Prologue — A Ship Sighted

Valentia was the coastal capital of Capua and home to its largest port.

The governor of the city, which was one of the largest in the country, was known as the Duke of Valentia, but the region had been under the direct command of the monarch for over eighty percent of its history, and that continued to this day.

In addition to being the queen of the country, Aura was also the Duchess of Valentia. After all, the city was both the biggest producer of salt and the busiest port in the country. Depending on the time of year, it could have more people, goods, and money flowing through it than anywhere else in Capua. It was hardly surprising that the previous monarchs had decided that unless there was someone they had absolute faith in, both in regard to ability and character, they could not let another hold sway over it.

In Aura’s case, all other royals had perished in the war, so she was unable to pass on the responsibility even if she had wished to.

Regardless, the circumstances meant that the city was currently, at least nominally, under her direct control. Naturally, her duties as queen in the capital meant that she couldn’t take command of the city in person, so the local affairs were actually managed by a separate governor.

Ordinarily, scattered holdings being under the command of a third party would lead to them being nothing but hotbeds for corruption and military expansion, but there was relatively little risk of that in Capua. The royal family held the lineal space-time magic and could use teleportation magic. When a trusted retainer could appear from the capital with no warning, any governor would hesitate to rebel.

The bulk of the manpower and funds used in the city was, of course, used on the port. Several jetties jutted out into the bay from the well-maintained banks, each of them made of solid stone and wide enough for large carriages to pass each other. The depth of the water was also sufficient so that even the exceptionally deep-drafted vessels from the Northern Continent could navigate without issue. There was an alternating, three-fold system of breakwaters outside of the harbor as well, which prevented the swells from entering and made it easier for ships to enter and leave the area. All of this meant that even in the tempests of the rainy season, no ship moored in Valentia had capsized in over a decade.

Finally, on the tip of a spur of land, there was an immense lighthouse. The building was a circular pillar, like a candle, and while it would be lost among the sea of skyscrapers in a modern city, there was nothing of the like around as it towered over all.

The jetties, breakwaters, and lighthouse were all huge stone structures. The sight of each of them would dizzy onlookers with the amount of money and labor that had gone into their creation. There was a good reason the city was called the largest port in the west.

The port was now as busy as ever as sailors and laborers rushed about this way and that under the clear blue skies and pleasant sea breeze.

“’Scuse me, rush cargo comin’ through!”

“Ya sure that’s enough jerky? ’S pretty light.”

“Hey! No fighting on the jetty! You’ll be barred!”

Soldiers armed with short spears mediated among the bustle when it looked like fists were about to fly. Guards in the main capital were clad in something along the lines of leather armor, but perhaps in deference to their location, the Valentian guards wore only thin shirts and pants.

A closer inspection would reveal that the tips of their spears didn’t shine in the least, even under the brilliant sun. They were likely sharpened drake bone rather than metal. While defending the port, they were not only exposed to the salty breeze but also spray from the sea. Therefore, without significant maintenance, anything metal would rust away quickly. A slightly grandiose term for it would be “special equipment for the bay.”

The other thing that drew the eye was the odd person here or there who was using a hand cart. The wooden tool had just gone on sale in the capital and was an amazing convenience in the port city, where moving heavy loads was a daily occurrence. The small wooden wheels meant that it was a necessity for the surfaces to be paved, but fortunately, Valentia met that requirement.

There weren’t many of them at present, and the price was rather high, so they weren’t a common sight, but it may not have been a too distant future where those wooden carts became standard in the port.

Their utility was obvious from just a single use. When one compared the gaits of the laborers dripping with sweat, sacks, and boxes on their shoulders to those using the carts to haul even heavier loads, the latter had much lighter steps, making the efficiency of the carts obvious.

Those without carts could only focus on what was in front of them as they sweat, while those with carts walked easily, pushing them along and taking in their surroundings.

Thus, it was almost preordained that the first person to notice was one of those with a cart.

“Hmmm? Wassat?” a young laborer asked, stopping and peering out at the horizon.

