Chapter 59: Death in the Cabin

“Not just the upper demon clans of the Demon King’s city coveted the Demon King’s heirs.”

Gareth looked at Nolan, a smirk tugging his lips, then said:

“I emphasized—the ‘story’ mirrors history. The cursed princess, turned into a fish, wanders abroad, yet carries the claim to rule a nation, making her a target for many.”

Gareth casually brushed his trousers, continuing:

“People believe the Demon King’s bloodline holds the secret to commanding demons—the legendary vast magical source. It lures countless mages, drawing the human world’s pursuit.

One tale says the Demon King’s heir fled by ship to distant isles, hiding. That story spread among sailors, warped over centuries into what we hear now.”

I quietly studied Nolan’s face.

His expression shifted from confusion to shock.

The boy shook his head slowly, then said:

“Alright, I get your point, but…”

“But what?”

“I admit, I’m not well-versed. These stories are new to me, and I can’t tell truth from fiction. Besides, where did you learn all this? And why tell me?”

Nolan’s usable right hand fidgeted with his collar, frowning at the youth across the berth.

“Heh, just couldn’t sleep, passing time with chatter. Why take it so seriously?” Gareth said softly.

“But… if this is true, such secrets must be valuable. Why share them with a stranger like me? If you’re joking, what’s the point of fooling me? That’s what I think.”

The merchant’s snores next door grew softer.

Gareth tilted his head, thoughtful, then sighed long:

“Alright, I didn’t expect you to overthink it. My teacher said you’re an interesting person.”

Gareth’s crimson eyes fixed on Nolan:

“Our chat isn’t a big deal. It’s centuries-old history. I know these obscure details, which even imperial scholars might miss, for no special reason. My ancestor was merely… a companion of the hero who slew the Demon King.

My ancestor’s notes recorded some Demon King matters and the hero’s deeds, that’s all,” Gareth said lightly, as if it were trivial.

‘But I know,’ I thought, ‘notes from a hero’s companion six hundred years ago aren’t trivial.’

Not the “obscure matter” he claimed.

Was it really so?

Nolan, hearing this explanation, nodded skeptically.

The claims were unverifiable.

The legendary hero from five or six centuries ago, of unknown gender, was a figure whose tales spread across the continent’s north and south.

Some scholars even argued the hero was a composite of multiple ancient figures, a myth.

Whether they had companions, or if those companions had descendants, was impossible to confirm.

Gareth’s face gave no hint of deceit.

He continued in his casual yet polite tone:

“So, I approached you because your tone, your take on the cursed princess, piqued my interest. I couldn’t resist joining your talk.”

“Did I… say something special?”

Nolan pointed to himself.

Gareth’s crimson eyes glowed like embers:

“Your comment on the cursed princess echoed the hero’s view—my ancestor’s notes, I mean—almost word for word.

That made me want to talk with someone who shares the hero’s perspective.”

“You… admire that hero?”

Nolan’s words slipped out.

Gareth’s smile turned bitter, almost mocking.

He didn’t answer, just tugged the curtain down, retreating into his isolated berth.

The merchant’s noisy snores finally stilled.

I patted Nolan, who seemed lost in thought or daze, and said:

“Your turn to rest.”

The boy jolted awake, his body trembling under my touch.

“No… I’ll keep watch, Tiya. You haven’t slept.”

“Who says? I’m rested.”

I half-dragged Nolan onto the bed.

Through the bed’s slats, dim daylight showed dawn was still hours off.

“Tiya… this is too…”

Nolan stammered.

I knelt on the bed, pinning his legs, hands pressing his shoulders through the blanket.

The restless boy suddenly stilled.

“It’s just an eyelash in my eye.”

I rubbed my stinging eyes, wiping a tear from the corner.

Double vision lingered.

Using the black magic “Eye Within Eye” briefly had strained my eyes heavily.

‘But I can’t rest now,’ I thought.

‘I might need to act alone.’

I glanced at Gareth’s berth.

No doubt, he’d masked his true appearance—my eyes confirmed it.

I suspected Ross or his minions might be aboard, disguised.

Yet Gareth didn’t feel like that black mage.

Could it be?

Another of Ross’s tricks?

I couldn’t rest easy without knowing.

“Alright!”

Lost in thought, I faltered.

Nolan seized the moment, pulling free and grabbing my shoulders.

Bang!

The oak bed creaked, straw rustling wildly.

I didn’t think Nolan could move so deftly, but he did.

Before I reacted, the tables turned—my back hit the bed, Nolan’s eyes looming above.

“What are you doing—”

“Your eyes are bloodshot. Stop pushing yourself. Sleep.”

The lamp’s slanted light cast Nolan’s shadow over me.

Some trick of the light made his shoulders seem broader than they were.

“Tch, stop messing around.”

I pressed my hand to Nolan’s chest, elbowing some distance, feeling a drumming heartbeat in my palm.

“You’re the one messing around,” Nolan grumbled, “grabbing me like that.”

“Who grabbed you?” I shot back.

“Let go!”

“You started it!”

Nolan’s voice rose, drawing a few “cough coughs” from nearby—Gareth’s berth.

“See? You’re the one making noise, waking people,” I said.

“Whatever, just sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Realizing ears were listening, Nolan eased off, climbing down and picking up his fallen scroll.

I glanced at him.

He held the scroll up, pretending to read, hiding his face.

“Tch… fine.”

Knowing I couldn’t win, I muttered, sinking back onto the bed.

***

“This poor sod’s dead as a doornail.”

At noon the next day, a sailor on routine patrol found the merchant’s body.

Nolan was dozing fitfully on the bed.

With daylight bringing louder voices, he tossed and turned, unable to rest.

‘Told him to sleep, but he wouldn’t listen,’ I thought smugly.

Kritiya sat quietly in the corner, clutching a water skin.

Day five of the voyage—uneventful so far.

Last night’s odd talk with Gareth seemed just a travel quirk.

As I indulged that naive hope, a heavy thud echoed from next door.

The patrolling sailor let out a startled cry:

“Dead! Dead! A corpse!”

The shout roused the passengers.

Like gawking at a spectacle, they poured from their berths, craning to see.

‘Him, huh?’ I thought.

No need to think hard—it was the three-hundred-pound merchant, his bulk explaining the loud crash against the wall.

“What’s going on, Tiya?”

Nolan’s nap was cut short.

Rubbing his eyes, he threw off the blanket, rising to check the commotion.

His boots were missing.

Barefoot, he fumbled in panic.

“Here.”

Kritiya stood, one hand over her nose, the other holding Nolan’s new travel boots.

They were too big for him now, but with him still growing, they’d fit in a year or so.

The problem was, teenage boys reeked.

On land, daily washing kept it at bay, even in winter.

At sea, fresh water was precious—no chance to clean.

Those airtight boots were tolerable to me, but Kritiya couldn’t stand them.

She’d stashed them outside when Nolan took them off.

“Thanks, uh…”

Nolan mumbled, slipping on his boots and socks.

He peered at the commotion next door.

Sailors cleared a path, and a ship’s doctor in a gray-white robe stepped through the crowded aisle with small, quick steps.