R.L Alencar
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Chapter 119 (From engineer to Conqueror)
🕑 Added 2024-11-05 16:01:50 +0000 UTCMiguel and his entourage arrived at the port, where a large wooden ship awaited them, gently rocking on the water. The ship was imposing and robust, built with thick planks and tall masts that supported wide sails. The structure resembled the ancient Chinese ships he knew from his old world—with broad hulls and the almost rectangular shape of the sails that fluttered in the port’s breeze. The design was rudimentary yet impressive, a vessel worthy of respect. Miguel observed the details with curious and critical eyes. "I believe that, in the future, I could make some improvements to these ships..." he thought, already imagining modifications to make them more stable and agile.
As Miguel was lost in thought, Brother Baromir approached, interrupting his musings. "It's time to board," he said with a serious but friendly tone, placing a firm hand on Miguel's shoulder.
Ahead of them, a small boat approached, rowed by strong oarsmen ready to take them to the large ship. Miguel and the other members of the entourage climbed aboard one by one, holding on tightly as it swayed in the gentle harbor waves.
The entourage reached the side of the ship, where long ropes hung down, swaying softly on the water's surface. It was a rudimentary method, and Miguel watched the beast-men sailors agilely climb the ropes, moving with the familiarity of those who did this daily. One by one, the entourage members began to climb, gripping firmly and pulling themselves up to the deck. Miguel followed, focusing on his movements and keeping his eyes fixed on the top. Upon reaching the deck, he took a deep breath, taking a moment to acclimate to the new environment.
He walked to the bow, where he could observe the expanse of the port and the distant city, illuminated by the clear sky. The landscape was beautiful and vast, with green hills in the distance and the sky's reflection on the calm water. During the journey to the port, he hadn't had time to appreciate the scenery or the culture of the beast-men; everything had been planned in such a hurry that there had been no space to enjoy the surroundings, which at that moment seemed almost peaceful.
His eyes fell on his revolver in its holster. The weapon was a constant reminder that, despite the calmness of the port and the apparent tranquility around him, they were still at war. "This war must end..." Miguel thought, the weight of responsibility pressing on him again. He knew that the future of Drakmoor depended on the decisions he would make in the coming days.
Suddenly, Alistair, the mage, approached, stopping beside Miguel and looking at the view with a slightly uncomfortable expression.
"I'm not very used to ships..." said Alistair, with a slight smile, trying to hide his discomfort.
Miguel, with a curious expression, asked, "Have you ever been on a ship before?"
Alistair sighed before responding. "A few times, but I've never liked the feeling. The rocking of the sea makes me... uneasy."
Miguel nodded, with a slight smile of understanding. "Well, to be honest, it's my first time." He chuckled internally, finding it ironic that, in his old world, he had never had the opportunity to sail. It was a completely new experience, even with the memories and knowledge he carried.
As the two talked, Brother Baromir approached, gesturing for them to follow him. "The captain wishes to receive you in the meeting room before departure," said the priest with a nod.
Miguel and Alistair followed Baromir across the deck, passing other beast-men sailors moving swiftly, adjusting sails, and preparing the final details. The meeting room was simple but well-organized, with a rustic wooden table and chairs around it. The captain awaited them, and Miguel paused for a moment, surprised to notice that the captain was a cat-man, a bipedal feline with narrow, expressive eyes, wearing a simple tunic but exuding a natural air of authority.
Miguel greeted him with a slight nod, and the captain responded with a faint smile, his eyes shining with curiosity. "It’s an honor to welcome a king aboard my ship," he said in a low, firm voice. "Even if he is a human. I’ve heard that you, Miguel, are one of the few humans who genuinely hold no prejudice against us, beast-men."
Miguel smiled humbly in response. "There’s still much to be done to change this world. I’m just doing what I believe is right."
The captain observed Miguel with a thoughtful expression, as if analyzing the weight of his words. But before he could respond, Baromir intervened, direct and practical. "Captain, is everything ready for the journey?"
The captain nodded, moving his tail slightly. "Yes, everything is in order. If you wish, we can depart immediately. I estimate it will be a week’s journey, and the weather is on our side."