“Hey, what’re you doing?! You’ll see someone in the water stoppin’ like that,” scolded a middle-aged laborer with the load on his back.

“Ah, sorry,” the former replied to the man behind him, “I just saw an unfamiliar ship out there.”

“Huh? Unfamiliar?” the older man asked, not stopping but turning to look in that direction. Unfortunately, however, he could only see the expanse of sea. “There’s nuh’n there.”

“There is. I saw the masts over the horizon.”

The man seemed to understand as he nodded, the sack still on his right shoulder.

“Ah, yeah, you got pretty good eyes, ain’t you?”

“I have; it’s my best feature. The ship was damned huge, though, even from that far away. I’ve not seen one as big before.”

“Oh, probably one of those large sailing boats.”

“Large sailing boats? There are ships bigger than what we’ve got ’round here?”

“Aye, the ships ’round here are all one mast, lateen or square. Bigger exist, though; the Northern Continent have got some with three,” the older man answered, wiping his brow to keep the sweat from his eyes and squinting to see for himself. All he could discern was a speck on the horizon.

With no other recourse, he turned to his younger, better-eyed colleague and asked him, “What d’you see, then?”

“Okay, the angle’s a bit... Hang on, I can see it! Man, there’re a lot of masts. One, two, three...four? Huh? Are there any with four masts, not three?”

The older man’s expression changed dramatically at his compatriot’s question.

“Four masts?! You sure about that?!” he demanded.

The young laborer was surprised by his senior’s shock but looked again. However many times he checked, the count didn’t change.

“Yeah, I’m sure. There’s definitely four masts there.”

The elder’s response was rapid. “Take this!” he yelled, dumping the sack atop his shoulder into the youth’s cart.

“Hey! You can’t shove that much on it! The wheels break if you overload it! I won’t get paid for days if it does!” he protested, but the older man lacked the composure to care.

“That ain’t important! I gotta tell the governor! Blame me if it breaks!”

“The lighthouse keeps watch; they probably saw it quicker than me.”

“It’s just in case! I’m counting on you!” His piece said, the middle-aged man sprinted away. He vanished in moments, yelling to be let through the crowded jetty as he went.

The abandoned youth opened his mouth wordlessly as he looked at his overloaded cart. It was hardly surprising, considering his lack of understanding of the circumstances. It looked like the older man had merely taken an excuse to bail on work.

However, anyone who knew what those four masts represented would have understood why he’d done it. The people of the Southern Continent generally lacked shipbuilding skills and primarily built single-masted ships. Three-masted examples were almost universally trading vessels from the Northern Continent. They were essentially cutting-edge with their more advanced techniques, so anyone who personally owned one was a trader whose name would be known across the country.

The significance of an even bigger ship, with four masts, was easy to see. They were the absolute peak of innovation, owned by the country itself, and would never be allowed into private hands. In addition, even on the Northern Continent, there were very few countries both big enough and advanced enough to build such a ship. With one of those ships appearing off the coast of Valentia, it meant that one of the most powerful people on that continent had arrived.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

The name of the four-masted ship that had appeared near Valentia was Glasir’s Leaf.

It was the finest ship of the Kingdom of Uppasala, a country to the far north of the Northern Continent. Even they, known for being at the forefront of such developments, only had one other four-masted ship. It was the flagship of their navy, Naglfar.

Standing atop its vast deck, Freya Uppasala gave an emotional, relieved look at the first land she had seen in one hundred and twenty days.

“We can finally dock,” she said.

“We can, Princess. The port is splendid, and even we should be able to berth with no issue.”

“Indeed. I am not a princess at present, though, Skaji. I am a captain. Please keep that in mind,” the girl with silver-blue hair—Freya Uppasala—told the female warrior behind her, still focused on Valentia.

“Excuse me, Captain,” the woman called Skaji answered with a soft smile and slight nod.

Freya Uppasala, as her name implied, was a princess of Uppasala. Women could not ascend the throne in the country, so she had no place in the line of succession, but that didn’t change the fact that she was one of the highest-ranking nobles in the country.

