Sylas escorted Elizabeth and her mother—the Queen of Lioraen—toward the docks. Elizabeth walked in silence, standing stiffly between her parents. She didn't glance at him. Not even once.
He tried to speak.
"Elizabeth…"
But she kept her eyes forward. Cold. Distant. Like he wasn't even there.
The dock waited at the edge of the Academy. It was massive, meant to hold fleets… but only a handful of ships were anchored. The rest of the bay was quiet. All the ships that are currently present are most likely owned by royalty.
And then there was their ship.
It towered above the others. It was sleek and had light silver-blue, with faint frost glowing along its sides. The sails shimmered under the sun.
At the front, a snow-white dragon curled around the bow, its sapphire eyes glowing. It was clearly meant to intimidate.
He stared at it, his mouth open wide and already imagining himself sailing around the world in something similar. He was lost for words.
Without a word, Elizabeth climbed up the ramp and walked up the ship.
"Bye bye," Sylas shouted, but she ignored it.
Her mother chuckled softly. "She'll be over it soon."
"It's not a big deal," he said with a shrug.
After that, they got onto the ship. Sylas watched as it pulled away. Elizabeth stood at the edge of the ship, watching Sylas. He waved his hand and screamed with his lungs, "I will come get you, I promise."
She puffed out her cheeks, let out a small "hmm," and stepped away from the edge of the ship without a word. She didn't look back.
He took the Academy train back to Virelia.
The train reached every nation. If he wanted, he could use it to travel the world.
But that was too easy.
Too safe.
Traveling by ship… now that sounded fun.
When he arrived home, he waited for his father to return. He didn't mind.
The days passed quietly. He spent most of them sitting beside his mother's grave, finishing telling her the rest of the story he couldn't tell her last time. Stories about the life he lived. Time flew by pretty fast.
When his father returned, he gave him a map—a hand-drawn outline of the known world.
His first destination: Zarulek.
The next day, the guards escorted him to the dock.
Waiting there was the "ship" he'd been given.
He stared at it.
"…What the hell is that?"
His voice was flat, confused, mixed with annoyed.
"That's the boat you were assigned," one of the guards replied, avoiding his eyes.
"You're kidding. That's not a ship. That's a bathtub with a flag."
The guard didn't respond.
It wasn't a ship. Not even close.
It was a small blue boat. A single sail flapped gently in the wind.
He stared at it for a moment.
"She's trying to kill me," he thought to himself.
He knew he couldn't do anything about it. He sighed—like he expected something like this.
"Well, Sylas… time to grow a pair and get moving."
With a sigh, he climbed into the so-called "ship." If you could even call it that.
And just like that, his journey began.
The sun was shining.
The wind felt good.
He stood at the front of the boat, one foot on the edge like a proud captain, and shouted:
"Let's go faster, wind!"
The boat lurched forward—barely.
A few hours later, reality hit him.
He didn't know how to read a map.
He flipped it upside down. Then sideways. Then back again.
"I think I'm going the wrong direction," he muttered, squinting at the paper like it personally offended him.
Then he shouted at the sky.
"Are we lost?!"
The wind answered by blowing harder into his sail.
"…Guess not," he said with a shrug.
He lay on his back, one leg over the other, munching on the apple his sister had packed for him. The sky was blue. The ocean stretched forever.
"Are we there yet?" he asked.
The wind blew harder.
He blinked while stretching his arms. "…Then how long?"
Nothing.
"Right. Of course. Silent treatment again," he muttered. "Totally fair."
Another gust brushed past.
"I said I was sorry," he growled. "I won't ask again, I promise."
The wind sighed.
He sat up, hair a mess, talking to the sky now.
"Okay. So just to clarify—are we close?"
The boat came to a full stop.
He stared. His face became expressionless.
"…You little traitor."
He shouted, "How dare you stop without my permission!"
He stood up and pointed at the sail post like it was alive.
"Don't think I won't climb up there, you son of a—"
He didn't finish. He just started climbing.
The boat swayed.
The wind picked up again.
"I swear, I'll turn you into firewood," he muttered, halfway up the pole. "Just you wait…"
Then—BAM.
His boat bumped into something.
Almost knocked him off the pole.
"Oh, you did not just try to toss me into the ocean," he continued. "Now you will feel the full wrath of the king!"
"Hand over everything you got," a random voice called out from nowhere.
Sylas blinked. "Oh, you can talk now, huh?"
