"Behold, the Blue Wind!"
As soon as they arrived at the docks, Meera spread her arms wide toward the vessel.
It was perhaps not quite as large as Ulrich had expected, but he had to admit it was a beautiful ship.
It was in a pitiful state, certainly; it desperately needed repairs. But with the sum of money he had just given her, she would be able to afford a complete refit and then some.
"What do you think?" Meera asked, turning to Ulrich with a grin.
"Just take me where I need to go," Ulrich replied, already striding up the lowered gangplank, the wooden walkway that bridged the ship to the pier.
The moment he set foot on the deck, several men from Meera's crew frowned.
"Oi, Cap'n, who's this fancy lad?" One of them sneered.
"Looks like he's never done a day's work in his life. You sure we can trust 'im?"
"We can, you dumbasses. Look at this." Meera landed on the deck behind him and immediately began flicking gold coins into the air.
The men scrambled over each other like dogs to snatch them up.
Ulrich's face twisted at the thoroughly un-noble display.
Even though he wasn't entirely the original Ulrich anymore, the sight was still deeply distasteful to him if not unsightly.
"Come on, My Lord, I'll show you to your quarters," Meera said, trying to hook her arm around his shoulders.
"We leave right now," Ulrich said, blocking her arm.
Meera smiled, then spun to face her crew.
"You heard the man, you idiots! Haul the lines! We're sailing for the Blue Scar right now!" She shouted.
Emboldened by the gold they had just pocketed, the crew cheered and sprang into action.
Ulrich descended into the cabin below deck and settled in.
The air was damp and smelled stale, but he supposed it could have been worse.
Taking a seat at the table, he pulled out a book. It was a text on magic, specifically, binding spells. The structural patterns of each spell varied wildly, and the stronger the binding, the more complex the weave of mana required to cast it.
Ulrich was a prodigy when it came to understanding, memorizing, and theoretically drawing these patterns. His problem was simply that he could never execute them with his broken core.
It was as though the gods themselves had intervened to prevent him from using his genius. A monumental loss and a shame, that was how his father had once described it. Back then, Ulrich had believed his father was calling him a shame, so he had simply trained harder with his swords and weapons. But looking back, he understood that his father, however strict and cruel he may have been, had genuinely wanted Ulrich to become a better, stronger man than he was.
He had been reading for only a few minutes when Meera came down the steps.
Ulrich snapped the book shut instantly, turning a hard gaze on her.
"It's my ship," she retorted, correctly interpreting the look.
"Did I say it wasn't?" Ulrich replied.
"Your gaze said it," she smiled, walking toward him.
She already seemed significantly less drunk at least.
Ulrich also felt a faint tug of satisfaction as the deck shifted beneath his feet, the ship was finally moving.
"Tell me," Meera asked, "you never gave me your name."
"You don't need to know it," Ulrich replied.
"You could at least lower that hood," she pressed.
"For what?" Ulrich asked, opening his book back up and resuming his reading.
Silence fell, followed shortly by the sound of a cork popping. Meera had produced another bottle from wherever she had stashed it in the cabin, and took a long drink.
Ulrich ignored her entirely.
A few minutes later, however, Meera spoke again.
"Do you have a death wish or something?" She asked.
"No."
"Then why do you want us to take you near the Scar?" She asked. "It's the most dangerous place on the seas, you know. Unless you have a very peculiar and specific way you wish to die, I don't see anyone having any business out there. Did your House fall into debt or something, and now you want to end it all?"
"What I want to end right now is this conversation," Ulrich said sternly, turning the page.
Meera giggled and took another sip.
"We are going to be spending a whole day down here, so you might want to at least try speaking to me," she said.
"Or I might simply wish for silence," Ulrich replied, his patience wearing thin now.
She was clearly someone who liked to talk. And his mind was far too preoccupied with the very real possibility of his impending death to entertain her.
A moment of quiet followed, and just when Ulrich thought she had finally relented, Meera stood up. She shoved the table out of the way and stepped directly into Ulrich's space.
Ulrich pulled the book back just in time as Meera unceremoniously straddled him, settling her weight onto his thighs.
"What are you doing?" Ulrich asked.
Meera took one last sip, tossed the bottle aside, and reached out, pulling his hood back to reveal his face and hair entirely.
"I don't wish for silence," she said. "Silence is boring, and I don't like it."
"Move," Ulrich said.
"Do you have any idea the kind of risks my crew and I are taking to—hic! taking to get you near that apocalyptic hellhole? Even suicidal people don't go near it," she said, peering down at him with flushed cheeks.
"What do you want? Get me there, and I will offer you more gold," Ulrich said calmly.
'If I survive it,' he added quietly in his head.
"I don't want gold," Meera said, her fingers beginning to toy with the buttons of his vest. "I wish…" she whispered, "for intimacy and warmth."
Ulrich gave her a speechless stare.
'Is this what the women of this era are like?'
"Are you a whore?" He asked directly.
She shook her head.
"I haven't actually ever slept with anyone… hehe—hic!" She said with a drunken little chuckle.
Ulrich looked at her properly.
She appeared to be around his age, perhaps a little older, twenty-two or twenty-three. It was genuinely surprising that she commanded a crew of rough sailors the way she did.
"I am just a pure virgin, wishing to be despoiled," she said, hiccuping again.
"Find someone else for that twisted wish of yours," Ulrich said, gripping her shoulder with his free hand to shove her back.
But she only tightened her grip on his vest.
If he shoved her back too hard, she was going to rip the buttons right off.
"W—Why? Sniff…" She suddenly let out a little cry, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, eyes that looked startlingly turquoise now. "Am I not hot enough?" She asked, sniffling.
"You are drunk," Ulrich said, his stoic expression beginning to crack as he wondered how on earth to handle her.
"Answer me!" Meera cried out, yanking on his vest again.
Ulrich dropped his book which hit the floorboards with a heavy thud and grabbed her wrists.
"I have no interest in you. Just find someone worthy to be 'despoiled' by," he said seriously.
He doubted she meant a word of it; she was just severely drunk. And yes, perhaps his handsome features had played a part, which was exactly why he wished she would sober up and stop drinking!
He hadn't even finished the thought before she surged forward and pressed her lips against his without a second of hesitation.
"Mmmh?!"
Ulrich's eyes widened at the sudden press of her lips, the sharp tang of alcohol mingling with the heat of her mouth.
There was a split second of silence as Meera kissed him. Awkwardly, clumsily. He wondered briefly if it was her first time kissing anyone.
At the same time, a sudden rush of blood hit him.
Standing up, with her legs still wrapped tightly around his waist, he backed her up against the table, lowered her onto it, and broke the kiss.
"Haahh…" Meera gasped for breath, a soft smile spreading across her lips.
Ulrich also drew in a slow breath, staring down at her.
The sexual tension couldn't have been any higher. For a fraction of a second, Ulrich felt like giving in.
Sleeping with a gorgeous woman wouldn't be a bad way to spend his final hours, especially if he was actually going to die tomorrow.
He might even regret it if he didn't.
But…
"Silas."
Meera's face suddenly shifted, twisting into the features of another woman, a woman with blonde hair.
She was smiling at him, reaching her arms out to pull him back in.
"Silas."
Ulrich pulled instantly back and letting go of Meera's legs.
Meera propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him, confused.
Ulrich fixed her with a stern gaze.
"You are drunk."