but not all. Duar, obviously offended that he had been bypassed in the vote for a captain, and sensing the support of at least five other fighters behind him, pretended my explanation wasn't satisfactory. Plus, I saw his eyes glitter as soon as he looked at my armor.
"This ship is too small for personal squabbles!" The warrior of Full Steel sneered. "As the boatswain of this ship, I demand a solatium for the attack on the helmsman! Your armor!"
"You can 'demand' pancakes from your granny," I snapped back. I had no intention of handing over my armor to anyone. "Not a solatium from me."
My audacity was also due to the fact that by my side, shoulder to shoulder, stood Aun, clenching a small knife in his trembling hand. None of the former slaves would dare lay a hand on the young heir of the Duan family, who was essentially their ticket into the port of Tries. Or so I thought, but I had slightly miscalculated, underestimating Duar's character.
"What?!" The newly minted boatswain roared, his face turning beet red from rage.
He glanced at his men and was about to order them to attack me when a sharp shout from Huran stopped him:
"Halt!"
Pushing his men aside, the newly elected captain stepped forward and stood between us.
"Firstly!" Huran turned to Duar. "Only the captain can demand a solatium! Or have you not accepted me as your captain?" There was an evident readiness for a fight in Huran's voice.
"Hold on!" The boatswain immediately took a step back. "I didn't mean that. I have no problems with you."
Nodding to Duar, the captain turned to me and continued:
"Secondly, Raven, you attacked Cristo, our helmsman, when he was helpless and still recovering from the Elevation." Huran looked at his crew and continued. "That's dishonorable!" His words elicited murmurs of agreement from the other rebels.
This is bad!
Very bad.
I lost my temper, and it seems like I'm going to pay a high price for that outburst now. Unlike the straightforward Duar, Huran turned out to be much smarter. The new galley captain had just set the entire crew against me with a single phrase. And he did it in such a way that they now feel the justice on their side, and I can't bluff or threaten my way out of this. One sentence from Huran's mouth and my options are down to two: fight and die or part with my armor. How many times have I told myself: think first, then act! But no, I lost my temper, I hit him. And will this outburst cost me more than the two hundred gold coins that my wootz armor is worth now? Apparently so! This lesson will come at a high price for me. Or rather, it would have been had it not been for Cristo's familiar voice coming from behind me just then:
"Huran, Duar! It's my fault. Raven was within his rights when he hit me." Approaching me, the earthling nodded at me and, apologizing, spread his hands. "I hold no grudges against him."
For about ten seconds, Huran stared at our trio: me in the center, Aun on my left, and Cristo standing on the right. Then he exhaled with obvious relief and said:
"The conflict is over!" And turning to the crew, he bellowed at the top of his lungs, "What are you standing around for?! The galley won't clean itself of filth! Duar, oversee the work!"
The new captain's orders had an effect, and the people, setting their weapons aside, started to return to their tasks. Most did this with noticeable relief that they wouldn't have to fight a weird stranger.
"Cristo!" Huran suddenly called the new helmsman. "Come here!"
Nodding at me again, the earthling gave a reassuring wave of his hand, descended from the aft superstructure, and started whispering about something with the captain of the rebels. Only when I saw them calmly talking did I allow myself to relax the palm gripping the spear shaft.
"Whew." A heavy sigh came from my left.
Turning my head, I saw that young Aun, who had bravely and recklessly stood shoulder to shoulder with me, was now shivering like an autumn leaf in the wind. The boy had just recently lost his father, he was terribly frightened, yet he didn't hide under the bench but instead found a small knife somewhere and stood by me.
"Thank you," I nodded at him. "But you shouldn't have... If a fight had occurred, you would have been killed, and it clearly wasn't your battle."
"You saved my life!" The merchant's son, tilting his head stubbornly, said in a slightly shaky voice. "I couldn't stand by."
"Is your Duan family really merchants?" I drawled in doubt. "Not hereditary warriors or tunnellers?"
The guy stubbornly nodded in response to my question and said:
"Sometimes even a merchant needs to know how to fight back." He lowered his gaze, remembering his father's death. "It's a pity my father didn't understand that; he thought there was always a chance to negotiate and avoid a fight."
There were many things I could have said to comfort Aun, but I felt like all these words would sound hollow. Maybe I could have chosen the right phrases, but they would have been empty inside, mere formalities, and the young lad standing by my side deserved more than that. So instead of saying anything, I just squeezed his shoulder, nodded at him, and stepped toward the healer.
"Need any help?" I asked the ship's doctor. "I have a bit of experience, and I can use Lesser Healing. Oh, and my name is Raven."
