Luther was tucked neatly into bed inside one of the ship's guest cabins. The sheets smelled faintly of sea salt and cedar—a small comfort compared to the chaos of the past few days. For once, he looked peaceful, or perhaps merely exhausted. His silver hair spilled messily over the pillow, his expression blank but soft. A faint line of drool threatened the corner of his mouth.

Even royalty, it seemed, needed rest. And even saints could look ridiculous when asleep.

Arthur stood by the door, rubbing his temple. "He finally shut up," he muttered.

One of the knights beside him gave a nervous chuckle, bowing slightly before placing the demonic sword beside Luther's bed. The weapon pulsed with a low, reddish glow, muttering faintly under its breath in a language that sounded both ancient and extremely irritated.

"Hey—watch where you drop me, tin can! I've got more personality than your entire bloodline!"

The knight flinched, but Aithur only sighed, not quite shocked; the brat had a talking sword with him, but he was already used to the sword's mouth by now. "Ignore it," he said. "It feeds on attention."

"Yes, sir," the knight replied quickly.

As Aithur turned to leave, the sword gave one last grumble. "Oh sure, leave me here with your snoring brat. Fantastic. What am I—his bedside companion now?"

Luther, without even opening his eyes, mumbled in his sleep, "Shut up, dinnerware."

The sword went quiet for a long moment. "...Did he just call me dinnerware?"

But Luther had already rolled over and gone back to snoring softly.

The knight stationed himself by the door while Aithur stepped outside, closing it behind him. The sudden burst of sea wind hit his face as he looked out the small, square window at the rolling waves. They were already far from the docks; the capital's silhouette was a fading shadow on the horizon. The ship cut through the ocean like a beast of steel and wood, carrying nobles, knights, and the occasional scholar toward the mysterious Enferi Forest.

It would be a two-day voyage. Arthur doubted it would be a quiet one.

The deck was alive with motion and noise. Nobles stood in clusters, gossiping about trade, monsters, and who was sleeping with whose spouse. Servants hurried about with trays of wine and fruit, doing their best not to be noticed.

The ship itself was built like a floating fortress. The upper deck was reserved for nobles, filled with luxury and polished railings, while the lower deck was for commoners—plain, dimly lit, and crowded. The separation wasn't just for comfort; it was for safety.

Last year, a noble's drunken arrogance had sparked a riot when he'd struck a commoner over spilled wine. The incident ended in three deaths and a burned ship. Since then, every dock town has enforced the rule: no mingling between classes.

Arthur sighed at the memory. "History repeating itself," he muttered.

He moved toward the railing, his boots thudding softly on the polished wood. Only a handful of nobles occupied the deck—three women with parasols whispering among themselves, two men with wineskins in hand, and a few knights keeping watch.

Then he saw her.

Liliana stood at the edge of the ship, her crimson hair dancing in the ocean wind. Her cloak fluttered like a living flame behind her as she leaned slightly forward, watching the foaming waves below. Her eyes traced the glowing runes etched into the hull—protective enchantments shimmering faintly against the sea spray.

Arthur smirked. "You know, from this angle, you look like a mermaid waiting to drag sailors to their doom."

Liliana didn't turn around. "And from this angle, you look like an idiot who thinks bad pickup lines are charming."

"Ouch," Aithur chuckled, leaning beside her against the railing. "Cold as always."

"I learned from the best," she shot back, giving him a brief side glance before returning her gaze to the horizon.

For a moment, they stood in silence. The sea roared below, gulls screamed above, and the gentle creak of wood filled the air.

Finally, Liliana spoke. "Why are you really here, Aithur?"

His smirk faded. "You already know."

"I know the excuse you gave. But I also know when you're lying."

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's tied to the Noia Town disappearance you reported. That's all I can say."

Her expression softened slightly. She wanted to ask more, but his tone told her not to push. Arthur was a man who spoke only when he chose to—and when he didn't, even gods couldn't pry his thoughts loose.

So they fell into silence again.

Until the peace shattered.