He started shaking the sail post like it was the one talking back. "You've been silent this whole time and now you speak?"
Then he paused.
"Wait… ships can't talk."
He turned his head. A massive ship loomed in front of him, blocking the horizon. Before he could even process it, smaller boats were already dropping down and rowing toward him.
Sylas patted his boat like it was a nervous pet. "Please, buddy. I'm sorry, just go. Go!"
But it didn't move.
He was captured and taken aboard the large ship—along with everything he had.
As the massive vessel sailed off, his boat suddenly started drifting again, like nothing happened.
Sylas twisted around and shouted at it.
"Damn you! You stupid boat! I hope you drown!"
He was surrounded now.
A group of tall strangers stood around him. Their skin was dark and smooth. Their hair braided into thick rows. They had ember eyes. Broad shoulders. Sharp jaws. They didn't dress flashy. They didn't need to.
The first thing they took was his gold.
Then his clothes.
Until he stood there in nothing but boxers.
"Can I at least have my pants back?" Sylas muttered. "It's kinda cold…"
"No," one of them replied flatly. The words were calm. Controlled. Their accent was unfamiliar—but each word felt like it had weight behind it. Like it mattered.
They tied his legs and left him sitting in the middle of the deck.
"Oh please, don't kill me," he cried out, dramatic. "I'm still so young. And so handsome!"
"Shut up before we throw you off the boat," one of them said, stone-faced.
"Please. Anything but that," Sylas whimpered like a child.
Then—
She appeared.
A woman emerged from the lower deck.
Caramel skin. Long braided hair. Tall. Poised. Flawless.
She walked toward him, her hips swaying with every step she took.
Everything slowed motion for Sylas .
He stared, mouth wide open.
For a moment, he forgot how to speak.
She stopped in front of him, eyes glowing amber.
"What are you looking at?" she asked, staring down at him.
Sylas smiled weakly, still stunned.
"Do you mind going back… and coming out again?"
From behind, a sharp voice cut the air.
"Let's throw him out right now, Master."
"Who are you?" the pretty woman asked.
Sylas placed a hand over his heart, his voice soft and smooth.
"Oh my goddess… no, no, you must answer first. What is such beauty doing here?"
She was just about to respond—when the sky flashed.
A massive fireball tore through the air, heading straight for them.
Without hesitation, she raised her hand. A translucent shield burst to life, the flaming projectile slamming into it and dispersing like smoke in the wind.
Sylas blinked.
"Ooh. You're an enchanter."
He gave her a thumbs up. "Nice."
Then came the shouting.
They were surrounded—ships closing in from every side.
"Capture them!" a man roared from the nearest vessel.
"Those pirates are worth a fortune!" someone else shouted.
Sylas turned to the woman.
"Oh, beautiful goddess… they've come for you. It's because you stole my heart."
She gave him a look that said, shut up.
"Untie me," he said. "I won't run. I promise, if I leave you here alone, it would be a crime."
She ignored him.
Men leapt from their ships—swords drawn, staffs glowing. The fight erupted across the deck. Steel clashed. Her crew fought hard… but they were losing ground.
She cast spell after spell—buffs, barriers, anything to keep them standing.
Still… they were outnumbered.
"Untie me now!" Sylas snapped.
His voice hit different this time—sharp, commanding.
She finally gave in. Cut the ropes.
He stood up, stretching his arms.
"Aah… that's better."
Then, Excalibur appeared.
Golden light shimmered along the blade's edge. All around him, the pirates called upon their blessings—their bodies flaring with raw energy.
Sylas didn't flinch.
He stepped forward, calm, steady—and whispered:
"Domain of the King."
The battlefield turned gold. Swords rose out of the ground. And in an instant, he vanished.
Then reappeared behind one of the attackers. He tapped him on the shoulder, then grabbed him by the collar. Flipped him over the railing like he weighed nothing.
Another came with a spear—Sylas sidestepped, kicked him in the butt like a ball. He flew off the ship.
While looking at the man that had just fallen, someone swung a blade toward his head. He ducked at the last second. He twisted his body, went behind the man, and swung the flat of his sword like it was a bat. The man flew.
He waved his hand. "Fly safe."
Another tried to cast a spell—Sylas appeared behind him, tapped his shoulder, and threw him overboard before he could even turn.
One by one, they came at him.
One by one, he sent them flying.
They were all defeated by a man in his underwear.
The beautiful lady watched in horror.