The healer looked at me warily but quickly managed his emotions:
"Les Fuun," he introduced himself, slightly bowing his head. "Lesser Healing…" He trailed off, sounding uncertain. "Perhaps it could be of use in one case."
Nodding at me, he bent over one of the injured, who was unconscious. A young guy, not even twenty, who, judging by the blood-soaked hair, had sustained a severe traumatic brain injury. Fuun had healed the outward signs of the wound, but this guy was probably done for because brain injuries can't be treated that easily, and even Full Recovery potions are useless in such a case.
"I've done everything I could," the healer sighed. "The rest is in the hands of Elai or her apprentice Ishia." He turned to me. "I was taught that with such injuries, the chances of recovery increase if healing magic is periodically used on the wounded, even if it's the most basic kind." The doctor sighed heavily. "But it needs to be done for hours, or even days, and I'm already drained. Moreover, to expend all my energy on someone who most likely won't survive until the next morning, when I have other patients…" His gaze drifted to the other injured.
"That would be excessively wasteful," I finished his sentence for him.
My frankness seemed to startle the doctor, but he nodded anyway and continued:
"Apply Lesser Healing on him every ten minutes," the doctor looked at me with an expression of doubt. "But all this work may prove to be futile."
Since I needed to be occupied with something to not stick out like a sore thumb among the rest of the former slaves and to avoid provoking any unnecessary irritation at the moment, I shrugged and responded:
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"I'll give it a try anyway."
Les Fuun nodded silently, spread out a small mat before the wounded, and stepped aside. When I first saw him, this doctor seemed like a cowardly man with some rot inside, but now my opinion of him had changed. He was an honest follower of Elai, for whom his medical duty was more important than his own life.
Sitting on the mat, I rolled up my sleeves. It would have been smart to remove my chainmail, but I didn't dare to go without armor at the moment.
Before starting the healing, I glanced at Les Fuun's back. At this moment, this doctor, who bent over one of the wounded, reminded me of someone. Not in appearance, but some kind of invisible inner core. It was a distant resemblance, fleeting, but enough for a thought to flash in my head: was Lan Lin still alive?
My thoughts about the girl's fate were interrupted by Fuun's demanding look, seemingly asking: "You promised, so why are you sitting there doing nothing?" Since he was right, I tried to clear my mind of extraneous thoughts. Having achieved the desired result, I delved into myself and sped up my inner Core to the necessary speed. Then I adjusted the frequencies of Magic and Spirit to the required proportion, and, passing this stream of energy through the focus of concentration at the very fingertips, I gave the flow the necessary form.
Earthlings who received the "Lesser Healing" from the Stela of Divine Inspiration do not understand how complex the spell they have learned to perform intuitively. Healing Magic is one of the most difficult to master when it comes to practical application. It requires superb concentration and clarity of thought. That's why combat healers, capable of healing right in battle, not after a fight, are quite rare in Ain and are valued much more than even experienced fighters. At this early stage, the earthlings who have chosen the Talent of Healing have a huge advantage over the locals. Because for those like Ilona, there is no need to carry out all those meditative "procedures" that I was performing right now; they do it intuitively.
The first "Lesser Healing" that slipped from my fingers was almost perfect. Fuun, who had not taken his eyes off me until this moment, tilted his head, exhaled with noticeable relief, and went about his business. The rest of the rebels, seeing that I was busy with important work, also changed their looks from wary to warmer ones.
This observation showed that I was right in my choice to engage in something worthwhile rather than pacing back and forth on the deck aimlessly. Besides, practicing Healing Magic will definitely not be superfluous for me. Ideally, I should automate this skill so that I can use it without resorting to deep meditation. Also, the more people I heal, the stronger my skill will become.
Between spells, I kept an eye on what was happening aboard the galley. The most basic part of the cleanup was done, but the new captain didn't stop there; he moved the ship about a hundred meters from the island and ordered that everything on it be cleaned to perfection. Moreover, he didn't just give orders, he managed to convince the former slaves that it was in their best interest to tidy up the ship. While others were busy cleaning and sorting the cargo, the captain was engaged in a long conversation with Cristo. Alas, even my enhanced Perception aura didn't allow me to overhear what they were talking about. But judging by the gestures of the earthling, they were discussing the ship and future route, at least that's what I gathered.
When I completed the fourth "Lesser Healing," Cristo sat down next to me.
"Sorry," he said, spreading his arms, then clenching one fist and extending it toward me. "Peace?"
I squeezed my right hand into a fist and gently bumped it against his.
"What did you agree on?" I asked, nodding toward the newly-elected captain.
