After passing through the storm, the Noble Inland Sea became unusually gentle. A week later—or more precisely, at noon on the eighth day—a curved black line appeared along the horizon where sea and sky met, announced by the lookout's call. Those were the mountains of the Mez Region. The sailors recalculated the fleet's position and confirmed that they were already in the waters near Fatan. In fact, imperial patrol ships with red sails could already be seen on the surface of the sea.
That imperial patrol ship had come from nearby Fatan Port. Its sailors were clearly terrified when they saw the enormous fleet thrusting out from above the clouds in the afternoon sunlight. After a frantic scramble, they finally fired a signal cannon, asking who had come.
"They usually approach and use the Wind Message Technique to ask. Sometimes they use flag signals, too. They should be warning the port now." Iphram stood by the ship's rail and explained in a muffled voice.
Brando nodded and replied calmly, "Tell them who we are."
"Did you see clearly? What did they say?" Captain Herman of the imperial patrol ship turned and asked his second-in-command. The drunken old man had sobered up halfway from fright. He tossed aside his wine bottle, took the brass telescope, and swayed as he studied the unfamiliar fleet opposite them.
"They said... they're the Buga Fleet." The first mate answered with a trembling voice.
"What? The Buga people! What are they doing here? You're not mistaken, are you?"
"My lord, I absolutely couldn't be mistaken—unless they used the wrong flag signals."
"What do you think?" Herman stroked his stubbled chin. "Is this the Buga Fleet?"
The first mate stared at the sails above the clouds, gleaming like silver scales. His expression was complicated, but he