Restart:Untalented Man

Chapter 536: Expedition

Sarika stepped onto the deck, filled with confidence. Her cloak billows slightly in the sea breeze.

Behind her, her subordinates filed up the gangplank in an orderly line.

Without wasting time on greetings or formalities, she gave the crews a sharp nod, signalling them to load the supplies she had prepared beforehand.

The crew sprang into motion. Crates and barrels of provisions such as salted meat, dried grains, hardtack, water casks, spare timber, and even bundles of firewood were hoisted from carts.

Although there are plenty of supplies on the ships, having more is always beneficial.

The pace was astonishing. What normally took half a day was done in under an hour.

Onshore, the villagers stood rooted in place, gaping at the spectacle.

They were poor fishermen, people who spent their entire lives with nets and boats that were barely fit for the shallow coastal waters.

To them, this vessel was no mere ship but an iron fortress.

Shortly after, when everything was ready, the ship departed.

The steel ship’s engine rumbled, a low growl that vibrated through the planks of the pier.

Slowly, the vessel pushed off.

The villagers watched in silence as it slipped back into the icy waters and charted its path toward the northern horizon.

The whole process was quick. The ship comes and goes, leaving them bewildered.

Although they’re aware of their lowly status, this is the first time they have been treated like air.

The noble commander, her soldiers, and the sailors had not once turned their eyes to the villagers.

Not a word was spoken, not a glance spared. No insults, no curses, not even the smallest recognition of their presence.

They had been treated as though they did not exist at all.

At the very least, the noble lords would glance at them and say a few words of insult.

To be treated as non-existent, the villagers once again redefine their lowliness.

....

On deck, the crew settled into their rhythm. Sarika stood at the bow of the ship with her hands clasped behind her back.

The northern wind was whipping strands of her hair loose from her braid.

Around her, the crews waited, uncertain whether to interrupt the silence.

"Form the watch schedule. I want men at every vantage point. The first thing that will kill us is not the weather, but carelessness. The waters here are treacherous with ice, and I won’t have us crippled before we even reach our destination."

Despite the closeness of their destination in terms of distance, the voyage will take about a day of sailing.

This is due to their being cautious. Once they understood the geographical condition of the northern sea, the journey was estimated to be shortened to just less than half a day.

After a few hours of sailing, the air grew sharper, biting at exposed skin and stiffening fingers against steel.

The sea, which had been restless, grew unnervingly calm, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

Mist thickened, blurring the horizon. A voice cracked the silence, "Ice! Starboard bow!"

All heads turned. Through the mist, a faint pale wall drifted into view.

An iceberg, its jagged edge rising like a shard of glass from the water. And it wasn’t alone.

More shapes emerged behind it, ghostly and massive, drifting in silence.

The helmsman swore under his breath, "Damn it!"

Sarika strode to the railing, raised her binoculars, scanning the faint outlines.

The bergs weren’t tightly packed, but they moved unpredictably with the current, slow but implacable. Even a graze from one would crush the steel plating like paper.

"Steady helm! Cut the speed! Let the current carry us. I want eyes everywhere! No one blinks."

The deck came alive in frenzy. Orders rang out, signal whistles trilled, and sailors scrambled to adjust the engine output. Lanterns were shifted to the bow to illuminate the drifting giants better.

Sarika remained at the bow, her breath forming a mist of its own.

As the ship moved forward, the sound of the ice grinding against itself filled the air. A deep, groaning rumble that echoed across the mist.

Every creak of the hull, every splash of water against steel felt magnified.

The crew gripped the railings, waiting, watching, listening.

"Crrk!"

And then came the sudden, chilling noise. A smaller chunk of ice scraped the starboard side, tearing shallow scars across the hull.

Men tensed, some gasped.

Sarika didn’t flinch. She turned her gaze to the helmsman. "Adjust course; half a point portside. Keep the bow angled, and ride the current."

The ship pressed deeper into the ice field.

The watchmen barely blinked. Their eyes stung from the cold mist and constant strain.

Luckily, this time they didn’t suffer from any setback. The progress onwards was smooth.

Hours crawled by, and the mist was gradually thinning.

Then, at dawn’s light, the lookout’s trembling voice rang.

"Land! Land to the north!"

Through the thinning fog, a jagged silhouette emerged on the horizon. A towering cliff juts out of the sea like the bones of the world.

The Land of Ice lay before them.

The ship glided slowly toward the looming cliffs. The crunch of ice beneath its hull was growing fainter as open water spread ahead.

The mountain in the Land of Ice rose majestically, sheathed in white and crowned with glaciers that shimmered in the morning light.

The men stood at the rails in silence.

Even the most hardened among them could not help but feel small before such grandeur.

A place untouched, unconquered, vast beyond imagination.

"So this is the edge of the world," Sarika whispered. Her lips formed a faint smile.

The ship nudged into a natural inlet. The waters were calm and clear, reflecting the sky.

As the anchors dropped with a heavy splash, their sound echoed against the cliffs.

The first human noise this coast had heard in ages.

"Let’s go!" A landing party lowered boats to cross the final stretch.

They moved with caution, afraid of unexpected danger.