"As soon as everyone gets tired enough from cleaning, Huran will announce the plan to go to Tries, and we will immediately set sail from here," said the earthling, jerking his left shoulder. "For some reason, this little island makes the locals quite nervous."
"Believe me, they have a good reason for that," I said with a bitter smile.
"Oh really…" Cristo uttered, clicking his tongue and casting a thoughtful glance at the shore.
"There is no danger right now," I assured him. "But it is better not to linger here, indeed."
I wasn't lying because if mages accustomed to burning the undead on Gnur arrive here and see an unfamiliar galley near the island, they will most likely scorch it to ashes without even asking: "What are you doing here?" They'll do it as a preventive measure, and they will be right in their own way.
"Will you tell?" Cristo asked, shifting his gaze from the island to me.
"Not now," I cut him off, as I hadn't yet come up with a consistent story. "But this island is not called Cursed for no reason."
"Understood," the earthling nodded to me, then leaned back, resting his back against the side of the galley, and asked innocently: "Tell me, why are you alone here? When I left, there were four of you remaining."
"Do you want to hear the story of what happened to me during this time?" I asked, unable to resist a smile as I remembered Larindel.
"I wouldn't mind," the earthling said calmly but clearly interested, tilting his head.
I perfectly understand his curiosity, especially in light of his recent paranoia. In principle, I don't mind repeating to him what I told the elf, with some cuts, of course. But as my interactions with the Sidhe half-blood taught me, any story is a kind of currency, so I openly smiled warmly and said:
"Okay, but only after you."
Hearing me, Cristo closed his eyes and sat still for more than a minute, lost in deep thought. I didn't rush him, using this pause to cast a new spell over the wounded. When I finished the "Lesser Healing," the earthling opened his eyes, jerked his left shoulder again as if in some nervous tic, and said one word:
"Fair."
After that, he fell silent, piercing me with his gaze. I look at him and understand that the broken nose did not teach him anything. It seems he is one of those people who will stick to their line regardless. But then again, why am I surprised? The fact that he sent the questers to hell and went alone, without even knowing where he was going, speaks volumes about this man's character. He will only do what he considers necessary and correct. And even a gun pointed at his temple won't make him change his decisions.
The more I observe him, the clearer I understand that I am unlikely to find common ground with this man. It is still possible to be short-term fellow travelers, but we definitely won't become friends. Our characters are too different. Honestly, I don't think he will last long on Ain; such stubborn people have an especially hard time here. What can I say - If it weren't for my intervention, he would already be dead.
Expecting for me to ask him to start the story, Cristo sat in silence for about five more minutes, after which a spark of disappointment flickered in his eyes, and he began to speak:
"On the one hand, a lot has happened to me over this month." The earthling sighed. "On the other hand, looking back now, I realize that everything that occurred was somewhat the same... As if one wave picked me up and has been carrying me all this time... A wave of total bad luck..."
As soon as he began to speak, I felt like Larindel. I don't know about his other talents, but the earthling definitely had at least four Stars in Bard skills. Cristo knew how to tell stories. I think he's the kind who can describe a mundane trip to the store for bread in such a way that the listener will hang on to his every word without interrupting. As soon as he started talking, I became all ears and attention.
His story only had one big drawback. Cristo did not mention his motives or feelings that prompted his actions. Otherwise, his speech was as exciting and intense as watching some Hollywood blockbusters. Even about the beginning of his journey, which I knew from Ender's words, I listened with considerable interest. Cristo did indeed find a common language with an old fisherman who lived in solitude. That man had preferred to be alone for many years after losing his sons during a storm more than ten years ago. The earthling's character reminded the fisherman of his younger son, who was no less stubborn, and that stubbornness ruined him, dragging his elder brother along. The old man's family tragedy that happened many years ago worked in Cristo's favor. And the earthling, without making much effort, got himself a sturdy, albeit small, sailing boat capable of short coastal voyages.
At this point, Cristo, again jerking his left shoulder, reluctantly clarified that on Earth, he was a fan of extreme tourism. According to him, he even participated in yet another attempt to determine whether it was possible to sail from Norway to North America on a drakkar built according to ancient blueprints. Several times a year, he was swept away on another adventure. From ascending Chogori to participating in an ethnographic expedition to the Amazon jungle. From a mad rafting trip on the mountain rivers of the Peruvian Andes on logs to a bicycle tour across the entire Sahara! I never understood such people, neither on Earth nor here in Ain. Why seek trouble when life is hard enough as it is? But Cristo's hobby, in this case, worked in his favor: he quickly mastered handling the fishing boat.
