On a bright, breezy day at the harbor, a towering cargo ship lay quietly moored beside the pier.
Inside one of the ship's cabins, an unconscious man lay flat on his back in bed.
Perhaps disturbed from his dreams by the "caw caw" of seagulls outside the window, the slit of his tightly closed eyes suddenly twitched, then flew open amid a violent coughing fit.
"Cough, cough—!"
Seeing the man suddenly start coughing, the doctor put away his stethoscope and looked at Yarman, who was seated nearby.
"Looks like there's nothing seriously wrong with him. He'll be fine after resting for a while."
Yarman let out a sigh of relief and looked at the doctor sincerely.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. It's my job."
The doctor gave a slight nod, clearly unwilling to say more, and rose from his chair.
He was a local of Golden Gallon Port—in other words, one of the Boro People. Treating Velanders was purely a matter of professional ethics; he couldn't simply stand by and watch someone die.
If not for that, he wouldn't have wanted to exchange a single word with the man before him.
Although the survivors of Boro Province had once worshipped these big-nosed men like gods, those days were long gone. At least in Golden Gallon Port, the Velanders had lost their halo.
Yarman escorted him out, then returned a moment later and looked at his fellow countryman, who had already sat up in bed.
"Feeling better?"
Henke nodded blankly. He stared at him for a while as though he had no idea what was going on, then his gaze passed over the cramped, damp room and turned toward the window.
In the distance lay a picturesque harbor. The orderly marble buildings and the fountain statues standing in the harbor square all