Miguel, looking around, couldn’t help but admire the ship. "This is a beautiful ship," he commented. "I’d like to know who built it."
The captain looked at the deck and hull with a near-nostalgic gaze. "This ship is forty years old," he replied. "We’ve just refurbished it over the years. The original builder, who was one of us, is no longer with us." He paused and added, "We have dozens of these ships still being built. They’re sturdy and cheap… but fragile in battle. That’s why we always avoid direct confrontation with the fleets of human kingdoms."
Miguel nodded, understanding the situation. "Makes sense," he said, before falling into brief silence.
A few hours after departure, Miguel stood at the bow of the ship, watching the vast sea stretching as far as his eyes could see. The clear sky reflected on the calm waters, and occasionally, dolphin-like creatures leapt from the sea. Despite their similar appearance, Miguel noticed these animals were much larger and moved with a grace he had never seen before. With each leap, they appeared and vanished without hostility, giving the ocean a magical and serene touch.
Alistair appeared beside him, holding two glasses of wine. He handed one to Miguel, who accepted with a silent thank you, raising the glass in a discreet toast.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Alistair, observing the vastness of the sea. “The world is perfect. The gods blessed us with this wonderful place to live.”
Miguel let out a light sigh, interrupting with a reflective tone. “And yet we have wars…”
Alistair nodded, his eyes still on the horizon. “Yes, but to the world, it’s irrelevant. It will continue with or without our disputes.”
Miguel smiled slightly, contemplating Alistair’s words. After a sip of wine, curiosity prompted him to break the silence. “And what were you before becoming a mage, Alistair?”
Alistair took a deep breath, clearly diving into his own memories. “Before that, I was just a low-ranking priest,” he explained. “I knew nothing about magic. In fact, I had never used magic in my entire life. Magic is available to few, after all. But one day, a group of mages arrived in the small town where I was a priest. And there, for the first time, I was allowed to use a catalyst.”
“A staff?” Miguel asked, already picturing the scene.
“Yes, a magic staff,” Alistair continued. “It was at that moment that I discovered I had a magical affinity. As you know, we humans don’t have significant mana in our bodies. It’s an energy too scarce for us to cast magic without a catalyst.”
Miguel nodded, paying close attention to every detail. Alistair’s story showed the complexity of his journey, from a simple priest to an independent mage.
Alistair took a sip of wine and continued, his eyes fixed on the sea. “Since then, I was sent to the church’s Magic Academy, where I was trained. But after some time, I began to question the rigid teachings. The church has strict rules on the practice and study of magic, and sooner or later, I realized I couldn’t follow those orders blindly. That’s when I decided to leave and become an autonomous mage, far from the church’s rules.”
Miguel nodded, understanding Alistair’s path well. The church’s rigidity and its traditions allowed no room for any kind of independence. Alistair’s story reflected the same structures that Miguel sought to reform.
Alistair turned to Miguel, his gaze more intense. “Lila,” he said with conviction, “is one of the few people who can truly challenge the church’s dogmas.”
Miguel raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Lila?”
“Yes. She is… unique. Lila can do the impossible. She is able to use magic without any catalyst. She is the catalyst herself, Miguel.”
Miguel reflected on this, recalling the strength he had always seen in Lila. “She’s truly amazing. I found her in a village in the interior of Drakmoor. Her village had been destroyed, the inhabitants killed… She was the only survivor. I think the church tried to eliminate her upon discovering her existence.”
Alistair sighed, agreeing with a bitter look. “That’s the way the church is. They despise anything that challenges what they believe to be the natural order of things. And Lila, with her power, represents a threat to their teachings.”
He paused, looking at the horizon with a thoughtful expression. “Think about it, Miguel. If Lila can manipulate mana freely, without the need for a catalyst… it means the church’s teachings about magic are wrong. And she’s not an exception. She is living proof that everything we were told about the limits of magic may be a lie.”
