98.

The man’s face blatantly dripped with the intent to take bribes through back channels. Still, even if ‘Leah’ had donned the clothes of a common sailor, the external dignity cultivated over twenty years wouldn’t vanish in an instant. It was only natural that someone so obviously naive would see her as a clueless noble girl.

Had she followed her true nature, she would’ve overturned everything, but Rosetta held herself tightly in check. First, she lacked the strength to do so outright; second, she couldn’t afford to waste even a moment bickering. Damn it all—this underling, who in her prime would’ve groveled at the mere sight of her hair, was now the one holding real authority in the alliance.

Even if he was a junior so distant he might as well be fluff, he was currently the one with actual decision-making power. It was out of the question to risk drawing his suspicion and spending the entire voyage trailed by pirate ships. Though she’d half-expected this situation, it still left her feeling sour and resentful, as if something was being taken from her for nothing.

“…Is this enough?”

Rosetta deliberately handed over the jeweled necklace she’d brought. Just before releasing it, she made sure to clutch it tightly with a face dripping in exaggerated reluctance, as though it were her grandfather’s cherished memento. The man lightly bit the end of the chain, then grinned, revealing yellowed teeth.

“Good. One of our ships will escort you through nearby waters. There aren’t too many reckless ones lately, but we can’t say there are none. You said you wanted the fastest departure—so, seven hours from now, just before dawn, should work.”

“Fine.”

“Make sure your ship’s ready to sail by then.”

The man scrawled a hasty signature onto a crumpled piece of paper. The messy handwriting only briefly noted the date and time. Still, holding it in her hand brought her a sense of complete reassurance. The pirates of Villbron might point guns while shaking hands, but at least they didn’t play games with official documents.

“Did it go well?”

As she opened the office door, Turner, who had been leaning against the nearby porch, immediately approached. Ever since anchoring at the Ship’s Graveyard, he’d been so unnervingly attentive wherever she went. Well, she understood—she probably looked less reliable than a newborn chick in his eyes. It was fortunate he hadn’t grilled her endlessly about how she even knew this place. Hiring Melvin seemed to have served as an effective smokescreen.

“Yeah. We’re setting sail in seven hours.”

“You’re going straight back to the ship, right?”

“…….”

She couldn’t bring herself to answer. Rationally, she knew she should return immediately and prepare for departure. But deep down, a suspicion was sprouting—could the man searching for Kirgos’s token possibly be Nick?

Since inheriting Kirgos’s token, Rosetta had never directly revealed it to anyone. Not even to that bastard Nick.

And now, three weeks ago? He just happened to be waiting at Bahamut, the tavern right at the entrance of the Ship’s Graveyard? The coincidence of time and place felt increasingly suspicious. Most of all, whoever this man was, his actions implied absolute certainty that Kirgos’s token lay dormant in a bank. If it was Nick, at least he’d set a trap—fine. But if not, it meant information was leaking from somewhere.

But from where? She’d hired the crew in a rush, but every sailor she’d brought aboard had a clean record. Anyone with even the slightest connection to piracy had been excluded. Melvin? Rosetta herself had placed the biggest suspicion on that bastard, yet so far, he hadn’t shown a single suspicious move. Of course, if Melvin had somehow managed to infiltrate even the people she’d hired…

“Stop biting your lip.”

Turner suddenly reached out and touched her lip. Rosetta was shocked—first, that she’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed; second, that Turner had touched her lip. Instinctively, she flinched back, swatting his hand away. Turner gave a wry smile and pulled a handkerchief from his coat, offering it.

“It’s bleeding. Here.”

No wonder she tasted copper in her mouth—unaware, she’d been gnawing at her lip again. Coming to the Ship’s Graveyard must’ve awakened an old habit. It was an odd, unwelcome sensation. Rosetta wiped her lip with the back of her hand and tossed the leather bag she was holding toward Turner.

“There’s still somewhere I need to go. Carry that and follow me.”

When the mind grows too tangled, sometimes the best way is to confront things head-on.

“Where now?”

“Bahamut. The tavern near the dock, they said.”

