The Hollow Core.
As far as Ulrich remembered from his past life's reading of the novel, he knew exactly where it was.
It lay hidden within the Maelstrom of Forgotten Depths, a vast, abyssal scar in the ocean, carved out during the cataclysmic, near-apocalyptic battle between the Saint God Kaelor, a human who had transcended his mortality, and the Demon God Haniah Belhor.
Fortunately or maybe unfortunately, the scar was located in the Great Dark Blue Sea, just off the eastern coast of the Kingdom of Skargardia.
Since Ulrich's county sat right on the eastern border, it had taken only a couple of hours by carriage to reach the coastal fishing town of Grayhaven.
Grayhaven possessed a truly strange architecture. The centuries-old houses were built at extreme, leaning angles, looking as though they were constantly on the verge of toppling forward and plunging directly into the sea.
Obviously, this wasn't just a strange local preference. It was a natural consequence of the Maelstrom. Even miles off the coast, the great scar exerted a subtle pull on the earth itself.
Once the carriage rolled to a halt, Ulrich pulled his hood low to conceal his red hair and features as best he could before stepping down.
He walked away carrying a bag heavy with magical tools, items he had spent the past week gathering specifically for this very day.
He wasted no time and headed straight for the harbour.
It was already late afternoon; he needed to be quick.
By the time he reached the coast, dozens of boats were already docked, and it was nearly impossible to single out the one he had chartered for today.
He did, however, have a name.
He grabbed the arm of the nearest man walking past him.
"Do you want to die, brat?" The man asked, glaring at him.
Ulrich simply stared back with cold, crimson eyes. "I am looking for a woman named Meera. She owns a vessel called the Blue Wind."
The man swallowed hard under Ulrich's impatient stare, a sudden bad feeling washing over him, and decided it was better to comply. He pointed a trembling finger toward a nearby tavern.
"She's in there..."
Ulrich didn't linger. He turned and strode straight into the tavern.
The overwhelming stench of cheap beer, stale alcohol, and sweat hit him the moment he stepped through the door.
The room was crowded, and there were plenty of women inside. It would be difficult to pick her out by sight, and he had no desire to go around asking one by one.
"Can I get you something, handsome?"
A pretty tavern girl approached him with a smile.
"I am looking for Meera," Ulrich said. "She owns a boat called the Blue Wind."
"It's not a boat. It's a ship."
The voice came from just behind him.
Ulrich turned and saw a catching woman with messy, light sea blue hair tied back haphazardly. She was dressed in attire one could only describe as that of a pirate, her skin tanned slightly from the sea, and she was barely managing to stand upright, clutching a half-empty bottle in one hand.
Her bright ocean blue eyes dragged over Ulrich for a moment before she took another long swig. She took a step toward him, stumbled, and immediately pitched forward.
For a brief second, Ulrich considered letting her crash to the floor as he normally would have but he needed her.
His arm shot out, catching her strongly by the waist.
"You are drunk," he said coldly.
"Hic!"
After a loud hiccup, Meera looked up at him, still draped heavily over his arm.
From that angle, she could make out his features, the strands of blood-dark hair spilling from his hood, and those beautiful eyes.
"Aren't you quite the hottie?" She smirked.
"I will find another ship," he said, forcing her back onto her feet and turning away.
"No one else is going to accept your crazy, suicidal quest toward the Maelstrom of Forgotten Depths, handsome," she laughed.
The tavern went dead silent. Everyone gasped, turning dumbfounded stares toward Ulrich.
Ulrich turned his gaze back to her.
Hiccuping again, Meera smiled.
"I can take you. If you have the promised gold," she said.
"In your drunken state?" Ulrich asked scornfully.
"I'm at my best like this," Meera laughed.
-Yeah! You've got to believe it, man!
-She really is best like that!
-Don't worry! She'll definitely take you straight to hell in that shape!
The whole tavern erupted into laughter.
Ulrich considered it for a moment, then looked at Meera.
"Outside," he said, and walked out.
Meera followed, her gait still unsteady as she trailed him into the street.
Once outside the tavern, Ulrich pulled out a heavy pouch of gold and tossed it to her.
Meera caught it. She didn't even need to bite the coins glinting inside; she could tell just by the weight and sound that it was true gold.
But her fingers lingered on the leather itself.
"This is some very fine leather for a mere coin pouch," she said.
"The hilt of my blade is wrapped in fine leather as well. Would you like a look?" Ulrich asked.
Meera smirked. "That was a good one."
There was a split second of silence before she suddenly drew the cutlass at her waist.
Ulrich drew his own blade at the exact same moment.
Clang!
The sharp ring of steel meeting steel echoed down the street as they locked blades.
Meera tried to force her cutlass against him, but Ulrich was faster. With a deft twist of his wrist, he pushed her back, instantly forcing her own blade mere inches from her face until her back slammed into the tavern wall.
Leaning in close, Ulrich glared at her.
"Do not waste my time."
"Oh, dear God…" Meera muttered, staring at Ulrich's face from up close. "You're even hotter this close…" She stuttered, genuinely caught off guard.
Ulrich narrowed further his eyes, pulling back and walking down the three steps to the street.
"Wait! I'm coming!" Meera called out, hurrying down the steps after him.
But this time, it clearly wasn't the drink that made her stumble. She just tripped over her own feet.
Exhausted, Ulrich spun around and caught her mid-air, before she could even hit the ground.
"I will not repeat myself. Do not waste my time," he said, staring directly into her blue eyes.
"Yesh!" Meera bit her tongue as she answered, flushing bright red in embarrassment at her own clumsiness.
Ulrich let go of her and turned toward the docked boats.
"Where is yours?" He asked.
"Follow me." Meera somehow managed to scrape her composure back together, her zeal returning as she marched forward.
Ulrich followed.