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As Miguel and Alistair talked, Brother Baromir approached, smiling with his calm and friendly expression. “There you are. I suspected you might be here,” he said, his voice deep and warm. Miguel greeted him with a nod, a slight smile on his face.
“I like to enjoy the view,” Miguel replied. “Even if, for now, it's just water.”
Baromir let out a brief laugh. “Indeed, it has its charm, doesn't it?”
Miguel looked at the vast ocean, but his curiosity soon shifted the topic. He turned to Brother Baromir. “What is the dwarven kingdom like?”
Baromir brought a hand to his snout, thoughtful, and his eyes gleamed with memories of distant lands. “I’ve been there a few times on delegations. It’s a place… impressive. Beautiful, but with a unique kind of beauty.” He paused, choosing his words. “Their kingdom is made up of a large archipelago, seven islands, and we’re headed to the largest one. It’s home to enormous mountains that rise above the sea like walls. The dwarves built their cities within these mountains, and almost all of their lives are spent among the rocks and stones.”
Miguel listened attentively, picturing the scene in his mind. “It sounds fascinating,” he commented.
“Yes, but they’re very different from us in every way,” Baromir continued. “Their politics are more centralized and efficient. They don’t mingle much with other races; they’re isolationists by nature. They avoid any unnecessary contact with the outside world.”
Miguel remained silent, reflecting. In his mind, he wondered what might have led the dwarves to settle on these distant islands and prefer isolation, living almost as a legend to other kingdoms. The archipelago seemed like a fascinating, yet distant and mysterious place.
“Come,” said Baromir, breaking the silence. He gestured for Miguel and Alistair to follow him into the ship. “I’ll show you a map of the islands.”
The two followed Brother Baromir to a reserved room inside the ship, where he spread a map on the wooden table. It was a detailed map, made with precision and skill, and Miguel was impressed to see the shapes of the islands and the carefully drawn mountain marks. The dwarven archipelago consisted of seven islands, all organized around the largest, which sat at the center. The islands aligned like guardians around the one that was the heart of the kingdom.
Miguel studied the map for a moment, absorbing the details. The arrangement of the islands was peculiar, almost symmetrical, with rivers and mountains scattered across the largest island. “It seems like an incredible place… but, at the same time, it seems inhospitable,” he murmured. “Being so far south, it must be quite cold there.”
Baromir nodded. “Yes, it’s a place with a harsh climate. The temperatures are low, and the winds can be cruel. The dwarves are used to it, and they built their cities to withstand the extreme conditions.”
Miguel looked at the map, fascinated by the idea of visiting such a remote and different place. The dwarven islands were a mystery to him, a world apart that he could hardly wait to explore.
The week aboard the ship passed faster than Miguel had expected. Each day brought new conversations and reflections, while the constant sound of waves became a familiar companion. At first, he had spent hours at the bow, watching the open sea, but now, finally, something new began to appear on the horizon.
As the outline of the islands began to form in the distance, Miguel felt a mix of anticipation and reverence. The dwarven islands approached slowly, emerging through the mist as robust, imposing shadows, as if the very mountains were waiting for the moment to reveal their secrets to them.
As the ship advanced, he started to distinguish more details of the islands. They were massive landmasses, covered with snow and ice in the elevated parts; some mountains had white peaks, while the lower slopes showed dark stone tones, contrasting against the gray vastness of the sea. The wind carried a sharp coldness, filled with the fresh, icy air coming from the south, and Miguel pulled his coat a bit closer to himself, breathing deeply the different air.
The ship continued its advance, and soon they spotted the main port. Even from a distance, Miguel noticed how everything was carefully built, strong and practical. The port was simple but well-structured, with a set of large dark wood pillars and thick ropes holding other ships in their moorings. One or two smaller boats slid through the port waters, guided by dwarven sailors who watched the foreign ship approaching with cautious, yet curious expressions.
Miguel felt the ship start to slow as the beast-men sailors worked to maneuver it carefully to one of the empty docks. The sound of wood and ropes being adjusted brought a sense of definitive arrival. The ship found its place, finally stationed at the dwarven islands’ port, and Miguel knew that a new stage of his journey had just begun.
