Chapter 136: Into the North [2]

The deep, resonant blast of the maritime horn echoed across the harbor, signaling the final hour of boarding.

Inside the grey-stone hotel, travelers and merchants who had been resting in the common areas and upper rooms immediately began gathering their belongings, checking their travel satchels, and streaming toward the exit.

Dominating the harbor view was the colossal flagship moored at the primary pier—an absolute engineering marvel of naval architecture.

The massive, pitch-black warship towered over the docks like a floating fortress, its iron-reinforced hull built to easily dwarf a small village.

It was unimaginably vast, easily capable of accommodating well over a thousand passengers and crew members without feeling cramped.

Inside its cavernous belly lay a labyrinth of amenities: more than a thousand private guest rooms spread across multiple tiered decks, several sprawling commercial kitchens capable of feeding an army, dozens of working crew quarters, immaculate bathing facilities, and an elevated, heavily warded command bridge at the stern where the ship’s navigation officers directed its course across the waves.

Beyond the ship’s structural grandeur, the vessel operated as an independent military-commercial entity.

Stationed within the upper observation towers were elite surveillance squads equipped with high-tier scrying lenses, tasked with scanning the vast, rolling horizons of the Northern Ire Sea and the Creptun Ocean for pirate galleys or rogue vessels.

Meanwhile, lining the active gangways and patrolling the decks were the ship’s enforcers—a fierce, privately contracted security force clad in heavy chainmail and armed with repeating crossbows and boarding pikes, ready to repel any pirate raid or oceanic threat that dared challenge the vessel.

One by one, the passengers poured out of the hotel doors and onto the sun-drenched cobblestone streets, making their steady march toward the docks.

Craig and his traveling party were right among them.

As Craig, Ser Hughway, Ser Damian, and Annie stepped out into the bright afternoon air, they crossed paths with a familiar figure hurrying in the opposite direction.

It was the black-skinned man in the brown straw hat—Andres Mogulis—who was rushing back inside to quickly collect his luggage and check out of his room before missing final call.

For a fraction of a second, Craig’s footsteps slowed.

His emerald-green eyes locked directly with the dark, knowing gaze of the traveler.

Yet, Craig’s face betrayed absolutely no emotion.

His expression remained an unreadable mask of calm indifference as he smoothly looked away, continuing his stride without missing a beat.

Annie noticed the subtle tension in the air, casting a curious glance between her master and the rushing stranger.

Without waiting, the party pressed onward, stepping away from the hotel and heading down the bustling wharf toward the towering shadow of the black warship.

As they approached the main dock, they could see the massive wooden gangway—the ship’s brow—stretching from the pier up to the reinforced boarding port.

Stationed at the entrance of the gangway were several heavily armored ship enforcers, rigorously scrutinizing every passenger, demanding travel permits, and stamping tickets before allowing anyone to step foot on the deck.

While they walked in the line of travelers, Annie couldn’t shake the memory of the stranger in the hotel lobby.

She turned her head slightly, looking back toward the hotel entrance where the black-skinned man had just vanished inside.

“My Lord,” Annie murmured softly, leaning in closer to Craig. “That strange man… the one who was staring at you in the common room earlier. Do you… dislike him?”

Before Craig could even open his mouth to answer, Ser Damian stiffened visibly.

A look of sharp anxiety crossed Damian’s face, and he immediately stepped closer, his voice dropping into a harsh, warning whisper.

“Annie, watch your tongue!” Damian chided hurriedly, casting a nervous glance around to ensure no passing guards or inspectors were listening to her address their liege improperly in public.

“You must not question or probe the Lord Viscount about such trivial personal matters out in the open—”

Before Damian could finish his reprimand, Craig raised a gloved hand, cutting him off with a gentle, reassuring gesture.

A warm, easygoing smile touched Craig’s lips.

Damian immediately backed down, bowing his head in silence, though the furrow in his brow clearly showed he remained deeply uneasy about public security lapses.

Craig turned his attention back to the young mana apprentice, his voice dropping into a calm, explanatory register.

“It is quite alright, Damian,” Craig said smoothly, before looking down at Annie. “To answer your question, Annie… no, it is not a matter of simply liking or disliking him. That strange black-skinned man is a Spirit Mage. And more than that, he is an extraordinarily powerful one.”

Annie’s eyes widened slightly, her steps slowing for a fraction of a second.

“Even from a distance,” Craig continued, his emerald-green eyes flashing with sharp, analytical insight, “I could sense the sheer depth and density of the spirituality radiating from his mana core. His soul foundation is exceptionally stable, masking his true cultivation level beneath layers of psychological warding.”

Craig looked down at her with a knowing look.

“Since you are also walking the path of a Spirit Mage, you should know better than anyone how agonizingly difficult it is to break through the bottlenecks and ascend through the magical classes. Every single step upward requires enduring immense mental and spiritual tribulation.”

Annie swallowed hard, absorbing his words. She nodded slowly, her expression turning grave. “Yes… Master is entirely right. For a Spirit Mage to reach a level where their aura can naturally bleed out even while trying to suppress it… that means that strange man is far from ordinary. He is terrifyingly competent.”

Craig nodded with a quiet, confident smile, his gaze fixed on the approaching boarding ramp where the ship enforcers were checking papers.

“Indeed,” Craig murmured, his voice carrying a dangerous, chilling edge that only Annie could hear. “And to make matters even more interesting… I have a very strong, undeniable feeling that that man is here specifically to monitor me.”

He paused, a dark, razor-sharp grin slowly spreading across his face as he slightly tilted his head.

Instead of showing fear or panic at being targeted by an unknown surveillance operative, Craig looked genuinely exhilarated, like a master chess player watching an opponent make a predictable opening move.

“So, instead of running away or trying to shake him off,” Craig whispered, his eyes gleaming with predatory amusement as he stared past the docks and fixed his gaze entirely on the deep, churning indigo expanse of the Northern Ire Sea,

“I think I will honor his dedication… by setting a trap of my own for him to walk right into.”