Chapter 56: Kelsey, His Father’s Killer

“Excuse me, are you looking for work?” Just when we were feeling extremely embarrassed by Miss Eliot’s lack of worldly knowledge, a young child’s voice sounded in our ears. Following the sound, we saw a child standing beside our table.

The child looked to be about ten years old or a bit older, fair and clean-looking. Though his clothes were old and had lost their luster, both the fabric and the tailoring were quite fine. Despite his young age, his eyes held an extraordinary courage, and his young face, already beginning to show its contours, carried a hint of determination.

“Are you an adventuring party looking for work?” The child, seeing that we remained silent, asked again.

“Oh… yes, ah, no, actually, we’re already working.” I didn’t want to run into too much trouble before completing our task.

“Oh, that’s a pity.” The child’s face darkened, and he turned to leave, but then he looked back and said very politely, “Sorry for disturbing you.”

This was truly an interesting child. He had a noble bearing, perfect manners, and yet every move he made radiated a deep sadness. His expression told us that his heart carried pressures that ordinary people had never endured.

For a moment I felt dazed, as if I saw a young Fred standing before me. Yes, I had never seen what my friend looked like as a child, but this boy’s appearance did feel familiar.

“Wait a moment, young man.” Just as I was about to call him back, Red Flame had already beaten me to it.

“Do you need help, little fellow?” Red Flame tried hard to look kind and friendly, but the scar and eyepatch on his face made his efforts useless.

“I need to hire a team, not ask for help, Mister Elf.” The child answered seriously with what seemed to be his natural pride. “Also, you may address me as Philophsenia de Fasselley, or Mr. Fasselley. My friends call me Phil. Please treat me as a respectable man. I am not some little fellow.”

His surname and his manner showed that he was a noble child who had received a strict education—and a very proud noble child at that.

“Very well, Mr. Fasselley. I think we wouldn’t mind taking on another job. Can you tell us what your task is?” Poirot asked lazily from the side.

“I’m looking for a group of pirates. They killed my father. I want revenge.” The child’s breathing suddenly became rapid, and his eyes nearly burst into flames, which startled me.

“I’ll offer this as payment.” He pulled a medal from his pocket. It was a medal carved from purple crystal, with a purple ribbon threaded through a pure gold clasp. A layer of sparkling color flowed across its surface, as if telling of the bravery and glory of its former owner.

“This was my father’s keepsake.” Little Phil’s voice began to choke, and he slowly lowered his head. But after a moment, he steadied himself, raised his head again, and looked into my eyes. “Will you accept my commission?”

“You are already our employer, sir. Please take care of us.” I took the child’s hand and spoke to him as I would to a respected adult.

“Before that, perhaps you could share a drink with us, and let us hear what this is all about.” Red Flame casually pulled over a chair.

“That won’t do, Mr. Red Flame. He’s still a child—he can’t drink alcohol,” Eliot protested loudly. “I think he should have a glass of fruit juice.”

The beautiful Dark Elf seemed to have an unstoppable love for children. She ignored the little one’s proud self-esteem, reached out and pulled the adorable child into her arms, pinched his chubby, tender little cheeks, and kept saying, “Little brother, you’re so cute. Tell big sister, how old are you?”

Our respectable “Mr. Philophsenia de Fasselley” struggled hard at first, but once his fruit juice was placed in front of him, he gave up his masculine dignity, clutched the cup to his chest, and obediently sold out his youthful self to the Dark Elf’s strange hands.

“Tell us what happened, and we’ll see how we can help you.” Once Phil had finished his juice, Red Flame said to him.

From the child’s account, we learned that his father was named Ilian, a brave and upright Knight. While escorting Count Montela out to sea, he had encountered pirates. After a desperate resistance, he was outnumbered and killed by the pirates. Not long after receiving the news, Little Phil’s mother passed away from overwhelming grief, and Little Phil could only survive with the help of distant relatives.

“He was killed by pirates—vile pirates.” Little Phil’s eyes were wet with tears as he said this. “They plundered the Count’s ship. A man who escaped and came back told my mother that he fought a group of pirates alone, and in the end, was stabbed to death by her sword…”

“Her? Which her?” Red Flame asked sharply. “The pirate?”

“Yes, her—that damned Red Scarf Pirate Queen, the female killer who sails the Golden Rose, Kelsey Ragg!”

