Night deepened.
A chill rode the sea breeze across the island. A big bonfire crackled on the beach, pushing back the dark and the cold. Repairs on the Seagull were still underway; the tapping of hammers was drowned beneath the waves smashing the reefs.
Gauss's party and the sailors sat by the fire, waiting for the plump ship's cook to finish dinner. They'd brought plenty of meat and rations down from the ship—food wouldn't be a problem.
For some reason, watching the scene, Gauss felt a pang of déjà vu. Late night, an island, a bonfire. After a moment's thought, he smiled, knowing why: memories from his past life surfaced. In that era of snackable short videos, he often scrolled past edited recaps of films and TV shows. An accident, a group stranded on a deserted island—wasn't this the classic opening to a thriller?
The Seagull's hull breach wasn't bad enough to sink her, but it had still forced them to spend a night ashore.
"What're you thinking about, Gauss?" Alia asked, curious at the secretive smile he wore while staring into the flames.
"Just that this looks like the opening of a bard's tale: an adventuring party runs into trouble and washes up on an island."
Alia blinked, glanced at the sailors waiting for food around the fire and the Seagull's outline crouching in the night like a dozing beast, and laughed. "It is a bit. So next we stumble on mysterious ruins in the jungle—lost civilization, or an ancient curse sealed for a thousand years?"
"At least we're luckier than real shipwreck survivors. We've got hot food."
Right on cue, the cook came over lugging a big pot. "Chicken soup!"
Gauss's party ate first. The chicken was fresh—slaughtered that evening. They were kept aboard for just such a change of pace; after so much fish and cured meat, the cook figured they'd be sick of it.
"Thanks," Gauss said, then glanced toward the treeline. "Shadow isn't back yet?"
After they'd come ashore, Shadow had said she would scout the area, and slipped into the dark.
"Let's wait for her," Gauss said. They could have set a portion aside, but he chose to wait and eat together. Alia and Serandur weren't very hungry anyway.
After a bit, just as worry began to nibble at Gauss and he was weighing whether to go after her, a black shadow slid low out of the brush and reached them in a blink. It rose off the ground and resolved into a tall, feminine figure.
Shadow was back.
"Go smoothly?" Gauss asked.
She looked at the sailors cheering over dinner, hesitated, then nodded and shook her head. She opened her palm. A pale yellow crystal and a tuft of faintly glowing pale green mushrooms lay there.
Gauss leaned in to inspect them, pinched the yellow crystal, then sniffed the soft-glowing fungus. "Sulfur and necroshrooms."
He looked up toward the mountain. "So that peak… could be an active volcano?"
Sulfur usually means volcanism or geothermal activity.
"Should be," Shadow said, voice cool as ever.
"As for necroshrooms, they grow where mana is thick and lots of corpses pile up," Gauss murmured, thinking. "Despite the name, they aren't evil in themselves."
The necroshrooms were intriguing. What could cause heaps of bodies on a remote island? Even elite monsters or a whole tribe wouldn't deliberately bury a mass of remains in one spot; more likely they'd dump them wherever they felt like it.
Gauss looked at the sailors happily eating and decided not to say more. "Let's keep a sharper watch tonight."
He had a hunch the island wasn't simple, but with a shipload of ordinary folk in tow, this wasn't the time to investigate. He pushed down his curiosity. If the chance came later, they could come back.
After dinner, despite Captain Fern's well-meant protests, Gauss's party insisted on taking shifts alongside the crew. Tonight, Serandur's Folding House was finally put to use. Under curious stares, he set the plain leather satchel on a flat patch of sand, murmured a spell—and in a few breaths it unfolded like a living thing, extending and locking into place.
In moments a multi-room house big enough for several people to live in comfortably stood on the beach. Its exterior was matte dark brown etched with faint sigils—for reinforcement, sound-damping, and warding.
The sailors gasped; Fern stood and, laughing, waved them off. "Alright, show's over—go pitch your tents!"
"Captain, you all rest first. I'll call you at your watch," Serandur offered. He'd done the least today—aside from healing the wounded—so he was the freshest.
"Thanks," Gauss said simply. He opened the door and went in with Shadow and Alia. It closed behind them, sealing out the noise and chill. Inside was bigger than it looked. Soft mage-lamps lit the sitting room; a clean, leafy scent hung in the air.
"Wow, the interior's nicer than I expected," Alia said, poking around.
"It is," Gauss agreed—miles better than a tent. The house had two floors, a sitting room, kitchen, washroom, and six bedrooms—plenty of space.
"Go easy on the energy," he reminded them. "Turn off lights when you leave." The house ran off a lodged mana stone—each costing several gold coins, far pricier than the "electric bill" from his previous life.
"Mhm."
