31.

Wow.

Rosetta excitedly darted back and forth across the deck. Pirate ships were mostly cutters rigged with fore-and-aft sails, designed for speed, so their hulls were generally smaller than galleons. She had only ever seen three-decked warships from afar, crewed by navy personnel—she’d never imagined actually boarding one, so everything felt astonishingly novel.

Rosetta scrutinized various parts of the hull with the hungry gaze of someone staring at a succulent whale dripping with oil. It was truly colossal beyond imagination, and every single detail was unnecessarily of the finest quality.

All sixty cannons had their muzzles painted gold, and the white sails were embroidered with the Conchester Trading Company’s insignia in blue thread. Even the ram at the prow seemed made of real gold, flashing dazzlingly every time it caught the light. Honestly, who knew—maybe even the toilet in the captain’s quarters was made of gold.

The masts carved with delicate wave patterns, mermaids so lifelike they seemed ready to move, the deck made of the finest varnished ashwood, smooth as glass… Rosetta didn’t bother hiding her disdain. A single graze from a cannonball could wipe out millions in value in an instant.

Such a vessel was utterly impractical for sailing—fine as a decoration, but hopeless for actual navigation. Without naval escort, it would be stripped to the bone by pirates in under five hours. Yet the Conchester trade representative, a veteran of the Eastern Sea routes, wouldn’t have commissioned this without considering such basics… This cutter must have been built from the start as a luxurious pleasure cruiser.

Sixty cannons… and still a pleasure cruiser? Rosetta trembled faintly from fingertip to fingertip, letting out a soft moan of regret. If only she could take five of those cannons—no, even three—they’d serve Toulon’s ship perfectly. She clicked her tongue wistfully.

“Lea.”

Cardier called out to her, having followed her all the way to the stern. Rosetta realized she had wandered far from the main deck where the banquet was being held, carried away by her excitement. Cardier offered his hand with a faint, teasing smile.

“This way, if you want to attend the onboard banquet.”

Reality crashed down like a cold bucket of water. Even though she was on a river where the tang of the sea was barely detectable, she had forgotten her situation and let herself drift into nostalgic reverie, as if she were back in the open waters of the Eastern Sea. Suddenly, every piece of clothing she wore felt awkward and strangely embarrassing. Rosetta paled and grasped Cardier’s hand. He was the only link between her world and this mad one.

In the brief time they had wandered the deck, the atmosphere of the banquet had warmed considerably. To the elegant music of string instruments, guests burst into giggles and danced with abandon. Apparently, a full round of champagne had circulated during their absence. The mood was noticeably more relaxed than the formal banquets hosted by the imperial court.

“Oh.”

Rosetta gasped, spotting the Eldest Son of the Dreuire Family waving a champagne flute toward her from a distance. Despite Cardier’s persistent interference, this was the man who had sent her flowers and letters every single day—so lavishly it seemed he had bought out nearly every florist in the capital.

He was a bit older, admittedly, but had no scandalous history, and his family was respectable enough to satisfy even a duke. In short, he was a highly suitable candidate for “Lea” to consider. His persistence wasn’t just good—it bordered on excessive. And recalling their last conversation, he had seemed agreeable to a long engagement, making him an exceptionally regrettable catch to let slip.

“…Who are you staring at?”

“None of your concern.”

Cardier turned his head toward where Rosetta was looking, and immediately furrowed his handsome brows.

“I already told you not to go near that guy.”

“Then who exactly is acceptable?”

“Hmm.”

Cardier slowly scanned the surrounding guests, even narrowing his eyes as if carefully evaluating each man one by one. Then he shrugged.

“It seems there’s no man here suitable for you.”

“…”

“Except me.”

He said it with such a dead-serious expression, completely devoid of humor, that any attempt at rebuttal drained right out of her.