This familiar name came so suddenly that we weren’t prepared for it. Red Flame looked as if he had been punched in the nose by that name. He sat there stunned, his eyes losing focus. Poirot and Eliot looked at me in confusion, as if asking how this heroine—whom they had never met but had heard us praise so much—could be such a murderous demon.

“Are you certain that Kelsey Ragg killed your father?” I looked at the child seriously.

“I swear it on my surname!” He stared firmly into my eyes without a trace of hesitation. “If you think this enemy is too much to handle, you can refuse my commission. But I swear, I will definitely kill Kelsey Ragg and avenge my father.”

This time his voice was loud enough for the entire tavern to hear. The noisy tavern instantly fell silent, and everyone looked toward our table.

“Clang!” Red Flame gulped down a large mouthful of ale, slammed his cup onto the table, casually tossed a few silver coins onto the table, took Phil by the hand, and walked toward the door, saying as he went, “Fine, we accept the commission. I’m going to go see what that Red Scarf Pirate Queen looks like.”

His voice carried a hint of loneliness. The deeds of his former lover were hard for him to believe. But this child wouldn’t lie—or rather, he had no reason to use his father’s keepsake to drag himself into a conflict with an enemy too powerful to fight. I didn’t know what was going through Red Flame’s mind. Though he held the child’s hand, what he left us was a lonely back.

Eliot and I quickly followed him. Poirot pulled the key he had just gotten from his pocket, glared at it bitterly, sighed, and said, “Just my luck…” He casually tossed the key into a half-full glass of wine and reluctantly came after us.

We walked out of the tavern, crossed the city, and arrived at the dock district. Dark, towering warehouses stood in rows on both sides, blocking out the sunlight.

We turned a corner and came to an open space on the dock. Suddenly, someone nearby shouted,

“Hey, you people over there. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

We turned around and saw several tall, burly men with strange outfits, fierce faces, and weapons in their hands beckoning to us. Looking more closely, they seemed to be the people who had been sitting at the table next to us in the tavern.

“Is there a problem?” I asked back.

“We heard you’re looking for trouble with Miss Kelsey. I’d advise you to drop that idea.” The man in the lead said. He held a heavy iron rod in his hand, and a tattoo of a tornado was inked on his arm.

“Oh, why?” Red Flame snorted coldly.

“Why? Because looking for trouble with her means looking for trouble with us. It means looking for trouble with all the pirates of the Comet Sea.”

“Is she that overbearing?” Red Flame said without changing his expression.

“Overbearing? Using that word to describe Miss Kelsey is too disrespectful. If she knew someone was looking for trouble with her, she’d definitely have us bring her over. That’s exactly why I’m telling you to stop thinking about it.”

“Why?”

“What kind of person is the young lady? How could she come to see people like you just because you ask? If any random person wanted to meet her, wouldn’t she be run off her feet?”

“You sure think a lot about her.”

“Of course. Miss Kelsey is the most beautiful wave in the Comet Sea.” This rough pirate leader suddenly revealed a gentle smile, but only for a brief moment before returning to his ugly, arrogant face. “How about this? Send this kid who doesn’t know his place back home, and go do whatever you were doing. Don’t worry—pirates have pirate rules. We won’t make things hard for the child.”

Red Flame glanced at Little Phil, and Little Phil was looking back at him at that moment. Neither of them spoke.

“And if we refuse?” Red Flame said without turning his head.

“Refuse? Then I, Storm Dirk, will have to teach you outsiders a lesson on behalf of the young lady. Boys, step back—careful you don’t get your bones broken by my rod.”

The men around him stepped back at his words. Red Flame slowly drew his twin blades, said to us, “He’s mine,” and walked step by step toward his opponent.

“Mr. Gid, he’ll be all right, won’t he?” Little Phil asked me in a low voice, watching Red Flame’s back.

“He’ll have trouble—big trouble.” Poirot clicked his tongue from the side. “I’m really worried he might lose his mind and chop that Storm fellow into pieces.”

I gave a bitter smile and led Little Phil aside to sit down.

The duel between Red Flame and Storm Dirk had already begun.

