They swam toward the ship.
One of the small ships broke away from the main vessel—sailing off in panic, abandoning half their crew. Sylas laughed like a crazy man as they swam away panicking. He stood at the edge of the deck, in his underwear. He cupped his hands and shouted after them.
"Yeah, run! How dare you attack the King's vessel!" he screamed, voice echoing across the sea.
Behind him, the injured crew stared up at him in horror. Their eyes wide. Pale. Like he was about to toss them overboard next.
Sylas placed both hands on his hips and tilted his head back, laughing like a madman.
"I'm so awesome," he declared toward the sky.
Then the mysterious beauty interrupted his moment of glory.
"Who even are you?" she asked.
He turned to her, flashing her a big wide grin.
"I'm Sylas," he said, voice low and confident. "An adventurer. Savior of ships. Bringer of trouble. At your service."
She raised a brow. "Where are you heading?"
Sylas didn't hesitate. He threw one arm into the air and shouted like it was a command from a king.
"Take me to Zarulek!"
Those words made her expression shift. The softness, the relief she had in her eyes, was replaced by quiet concern.
"We can't take you there," she said softly. "It's not safe. That country's… in the middle of a civil war."
"Really?" he asked.
She nodded. He didn't know what to do now. He felt stuck. He sat on the floor, arms crossed, chin resting on his palm. Wondering.
'Maybe I should head to the next region…
…Nah. Where's the fun in that?'
He sprang to his feet, grabbed her hand gently, and leaned in. He let out a soft, gentle smile.
"Oh, milady. You mustn't worry about me. I faced danger my whole life," he continued. "Danger and I are like best friends," he said, his tone smooth like silk. "Kindly take me there… and I promise no one will lay a finger on your flawless skin."
The crew cheered with joy.
Now they could finally collect resources from Zarulek—rare, dangerous, and worth a fortune.
Sylas turned to them.
His eyes sharp.
His tone heavy.
"I never said I would protect you all," he said flatly.
A pause.
"…Unless you do as I say."
The crew froze.
He pointed at one sailor.
"You. My clothes."
The man flinched and took off running.
Moments later, Sylas was tugging on his (slightly stolen) outfit, adjusting it like royalty.
"Don't you worry," he added. "As long as I'm alive—nothing will happen to any of you." He laughed like a cocky man.
The crew glanced at each other, confused but feeling oddly relieved.
After that, they quietly returned to fixing the sails and scrubbing the deck.
Then Sylas turned.
His eyes locked onto the beautiful woman beside him.
His smile softened.
He stepped closer, smooth as a noble at a royal ball.
"Oh, gorgeous," he said, voice low, "what is your name?"
She hesitated for a moment, then smiled.
"It's Nyla."
He reached out his hand.
Gently took hers.
Pulled her closer—just enough to make her heart skip a beat.
He looked at the map, then he pointed dramatically in the opposite direction of where they were supposed to go.
Nyla blinked—then burst out laughing.
"You're holding the map upside down."
Sylas glanced at the parchment, then casually flipped it.
"Oops."
He turned and pointed in the correct direction this time, flashing a dramatic smile.
"Then let us go on a beautiful journey."
As they traveled, Sylas began to learn a few things about the land of Zarulek—and the civil war tearing it apart.
From what Nyla told him, it all began after the death of the king, a few years ago. Because of that, the region split in two:
• Vortania in the north.
• Selvaran in the south.
Now, both sides are locked in a brutal war—each trying to conquer the other.
But this isn't just about the crown.
It's about power. It was something better. More valuable. Its resources.
Zarulek is rich with rare raw materials—Blackiron, Aetherroot. They are used to build and power magical weapons and armor, and whoever controls them controls all the wealth in Zarulek.
The kingdom wasn't just divided by politics.
It was divided by greed.
And the other nations?
They refuse to get involved.
He wondered, Why?
Then it hit him. They depend on those materials.
As long as someone—anyone—keeps the Blackiron flowing, they're more than happy to watch Zarulek burn.
He smiled. All the kings have been naughty.
They finally reached the shore. Sylas jumped off the ship and started to kiss the ground.
"I missed you so much."
For a second, everything was good.
Until he heard footsteps. Within instinct, they were surrounded.
Dozens of soldiers surrounded them.
Armor shining. Weapons drawn.
Sylas raised a brow.
"Alright," he said calmly while cracking his knuckle.
The crew cheered louder.
"I surrender. Please don't hurt us."
The crew froze.
Nyla stared at him, completely thrown off.
"What?" she whispered.
All the crew dropped their swords in disbelief.
"We are dead," one of them muttered.
Sylas just smiled.
"Oh please don't kill me, I came here to talk to the king."
He took out his family crest, holding it high. He screamed, "Behold!"—the sunlight hitting the crest.
"Now bow before me, you peasant!" he laughed maniacally.
One of the men grabbed it.
"What the hell is this?" he said, then threw it to the side.
Sylas cried out dramatically.
"No!"
He groaned, the crest landing next to a giant man's feet. The man picked it up and recognized the symbol—he was the son of the Verllia family.
A man stepped forward, pushing past the line.
His armor was flashier than the others—etched with gold and marked by battle.
His voice carried weight.
His words had power behind them.
"Why is the son of the Verllia family here?"
Nyla's eyes widened.
The crew stiffened.
Everyone was shocked.
Sylas swallowed. He didn't even know what kingdom these people were from.
But just in time—Nyla leaned in and whispered:
"Vortania."
Feeling relief.
He straightened his back. Cleared his throat.
"I came here to support Vortania… and form an alliance."
His tone was steady.
His eyes serious.
'Please work,' he thought to himself.