Chapter 91: Feeling it from Roccia
As the saying goes, each generation has its own hardships to endure.
But in reality, for most people, such matters have little to do with them—especially for Aeron.
After all, when the sky falls, the tall will hold it up. Someone like him, scrambling through the sewers, exhausts all his energy just thinking about what to eat tomorrow. How could he possibly spare a thought for such grand concerns?
But who said the sky would actually fall?
Damn, Aeron had already stumbled into a professional league by accident—wasn't that twisted enough? Just as he was ready to lie low and take it easy, why did the server have to crash?
So, without a moment's delay, Aeron and his buddy immediately sprang into action.
And then, as expected, the unexpected happened.
"Ugh… Do you even know how to steer a ship…?"
"Wasn't it you who said 'time is tight, the mission is critical—go as fast as possible'?"
Aboard the Echoes Lario, used by the Fool's Troupe for touring and travel, Brant was guiding the direction, urging it forward at full speed.
Meanwhile, Aeron was on the verge of throwing up.
"Who was it that swore to me before we set off, 'Floor the throttle and leave our fate to heaven'?"
"Can I say I regret it now..."
"Should we slow down, then?"
"...!"
No matter how miserable he felt, Aeron couldn't afford to care anymore.
Under Brant's guidance, the Lario charged recklessly across the sea.
Aeron lay slumped in a corner of the deck, feeling as if his soul were being jolted out of his body. His face was as pale as a corpse's, and he didn't even have the strength to retch—only managing to let out vague, meaningless groans of "Ugh…"
"Hey, bro… Why didn't you discuss things with that Second Young Lady of Montelli's in Ragunna first? Acting without a plan… That's not like you."
Despite the violent rocking, Brant remained firm and turned to ask Aeron.
It was worth noting that Aeron, as a former priest, had always communicated with the Troupe via letters to exchange intelligence about the Pilgrimage Ship. Additionally, Roccia would often seek out Aeron, asking him to help procure necessary supplies in Ragunna.
Over time, Aeron grew familiar with the Troupe, and Roccia frequently corresponded with him through letters.
So, when Brant heard that Aeron wanted him to head to Penitent's End, he was quite surprised.
"Are you blind…? When a whole cluster of buildings that massive is about to crash down, your first reaction can't possibly be to call a meeting and discuss what to do…"
Anyway, no matter what, the Rover would surely step up to resolve the situation, and Aeron trusted in her abilities. But with something this huge suddenly happening, he felt compelled to go and see for himself.
Even though, at this point, the original plot could be completely disregarded, he never expected things to take such a turn.
Damn…
"When the next tide rises and the abyssal gate swings open, I shall descend before you in my complete form."
Leviathan's earlier words echoed in Aeron's mind.
What if it's true? If this really was aimed at him, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't handle it personally—his last shred of conscience wouldn't allow it.
"Alright, you've got a point. So why head to Penitent's End? What's there that's caught your interest?"
"To find a way to Avinoleum, of course."
If we were to follow the original plot, reaching Avinoleum would first require the Rover to draw the Sword of Divinity, Tyrvine, then venture into the underground ruins of Avinoleum to open the path to its borders.
But doing so would take far too little time. If they truly slipped up and fell, even without directly crashing into Ragunna, the ensuing disasters and the sealed Dark Tide would be enough to give Renaxita a serious headache.
Moreover, having Rover contact the Dark Coast to borrow some black tech to push Avinoleum back or set up some kind of A.T. Field to block it seemed rather unrealistic at this point.
Thus, Aeron decided on a more direct approach—asking Cartethyia's little pet, the Dragon of Dirge, for a ride.
The problem was, he was starting to doubt whether he could hold on until Penitent's End.
Damn it, things had come to this—there was no other way!
With that thought, Aeron drew his gun from his chest and aimed it at his forehead.
Dammit, if these things couldn't kill him, he might as well end it himself and reset his status on the spot!
Just as Aeron was about to pull the trigger, a comforting presence drifted from behind him, accompanied by a gentle force.
A cool, steady hand lightly covered the back of his hand, pressing down the barrel with a tender yet firm pressure.
"Mr. Aeron, please relax a little."
Aeron froze, not yet processing what was happening, when his other arm was gently encircled by Roccia. With an irresistible strength, she leveraged her hold to lift his upper body from the cold deck, pulling him backward.
Then, the back of Aeron's head came to rest on Roccia's lap.
In that instant, Aeron's brain short-circuited.
"Rest for a bit, Mr. Aeron," Roccia's voice came from above, still calm and unreadable.
The hand covering his exerted a slight pressure, effortlessly taking the gun away.
Originally, Aeron had wanted to struggle a little.
But this is just right, naturally healthy fullness, warm and soft yet supportive, the feeling of comfort and stability...
Who could resist this?
Without another thought, Aeron completely gave up struggling, deflating like a balloon as he enjoyed Roccia's lap pillow.
You know what, you really know what.
All the discomfort from before vanished in an instant—this really worked!
...But it would be even better if he could ignore that lump next to him.
Pero: (▼▼)
"...What does that mean?"
"Pero says it's also concerned about you, Mr. Aeron."
"Uh... really?"
Hearing Roccia's words, Aeron tilted his head to look at Pero, who had popped out of the box with a face that seemed anything but friendly.
"It doesn't seem very friendly to me."
"Pero!" (Translation: What, you got a problem with that?)
"Pero says Mr. Aeron should rest now."
"Wait, judging by its expression, that's clearly not what it meant!"
Pero: "Pero!" (Translation: Kids, hit like and I'll punch this lolicon.)
Watching the interaction between Aeron and this box(?), Brant shook his head and couldn't help but mutter:
"...Isn't this treatment a bit too good?"
Though he knew Roccia liked Aeron, he never expected her to care to this extent.
However, considering this guy had pulled off such a grand spectacle during Carnevale and wouldn't have any time to rest afterward, as a good brother, Brant naturally hoped Aeron wouldn't push himself too hard.
.....Because there were still many people in Ragunna waiting for him. If anything went wrong, Brant couldn't bear the responsibility—he had no desire to be sunk in Ragunna's waters.
"Alright, Mr. Aeron, it's time to rest." Roccia's voice was calm. Her free hand had somehow produced another warm, damp cloth, which she gently placed on Aeron's still somewhat cool forehead.
"Zzzzzzz...."
Aeron had intended to stubbornly argue a few more words, but before he could finish speaking, intense exhaustion and a sense of relaxation washed over his taut nerves like a tide, followed immediately by the drowning depths of dreams.
The final thought that flashed through his mind was:
Brothers, the Commander was right!
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