A loud, hiccuping laugh echoed across the deck. One of the nobles—a thick man with a flushed face and a half-empty bottle—staggered toward them. His expensive coat was stained with wine, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

"Now this—" he hiccupped, pointing at Liliana, "—this is what I call a sight worth a toast! A red-haired beauty standing alone by the waves!"

Liliana stiffened. Arthur's hand twitched near his waist.

The drunk wobbled closer, grinning stupidly. "Why's a flower like you wasting her time with that scruffy-faced dog beside you, eh?" He waved the bottle in Aithur's direction, nearly spilling what little was left. "Come join me below deck. I've got better company down there!"

Arthur's smile froze.

From the other side of the deck, whispers started.

"Not again," a noblewoman murmured to her friend. "That's Lord Renard, isn't it? The Viscount's nephew."

"Yes, and every voyage he drinks himself stupid and harasses someone," another replied softly. "His uncle covers it up."

Aithur tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "You're drunk," he said evenly.

Renard barked a laugh. "Takes one to know one! What are you, her bodyguard? I could buy ten of you with a week's allowance!"

Liliana's hand twitched at her side, but she didn't move. Not yet.

"Go back to your wine, Lord Renard," she said, voice calm but cold. "Before I make you wear it."

Her tone drew a few snickers from nearby knights, but Renard only laughed harder. "Feisty! I like that!"

He leaned closer, the stench of alcohol filling the air. "How about it, darling? Leave this dull mutt and come with me. I'll show you a real noble's bed."

Aithur's smile disappeared completely. "Last chance."

Renard blinked. "What?"

"Walk away," Aithur said softly. "Before I help you swim home."

But Renard wasn't listening. His gaze drifted lazily, and his mouth twisted into a smirk. "Oh, and that little boy you brought with you—the silver-haired one? Cute little thing. How much would it cost to—"

The deck fell silent.

Even the sea seemed to pause.

And then—

Smack.

Arthur's fist collided with Renard's jaw so hard the man spun halfway before hitting the deck with a wet thud. At the exact same time, Liliana's palm glowed faintly as she released a controlled burst of wind magic that sent his wine bottle sailing into the sky—before crashing directly into his face as he tried to stand.

The onlookers gasped, half in shock, half in delight.

Renard groaned, blood trickling from his nose. "Y-You—! Do you know who I—"

Arthur cracked his knuckles. "A drunk fool with too much money and too little sense."

Liliana crossed her arms. "And a face that finally matches his attitude."

The knights tried—and failed—to stifle their laughter. One coughed into his fist, murmuring, "Best entertainment we've had all voyage."

"Should we report this?" another whispered.

"To whom? The fish?" The first snorted quietly. "I didn't see a thing."

Renard, still wobbling, glared up at them, face red and swollen. "You'll regret this—I'll have you—"

Arthur leaned down, his voice low and dangerous. "You'll have what, exactly? Another drink?"

The man froze.

"Go below deck," Aithur continued, tone sharp enough to cut steel. "Before I test how long you can float."

Renard scrambled to his feet, clutching his bleeding nose, and stumbled toward the staircase, muttering curses that no one cared to hear.

As soon as he disappeared, the deck burst into quiet murmurs and suppressed laughter.

Liliana sighed, brushing dust off her cloak. "You didn't have to hit him that hard."

"He deserved worse," Aithur said, rolling his shoulder. "Besides, you hit him too."

"I was aiming for the bottle," she replied, deadpan.

They shared a brief smile. For a moment, the air was light again, tension melting away with the sound of waves.

"The brat's going to be mad he missed that," Aithur muttered.

Liliana smirked faintly. "Knowing him, he'd have sold tickets."

Arthur laughed, the first real laugh in days. "Fair point."

Below deck, Luther stirred. The sword was now resting beside him, glowing faintly as if murmuring in its sleep.

"Did… someone say tickets?" Luther mumbled half-asleep, turning over and pulling the blanket tighter. "Put me down for front row…"

The sword sighed. "You are so not ready for the world, kid."

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