She had straight, silver hair with a tinge of blue to it and icy azure eyes that gave an almost frozen impression, along with almost unrealistically pale skin. She had a beauty befitting a “Northern Princess,” which would doubtlessly be shown if she wore a dress and jewels.

However, while her clothing still held a slight elegance to it, it looked more like a man’s wardrobe, prioritizing function over form, and her originally waist-length, beautiful hair had been shorn to just below her neck. She was dressed as a man in order to captain Glasir’s Leaf.

From time immemorial, the people of the Kingdom of Uppasala—the Sveans—saw their ships as women. As captaining a ship was akin to marrying it, a captain also had to be a man. Thus, if a woman was to captain a ship, she would have to act as a man while on board.

Of course, this was ultimately customary, and they did not literally need to become men. Thus, her appearance was that of a beautiful woman wearing male clothes. If anything, the simple men’s outfit highlighted her womanly curves from her chest to her waist.

Freya turned her head to address the woman behind her. “So, have you established where this port is?”

The woman folded her tall frame into a bow at her mistress’s question and answered, “We have. The positions of the stars last night and our current heading indicate that this is the Kingdom of Capua.”

“The Kingdom of Capua?” Freya queried, searching her memories.

Uppasala was in the northernmost reaches of the Northern Continent, so they had very little information about the Southern Continent at all. It was like asking a European in the age of discovery about the Asian countries. That said, Freya had become a captain of her own volition, so she was much more knowledgeable than the general public.

“I seem to recall that Capua is a country in the midwest of the Southern Continent? We have drifted farther than expected.”

The taller woman gave a nod in confirmation of the captain’s dredged-up knowledge and offered some words of agreement. “Indeed, I have heard that it is among the biggest countries in the west of the continent. Things will be somewhat complicated due to the lack of direct diplomatic relations between our nations, but I have heard no rumors that are cause for concern. I would wager they will at least abide by the rules of the sea.”

“The rules of the sea” was a culture of mutual support amongst those who lived on the water. The actual contents were nothing impressive—it boiled down to allowing even completely unknown ships to use a free berth and to disembark in the harbor. After all, navigation in this world was far from that of modern Earth. Even if someone plotted their course, the probability that everything would go as planned was essentially zero.

It was far from rare for ships to run out of food, suffer outbreaks of disease, get swept up in unforeseen storms, and end up in completely unexpected waters. Therefore, there was a principle of allowing emergency entry into ports. Naturally, ships from hostile countries or ships that were clearly run by pirates were not subject to that rule.

“Then we should be able to allow our sailors to disembark. Considering the burden placed upon them, that is my highest priority.”

The warrior replied in agreement to her captain’s concern for their sailors. “Of course, Captain. However, please give yourself the same allowance. Begging your pardon, but your stamina is among the lowest of our crew.”

“Thank you for your concern, Skaji, but I am fine. I have had little to do for the entire voyage.”

“Naturally, if something were to happen to our captain, it would be the end of our ship.”

While the woman’s words were certainly exaggerated, they were not figurative in the least. While the engineering behind the ship was akin to that of Earth’s ships in the Middle Ages, they had both advantages and disadvantages over Earth. The advantage was, frankly, the existence of magic. Types of purification magic on water were particularly revolutionary in terms of sailing.

Until recent times, drinking water had been the biggest problem with sailing. In this world, where potable water was a simple casting of magic away, the sailors’ circumstances were completely different.

Glasir’s Leaf’s water supply was handled solely by Freya. With that taken into account, the warrior’s statement was clearly no joke. There were, of course, other people who could use the spell too, but even if they all pooled their efforts, they would only be able to produce enough water to barely survive.

Freya was well aware of the burden on her shoulders—that if anything happened to her, her sailors would soon dehydrate. So she had heeded the veterans’ and warrior’s warnings and kept herself safe. While she was physically fine, that had taken a mental toll.