They split up, picked rooms, and turned in.
…
Next morning, Gauss stretched. He'd pulled the last watch, along with a few sailors. A red sun was easing up the line where sky met sea. The long night was over. He looked again toward the mountain.
It hadn't been a quiet night; there'd been a clear, quake-like tremor that woke everyone. Only after it faded and didn't build did people doze off again.
By the time the crew were up, no one wanted to linger on the island. They even skipped breakfast. After rechecking the repairs, the men at the beach rowed out in shifts. Sails up—the Seagull made for open water. The tremor left everyone unsettled; if night sailing weren't so dangerous, they might have run for it in the dark. As it was, they'd gotten off lightly.
"Let's get back to Sena," Fern said, eyes on the wide sea.
The Seagull slid along her homeward course. The rising sun gilded the water red-gold. On deck, the sailors, still a bit shaken, were grinning as they tallied and sorted the haul—mostly what they'd taken from the second fight with the goblin pirates.
The mothership's valuables were all stripped and transferred: three light ballistae, an iron-shod ram, lengths of special ironwood, canvas and ropes, a small pouch of mixed coins—gold, silver, copper—spoils of many raids; intact jewelry—necklaces, rings, bracelets—sadly mere trinkets, not magic items; damp spices, a few bundles of decent pelts, lots of iron tools and hardware.
Plenty of merchantmen had clearly met bad ends. Now the loot was theirs. Bandit monsters are, in fact, popular targets—their trade is taking others' wealth, so they drop more than a normal monster tribe.
In Grayrock, a commission like this would've been snatched by professional "order poachers" before Gauss ever saw it. In Sena's East Branch, Gauss had a little privilege—first pick—so he landed the fat job.
The thirty-odd crew were thrilled too: Gauss's party ate meat, but the sailors drank the broth—and there was a lot of broth. One run's pay would carry them for a long spell. Most would still sign on again after a short time ashore; that was the life. Sailors live by the sea—too long on land feels wrong.
Captain Fern walked over with a few rolled charts. "Sea charts for the area—might be useful," he said, then added, "and this." He drew a scuffed, torn-edged piece of tanned leather from between the charts and handed it over.
Gauss looked. Daubed on the leather in dark red cinnabar were crude markings—twisted lines he took to be coasts or mountains, several unclear symbols, and a blurry line of text in what looked like an old dialect.
"Looks like a treasure map—and a decent fake at that," Gauss said after studying it.
Fern waved a hand. "Keep it, but don't take it too seriously. Out here there are thousands of 'treasure maps'—most made by pranksters or swindlers. The goblins must've looted that off some unlucky trader. Think of it as a souvenir."
Gauss didn't refuse. He took the so-called map. The drawings were too abstract to be a real lead; if he wanted to follow it he'd have no start point. Maybe the text was the key. He could try a Level 1 Comprehend Languages back in town—but that only ever gives surface meaning, not deep secrets.
"Thanks. I'll take a look when there's time."
The Seagull ran before the wind. Another day slipped by. In the morning, she split the blue and threw white fans from her bow. The southeast harbor of Sena swelled in the distance. Quay clamor, gull cry, stevedores toiling—life on land washed over them. After days away, Gauss found himself missing it.
Since they had loot to sell, the Seagull didn't return to the small port they'd sailed from; instead she chose a larger, busier main harbor near the commercial district.
As she eased into her berth and dropped the heavy anchor, the dock's din wrapped them tight. Gauss took in the bustle: ships of all kinds—towering multi-masters, deep-sea traders many times the Seagull's length, and bristling armed vessels flying adventuring company banners, all throwing back hard metallic light in the sun.
"That's the Great Serpent Company's warship," Fern said, catching Gauss's gaze.
Hearing the name, Gauss glanced at Serandur.
"No relation to us serpentfolk," Serandur said.
"Right. The Great Serpent is one of Sena's best-known local companies. The leader, Gide Vives, is a powerful bloodline sorcerer with serpent blood," Fern continued. It wasn't a secret—nearly everyone knew it.
"Vives…" Gauss heard the familiar name again. Same family as Adèle? She'd never mentioned it—beyond a formal note when she delivered the family's invitation, she almost never brought up the Vives at all. Maybe they weren't close—or just… not really acquainted? She'd spent years adventuring on her own, and only recently been called back to Sena.
While they spoke, a tall man came down from the biggest armed ship, flanked by an entourage. He wore sumptuous robes; his black hair fell to his waist; a pair of serpent eyes glanced their way—then lingered for a moment on Gauss and Serandur. He said something to the man at his side and, under countless envious looks, stepped into a line of carriages and rolled off.
As the snake-eyed man was seen off, someone from his party turned and headed straight toward Gauss.