And what could she even retort with? That his face, fresh as if just stepped out of a sculpture, was unappealing? That his 190-centimeter height was too short? That one of only three ducal houses in the Empire was beneath her? Maybe she could pick at his personality… but even that felt impossible. If the reason this once-cheerful man had turned cold was because of her death, she couldn’t even begin to speak of it.

—Wheee, boom!

As she shook her head in disbelief, celebratory cannons fired into the sky, announcing the ship’s maiden voyage. The sound blended with the guests’ laughter, and the string music grew slightly livelier.

Amidst it all, Rosetta caught the first mate’s orders echoing from beneath the upper deck. In response, sailors swiftly raised the anchor and unfurled the sails, bustling about in organized chaos. Rosetta instantly grasped the situation.

“Wait, hold on! Are we… are we setting sail now?”

Judging from everyone else’s calm demeanor, she seemed to be the only one surprised. Cardier, in fact, leaned casually against the railing, looking more relaxed than usual.

“We’re not going far. The destination is the canal bridge downstream. It should take about eight hours from now.”

“…”

Rosetta slumped her shoulders blankly, then abruptly snapped back to awareness. Right, the ship had already departed—there was no turning back now. Fine, fine, whatever.

“But the canal bridge downstream takes over six hours by carriage. What are we supposed to ride back?”

“The coachmen have already left for there.”

“…”

“Just drink moderately, dance, enjoy yourself—by the time dawn breaks, we’ll have arrived.”

Wow. She genuinely let out a sigh of awe. Nobles truly were parasites clinging to the world. While others toiled endlessly, covered in grime and sweat, these people sat at their desks collecting monthly revenues from their estates, drowning in excess wealth so much that they not only brought absurd… purely decorative ships like this into reality, but also threw lavish parties on them. It was enough to make her nauseous. Rosetta pretended to gag, then suddenly realized she actually did feel sick.

“Urp…”

“…”

She let out a weak sound without thinking, then startled herself and looked up at Cardier. He, sensitive even to that tiny noise, caught her arm with a slightly flustered expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh… urp…”

As Rosetta’s groan weakened, Cardier’s expression turned serious.

“Are you unwell? Why are you suddenly like this?”

“Sto…”

“What?”

“My stomach…”

“…”

For a moment, Cardier seemed not to understand her words. Rosetta sank to her knees, pressing the back of her hand against her rising nausea. Cardier narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Wait… you don’t mean…”

“…”

“You’re seasick?”

Rosetta wanted to leap up in frustration right then and there. After all, she used to be someone who didn’t even know what seasickness felt like. If she’d ever heard of a pirate suffering from seasickness, she’d have laughed for three days straight. It’d be easier to find a goat that eats meat. Honestly, that’s how she used to be.

But once her stomach began churning, it refused to settle. Soon, her head throbbed, her limbs turned cold, and her lips started trembling uncontrollably. Her face must have already turned ghostly pale. She groaned in agony.

“I think I’m going to die…”

Cardier bent down and supported her back with his large hand.

“If you feel nauseous, just throw up. I’ll hold you.”

“It’s not… that bad yet… Ah…”

It felt as if someone was violently churning her insides. Cardier asked again.

“Can you walk?”

“…No, ugh…”

“If you can’t, I’ll carry you to the chair.”

Rosetta shook her head violently, hand still clamped over her mouth, eyes wide. What an undignified sight that would be—being carried like a sack because she couldn’t walk the short distance to a chair. She’d become the main spectacle of the entire banquet. The thought horrified her. Cardier clicked his tongue briefly at her stubborn refusal.

“Then try moving slowly.”

Rosetta took shaky steps, clinging tightly to his arm. Her legs wobbled like jelly. Each step felt as exhausting as trudging through thick mud. Though she’d sworn she’d never let herself be carried, the last few steps were nearly a full collapse into him. At least, to onlookers, it probably just looked like he was supporting her—a small comfort, if any.

Once Rosetta slumped onto a cushioned chaise lounge, Cardier gently brushed the strands of hair stuck to her forehead with his thumb.