He even made it to the island neighboring Un without much trouble, thanks to the currents and the Wind Rose favoring him. But that's where his luck ran out. Moreover, at first, there was no hint of the beginning of the "black streak." He was received well; the locals admired his courage and even threw a small feast in his honor. And when Cristo woke up the next morning, he was surprised to find out that he had overindulged during the feast, and the locals were confiscating his boat as a pledge for some misconduct he didn't understand. Naturally, due to his character, the earthling couldn't accept this and got into a fight. He shouldn't have. Worse still, he managed to knock out the eye of one of the villagers. As a result, they tied him up and threw him into a pit. And the next day, he was sold into slavery to the first ship that docked in the harbor.
In the Bastarga Archipelago, slavery is supposedly banned, except for debt slavery, which one can get out of by paying off the owed. But in the city-states of the southeastern coast, slavery flourishes and makes up a substantial part of the local economy. Therefore, many captains were not against making some extra money by reselling "live goods."
This is how Cristo found himself in slavery for the first time. Yes, the "first time." He escaped from that ship almost immediately as soon as it docked at another island. The overseers could not have imagined that the local locks on shackles and the cage were no more than a child's toy for Cristo, who had been in a tight spot dozens of times back on Earth. Having freed his hands and feet, the earthling waited for the guard to fall asleep, opened the cage lock, and slipped out, after which he jumped overboard and swam to land. The next day they searched for him but did not find him because Cristo knew how to hide; he was taught this by the natives of the Amazon.
When the slave traders' ship left the island, Cristo tried to steal a fishing boat from the locals. This attempt was unsuccessful: he had calculated almost everything but did not take into account the protective magic because he knew nothing about it and was caught red-handed. The result was confinement. Confinement from which the earthling escaped the very next day. Had it been on the continent, he probably would have had all the chances of gaining freedom, but on an island that the locals knew, like the back of their hand, Cristo could not hide for long. He was caught. They beat him and threw him into a pit, which they covered with a metal grate and propped with a huge stone. But even in this situation, Cristo did not give up and, as soon as he was left alone, began to dig a tunnel.
For three days and nights, he dug, not very hopeful of success. But fortune smiled upon him when he had passed through only about one and a half meters and fell into a natural cave that led straight to the coast. So, Cristo escaped again. This time he was wiser and hid better. For nearly five days, he led the locals on a wild goose chase, then snuck aboard a cargo junk, which was anchored for resupply, and, hiding among the numerous cargo, he hoped to reach the continent this way.
However, even these plans of Cristo's weren't destined to come true. He had hidden well but had not accounted for the locals' abilities, as he knew nothing about auras by that point. The ship's bosun found him during a routine round while he habitually inspected the cargo under the Perception aura and heard Cristo's quiet breathing. So, the earthling was again put on trial, this time a shipboard one, and the captain sentenced him to be sold into slavery as soon as their junk docked in some city-state.
At this point in the story, I couldn't help but smile, guessing what would happen next. And I was right. It wasn't even a week later that Cristo escaped again. But this time, his escape wasn't as clean, and he had to kill. For the first time, he had to take someone else's life, and not in fair combat either. It was a vile, calculated act from an ambush, but he had no other choice. At this point in the story, Cristo's facial expression changed; he seemed to regret that he had acted in such a way back then. But this regret quickly disappeared, replaced by the self-confidence in his unshakeable righteousness that I had already become accustomed to. It was after that escape that the earthling achieved a new rank.
At the beginning of his story, Cristo wasn't exaggerating; he was carried by one wave and kept riding it until he met me. The earthling ended up either in slavery or prison six more times and each time he escaped, until one day...
Until one day, having learned from experience, getting the hang of the basics of security magic on his own skin, the earthling, after yet another escape, finally managed to steal a sailing boat and flee out to sea. He nearly reached the continent. Nearly. Because exactly halfway to his goal, he came across this galley, the captain of which was very glad to have gotten another rowing slave and a boat, which he later sold on the nearest island.
For more than a week, Cristo was shackled to the rower's bench. And all this time, he was preparing for an escape and an uprising. He persuaded people, secretly sawed the chains and bided his time. If Huran and Duar, warriors of Steel, could be called the fists of the rebellion, the heart, and mind of it were indeed the earthling. Now I understood better why exactly he was chosen as the helmsman, essentially the second man on the ship.
"That's about it," Cristo finished his story, gesturing around the galley. "Although no, there's one more detail. When I bit into Tongar Vano's throat, the weight of my 'achievements'..." As he said this word, the earthling grimaced as if he really didn't like it. "Exceeded the Threshold of Fulfillment, and when I woke up, I immediately started the Elevation. And then, then you know everything already."