“Still,” Freya said, changing the topic as she narrowed her eyes at the horizon, “the seas and skies here are exceptionally blue.”

“They are,” the warrior agreed. “It might even be a little bright for our Northern eyes.”

As the woman had said, their homeland was often shadowed by ashen clouds, and there were few days where the seas looked blue. While the natives wouldn’t see it as particularly hot now that the worst of the season had passed, it was a completely alien heat to the visitors on the boat. Standing on the deck under the rays of the sun was enough to make them dizzy with the heat. The one saving grace was that the breeze was cooling and stopped them from struggling to breathe.

The tall warrior and the sailors tending the sails all had darkened skin, but a glance at the arms under their sleeves or the napes of their necks revealed pale coloring. The fact that Freya was the palest among them must have been because she so rarely stepped out of her cabin, or else she found it extremely difficult to tan.

The pale-skinned woman didn’t take her eyes off the port as they approached. “Incredible. It’s rare to see such ports even on the Northern Continent,” she mused.

“It is. I never imagined the Southern Continent would have such ports either.”

Freya merely nodded in answer to the woman’s comment on needing to revisit their assumptions. The relationship between the Northern and Southern Continents was usually summed up by the phrase “Southern magic, Northern technology,” indicating that the Southern Continent was more advanced in terms of magic, and the Northern Continent boasted exceptional technology.

While it was a fundamental requirement for royalty in the Southern Continent to have lineal magic, such families were a minority in the North. The Uppasala family had hereditarily large mana reserves, but no particular lineal magic. The types of magic they could use were the four main types alone.

On the flip side, the North was much more technologically advanced, and their shipbuilding, smithing, and architecture were all a step above. Such pride gave rise to conceit and would inevitably lead to looking down on the other side of the divide.

Noticing her thoughts stray down paths best left unexplored, Freya took a breath to recenter herself. It was at that moment that a loud cry came from the sailor on watch.

“A shadow is approaching from the stern! It’s a sea dragon!”

“Princess!” called the warrior, immediately forgetting the correct form of address.

Freya understood how foolish a correction would be at the moment and let it pass. “The storm must have blown us into its territory last night, and it has pursued us since.”

Sea dragons were a creature that didn’t exist on Earth, a hindrance to ocean travel. While there were instances on Earth of ships striking whales and being damaged, or people falling overboard during a storm and being eaten by sharks, the destruction caused by sea dragons was much more extreme.

The first difference was the sheer size of it. Compared to a heavy tanker or nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, this world’s ships might have appeared small, but they were even smaller than the biggest examples of local creatures.

In addition, sea dragons were strongly territorial and terrifyingly aggressive when something entered their domain. Aggressive enough that it was by no means uncommon for them to leave said territory in pursuit of intruders.

That said, it was an exception for them to pursue ships for more than a day.

“The stern ballista was damaged in the storm last night, Princess.”

Freya’s decision was immediate as the woman readied herself for a fight.

“Very well. A sea dragon of that size would likely be no real issue to the coastal defense force, but we were the ones to draw it here, so it would be rather rude of us. You do not need to dispose of it; merely drive it off, so do not push yourself, Skaji.”

“As you will,” the warrior said with a salute, bringing her right fist to rest on her left breast before running off. The ship was still out of the breakwaters, so the swells were large and moved them around a fair amount, but the woman moved as if over even ground.

“Bring me my spear!” she called through the salt-laden air, and a sailor responded immediately.

“Here, Lady Victoria!”

“Excellent!” she cried, taking it off the bearded sailor as she ran by.

The spear was a little over a meter in length and was constructed entirely from an opalescent material with a slight yellowish tinge and was rather heavy for its size. The color and heft of the spear were proof that it had been carved from the tusk of a walrus. Using a normal spear with a metal tip and wooden shaft to attack a walrus or sea dragon while it was in the water was disadvantageous. The salt water would cause it to rust, and the wood would rot in the long term, but a bigger problem was that the difference in density between the metal tip, which would sink, and the wooden shaft, which floated, would warp its trajectory in the water.