Storm Dirk indeed had the right to be arrogant. He swung his iron rod with roaring force, churning the air into threatening sounds. Unlike many reckless fellows I had seen who used heavy weapons, Dirk didn’t rush in with a hasty attack. He moved his feet nimbly, carefully keeping his distance from Red Flame, maximizing the power of the iron rod in his hands. Clearly, he didn’t want to kill Red Flame. He didn’t use any fatal moves, only gradually drove Red Flame toward a corner.

“Outsider, I advised you to listen to my warning. I don’t want to hurt anyone; I just want to avoid unnecessary trouble. I can’t control the force of this rod. Once you get hit, I can’t guarantee your life.” Dirk shouted.

“Can’t control your attacking power? That means your skill isn’t refined enough.” Red Flame’s cold voice came through the dense shadows of the swinging rod.

“Damn it! I kindly asked you to stay away from trouble, not because I’m really afraid of you.” Dirk cursed loudly and increased the speed and power of his attacks. Now I knew why people called him “Storm.” Wherever his iron rod swept, it was like a tornado rising from level ground, destroying almost everything in its path. The wall grazed by the end of his rod burst into chunks of stone dust, filling the air with flying debris. When the dust settled, several shocking scratches were left on the wall. If his opponent were me, I thought, he might have won easily already.

But his opponent was Red Flame. This rebellious Elf weaved nimbly through the shadows of the rod, dodging his opponent’s attacks with one narrow escape after another. His dodging could only be described as “precise.” Many times the iron rod brushed past the edge of his clothes. Almost even Storm Dirk himself thought he had struck his opponent, but when he realized the attack had missed, Red Flame’s blazing twin-blade assault was already bearing down on him.

Even with Storm Dirk’s extraordinary stamina, he wasn’t like a sailboat that could keep moving forever by borrowing outside forces. Besides, no one could keep swinging such a heavy weapon at high speed without getting tired. Finally, Dirk’s movements began to slow, and he gradually lost precise control of his iron rod. His movements grew wider, his breathing became heavier, and he revealed more and more openings. Red Flame closed in on Dirk again and again, attacking at close range where the long rod couldn’t be used properly, wearing Dirk down. Dirk roared again and again in anger and despair, but unfortunately, his martial skill wasn’t as good as his lungs, so his defeat was impossible to reverse.

Phil’s little eyes widened as he watched Red Flame’s mighty fighting stance without blinking. That someone who looked relatively small and weak could gain such a huge advantage when fighting a tall, burly opponent—this was probably something his young mind couldn’t have imagined. His expression toward Red Flame changed from worry to excitement, and gradually to respect.

For the final time, Red Flame closed in on his opponent. He used the blade in his left hand to block the iron rod, and the blade in his right hand slashed in reverse toward Dirk’s neck. The speed of this strike was beyond the pirate leader’s reaction. The only thing he could do was close his eyes and wait for the pain of the blade cutting through his flesh and blood vessels. The pirates behind him waved their weapons and charged forward, shouting, trying to save their leader. Eliot and I both shouted “Red Flame!” at the same time, wanting to stop the brave Ranger from this pointless slaughter.

“Thud!” Without needing us to stop him, Red Flame turned the blade aside at the very last moment and slammed the fist of his sword hand hard into Storm Dirk’s cheek. The tall pirate leader was knocked to the ground by the heavy punch. His face was bruised and swollen, blood streaming from his nose, and he seemed to be dazed from the blow. With the help of his men, it took him a long while to get back up.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Dirk asked, swaying as he pushed away the men supporting him, holding his face.

“You weren’t here to kill me either. And I’m glad…” Red Flame had already sheathed his twin blades. “That you spoke well of Kelsey.”

The pirate was baffled by Red Flame’s answer. “I don’t understand what you mean. If you also think Miss Kelsey is a good person, then why are you still looking for trouble with her?”

“Some things must be clarified face to face.” Red Flame turned and walked toward us. What greeted him was Little Phil’s admiring gaze.

“Hey, I owe you a life, but I’m still telling you this: if you dare to hurt a single hair on Miss Kelsey’s head, I’ll stake this worthless life of mine to die together with you!”

“Suit yourself.”

“Damn it, if you’re going to sea, watch out for ships flying the skull flag.” Storm Dirk’s words sounded less like a threat and more like a concerned reminder.

Red Flame still walked ahead holding Little Phil’s hand. His shadow was cast onto the wall, slanting around a corner like a confused punctuation mark.

Kelsey, what exactly is going on here…