“…Isn’t that dangerous?”

Rosetta gave a dry chuckle. The dangerous tightrope had begun the moment they set sail—his reaction was belated. She was about to brush it off, but paused and turned to look at Turner. Now that she thought about it, what the hell was wrong with this guy? Lately, he kept treating her like someone who needed protection. Who was the one who’d beaten him senseless in the training yard?

“Hey.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not my mother. Since when do you get to lecture me about safety all of a sudden?”

He seemed momentarily speechless. Then, in the next instant, his brow furrowed.

“Are you joking? I’m saying it because it’s actually dangerous.”

“There are plenty of dangers. Any proper pirate with a brain knows better than to touch even a single hair on a noble. Do you really think there’s anyone here bold enough to mess with me?”

“…How the hell do you even know that?”

Rosetta bit her lip.

“I—well, everything’s written in books, isn’t it? Anyway, drop it. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

She met Turner’s confused gaze without flinching. Female pirates were rare, but even rarer was a woman who dominated men purely through sheer force—Red Dawn was the only one in Villbron’s long pirate history. Because of her fame, she drew attention wherever she went—whether man or woman.

Over time, she’d learned to distinguish between simple admiration and those who saw her as an object of desire. With Cardier, it had been easy—he’d openly boasted about it, so pushing him away carried no burden. But with someone like Turner, feigning ignorance only made things awkward for both sides. Damn it, but accepting his kindness while pretending not to notice felt even more uncomfortable. Especially now, when she couldn’t just snap and strangle the fool like she used to.

“Then let’s go quickly.”

Uncomfortable with the conversation, Rosetta scowled and briskly moved forward, as if doing so could erase their exchange completely.

Turner stared blankly at her retreating back, then suddenly burst into laughter. He ruffled his hair with his right hand, then abruptly slumped down, burying his face in his arms. The tip of his ear, left exposed, was red.

“Seriously… I’m going crazy.”

* * *

All buildings in the Ship’s Graveyard generally had patchwork exteriors made of haphazardly nailed planks, and the tavern Bahamut was no exception. The moment the door opened, a sharp, acrid smoke from low-grade southern tobacco stung her nose, followed by the thick scent of cheap grain alcohol. Rosetta calmly walked past several curious gazes toward the counter.

“Never seen you before. What’ll it be? Milk?”

The woman behind the counter giggled, eyeing the smooth back of Rosetta’s hand visible outside her hood. Rosetta gave a faint smile and placed her hand on the counter—her fingers subtly concealing a chess piece, Kirgos’s token.

The tavern owner’s eyes instantly changed upon seeing it. Rosetta quickly tucked the token deep into her coat. The owner pointed to a corner table with a trembling voice.

“Sit over there in the corner. I’ll bring you a full glass.”

The table she indicated was right beneath the stairs, far from the clusters of drunken patrons. Rosetta sat down and placed her flintlock pistol, safety disengaged, openly on the table. It wasn’t long before the creak of the stairs began. Instinctively, she knew this was the person searching for her.

She tensed, straining her ears toward the sound.

The creaking was extremely faint—easily drowned out by the raucous laughter around her. Not drunk, cautious, lean, and if male, of notably small build… So at least, it wasn’t Nick. The footsteps drew closer. The tavern’s lighting was dim, and the approaching silhouette was both familiar and strange.

“Who’s there?”

Reflexively, she grabbed the pistol on the table and aimed it toward the sound, her finger deep on the trigger, growling low.

“Identify yourself.”

Finally, an old woman in a tattered hood limped into view. For a moment, Rosetta hesitated—something about the figure was familiar. A clear, amused voice slipped out from beneath the dirty, pulled-down hood. It was an uncanny blend—youth and boyhood, woman and crone, all mixed into one.

“We said we’re everywhere.”

“…No way.”

A wrinkled hand pushed the hood back. Dull, swirling gray eyes locked precisely onto Rosetta’s face. The old woman grinned, revealing sparse, blackened teeth.

“It’s time to meet Calypso again.”

A being she’d never imagined encountering here—none other than the sea witch, Calypso.