“Move! I will deal with it,” the woman declared as she arrived on the afterdeck.

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The sailors said, immediately making space.

She didn’t slow, keeping up her sprint as she kicked up off the deck, leaping up to the lookout. Then stood there, holding the spear in her right hand as she looked down at the sea dragon and muttered.

“Hmm. A small mercy... It should be possible to deal with it.”

The sea dragon’s long neck extended from its emerald back beneath the waves as it bared its fangs at her. It was of the long-necked variety, and fortunately a rather small example of the species. A larger one would have left her needing to look up at the creature, so it was indeed a small mercy.

That said, the sight of it cutting through the water with its four fins, rapidly approaching the ship, was enough to make even veteran sailors falter.

“Phew...”

Keeping her eyes on the creature, the warrior gripped the spear near its tip, allowing the base of it to rest on her foot. A close look would show one that the leather shoe she wore had a circular depression in it, a perfect fit for the butt of the spear. She used her right hand to ensure that it wouldn’t fall before removing said hand and leaving the spear upright on her foot.

In and of itself, the move looked like some sleight of hand, but this was no casino, and it was no mere performance.

“Whewww... Hahh...”

After several deep breaths, the warrior opened her eyes wide and kicked her leg out with flowing movements.

She kicked up, around, and then down in a move similar to a high kick in karate or kickboxing. The sequence of movements brought the spear on her foot up, put it level with the sea, and sent it flying.

Spear-kicking, an art passed down in the northern countries of the continent. There were those of the opinion that it had been attempted to compensate for the thick gloves necessary up there, and also that it had come about to make up for the strength deficit that female warriors had when compared to their male brethren in terms of the distance a spear could be flung.

Whatever the case was, it went without saying that it was no common technique. Purposefully using a foot to throw a spear was both inefficient and unrealistic. However, the accumulation of pure technique and talented wielders’ practice made its efficiency rise, and the unrealistic became realistic.

The tusk flew straight through the air, faster than an arrow, before piercing the sea dragon’s head. The beast let out a short, keening screech before its long neck fell to the sea.

A single shot, and a single kill, quite literally finishing off the sea dragon with one thrown spear. The creature had been large, but it was still relatively distant, so it was hardly an easy target.

“Wow!”

“That’s our Lady Victoria!”

“And that’s why you’re Skaji the Witch!”

The observing sailors all cheered at the feat, stomping on the deck. She had both kicked a spear and hit the head, and did so strongly enough that it pierced the skull and fatally wounded the creature.

She gave a slight smile and raise of her hand to the cheering sailors before easily making her way back.

“Good work, Skaji. That was spectacular.”

“Thank you, Princess. It is an honor,” she answered with a slight bow of her head as she noticed Freya’s approach.

“Skaji, I’m sure I have told you to call me ‘captain’ while on the ship,” Freya said with a reluctant smile.

The urgency had passed, so the warrior finally realized her mistake and hunched in on herself slightly. “Ah, my apologies, Captain.”

“I will only have the title for a little longer,” the princess-captain said with a relaxed expression, “so please use it while we can.”

The sailors around them laughed at that, and the warrior joined in.

“Very well, Captain,” she said. “Incidentally, what will we do with the sea dragon? We defeated it, so I believe we can stake a claim.”

As she spoke, her gaze drifted back to the ocean and the sea dragon’s corpse floating within it. The corpse was a treasure trove. It offered water-repellent leather along with strong, supple bones. The meat wasn’t particularly tasty, but it was edible, and its oils smelled good when burned, so it could be sold for a high price.

However, Freya hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. “Perhaps not. It would have caused trouble for the port if things had gone poorly, so we run the risk of inviting displeasure from the first harbor we use.”

“Understood, ma’am,” she answered, giving the carcass another longing glance.

Freya intuited the look’s meaning and gave a slight smile as she covered her mouth. “You need not worry so much, Skaji. I shall speak with them to ensure your spear is returned.”

“Thank you very much, ma’am,” the woman answered with a reddened face.