Fish Market (New Month, Please Vote!)

"Mm... a labyrinth."

After pondering for a moment, Viscount Grant swirled the wineglass in his hand. Having considered it for quite some time and connected it with the knowledge he had once learned, he felt that Elder Pude's reasoning made perfect sense.

Labyrinths were peculiar regions that had appeared one after another across the Terra Continent after the Calamity of Falling Skies.

More than six hundred years ago, accompanied by a violent earthquake, the first labyrinth discovered by humanity appeared in the Moro Mountains within the Empire's borders, swallowing an entire village.

After local exploration teams, as well as a team led by a retired Third Energy Level officer, had successively failed and been wiped out, the imperial capital dispatched a Fourth Energy Level legion commander to lead an elite squad into it. In the end, they obtained a large quantity of the exceedingly rare ascendant metal known as 'Morien Steel' from the labyrinth's core—a living metal that could reshape itself according to psychic power and possessed the ability to regenerate itself.

Today, labyrinths were believed to be ultra-high-density psychic energy fields produced by the natural changes of the world after the Calamity of Falling Skies. Their cores were bound to contain extraordinarily rare treasures or be guarded by powerful Demonic Beasts. Some had even obtained relics of the pre-civilization era from within them.

It was said that Ridgehold's ducal family's inherited Apocalypse Armament had been modified from a pre-civilization relic excavated from a labyrinth.

Every appearance of a labyrinth would be accompanied by large-scale climate anomalies in a certain area, even celestial and geological disasters—but likewise, a labyrinth's emergence would cause the region around it to become rich in magic and psychic energy. Vast numbers of rare ascendant plants, Magic Potion ingredients, Magic Beasts, Aliens, and the like would form an ecosystem centered around the labyrinth.

It happened to match the recent developments in Harrison Port.

As for why the viscount believed Elder Pude's speculation? It was simple. Others did not know the origins of this White Folk community in Harrison Port, but as the head of the Grant family, he knew perfectly well—them being professionals in this field.

Had they not committed some grave error for unspeakable reasons, been stripped of their surnames, and exiled here, these White Folk would certainly have held a place in the field of labyrinth research.

"A formation cycle of once every eight to ten years? Then it looks like a medium-to-large labyrinth."

By now, Viscount Grant was completely sober. He considered the possibility, then revealed an excited smile and nodded forcefully at Elder Pude. "The precursor to a labyrinth's appearance is the concentration of local resources! Valuable beasts and ascendant plants will increase, and adventurers and explorers from the surrounding regions will flock here."

"With the Empire's aid beginning again, and the sea trade routes to Canaanmore and Whale Song Cliff opening up, this is Harrison Port's chance to rebuild!"

"If we handle this well, it will surely be an achievement that draws even His Majesty's attention!"

He rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth beside the table in high spirits, muttering all kinds of preliminary preparations to himself. His former dejection was gone, replaced by boundless drive.

Elder Pude, unsurprised, lifted his wineglass for a sip, then picked up his knife and fork and began enjoying lunch.

Only a few years after Viscount Grant had inherited the governorship of Harrison Port from his father, the late Emperor had passed away, the Dark Moon Turmoil had erupted, and the entire southern immigrant region had been forgotten amid immense political upheaval.

After wasting away for thirty or forty years, he had finally waited for the first light of resurgence. He certainly would not let this opportunity slip away.

And this was also their White Folk's chance to prove themselves again and reclaim their surnames.

None of them would give up.

Some time later, lunch ended. The two parties had enjoyed a pleasant conversation. Although Viscount Grant had long been decadent and fond of pleasure, he was not an ignorant, good-for-nothing aristocrat. In the coming days, Harrison Port would welcome change.

Inside the viscount's residence.

After Elder Pude took his leave, the faint flush of drunkenness on Viscount Grant's face gradually faded.

He watched the direction in which the White Folk elder had departed, then returned to his seat. The maid had already silently refilled his wine.

"A shaman, along with three hunters, and not a single one escaped?"

The rather youthful-looking noble nodded slightly in thought, casually rotating the wineglass between two fingers. Yet the crimson liquid seemed to have lost all gravity, steadily turning with the glass amid a faint blue glow without spilling a single drop.

The Grant family's inherited bloodline, Abyssal Lizardwhale, granted ascendants at the Second Energy Level the power to control numerous liquids within their line of sight. Among the higher bloodlines inclined toward the water element, it was a relatively powerful inheritance.

Controlling a wineglass and the wine inside his own body was no more than instinct to Viscount Grant. At this moment, he murmured, "A White Folk with a malformed leg can accomplish something like that... heh."

Gently shaking his head, Viscount Grant could not help smiling, his expression carrying a trace of mockery. "Pude wants to play dumb with me, so I'll play along. All I can say is that those natives had bad luck. Too bad."

"My lord, those natives have already sent a seagull pigeon with a letter of protest..."

The dark-brown-haired noble's eyes flickered. The voluptuous red-haired woman from earlier had already slipped quietly to his side. This beauty, who had previously acted intimately and lazily, was now respectful and restrained in both word and manner. "The tribe where Shaman Achetu belongs has threatened to halt all trade unless we hand over the culprit. Otherwise, they say they will retaliate with everything they have."

"They lost a shaman and still dare to talk so tough. I admire the arrogance of those little people—after all, only that way can they bite."

Taking a sip of wine, Viscount Grant said blandly, "But it would be bad if they bit me... If they refuse to trade, then we'll find someone else to trade with. As for handing over the culprit, how utterly absurd. I have not even held them accountable for violating the agreement and entering the inner city without permission, yet they dare come after me?"

"Retaliation? Let them retaliate. I'd like to see how much more blood they can bleed."

Setting down his glass, the viscount pulled the red-haired beauty into his arms and kneaded her close. "Send someone to watch Osena... no, a mutant cannot awaken psychic power. Hmm, watch the child of Osena's family. Watch Ian."

"A White Folk psychic energy user so young—I truly never expected one to emerge even in my own territory."

Amid the red-haired beauty's alluring gasps, he calmly gave his instructions. "Although Pude is my friend... Harrison Port is my territory."

"The White Folk had better behave themselves."

At the same time.

Escorted out by the maid, Elder Pude left the viscount's residence carrying medicinal herbs. A swift afternoon rain met him head-on, its dense, rapid droplets stretching into long, fine threads through the air. Several attendants approached with umbrellas.

"You, go buy some fish, chicken, and wheat. Deliver them, along with this box of medicine, to Osena's family. And tell that bad boy that I've settled his matter. From now on, he is to quit those black mushrooms and stop associating with the natives. Once the medicine cures Elan, even if he has a mutation, he'll still be a fine young man of our people."

"And you, go call Deputy Captain Red to the council hall tonight. I want to ask him about the guard force and the natives' recent activities."

The white-haired elder instructed two attendants to run the errands, but after thinking for a moment, he waved his hand. "Forget it. I'll go see Osena and the Ian-Elan brothers myself... After Ernesto died, the port fell into chaos. These past two years, I truly haven't had the time to look after the children properly. Our people owe that family."

"And besides..." he murmured, his expression equally thoughtful. "It really isn't normal."

He seemed to want to say more, but the old man shook his head, sighed, and urged his attendants, "Go quickly."

The attendants acknowledged the order, and Elder Pude headed toward the fish market in the rain.

The fish market remained bustling and prosperous. No one let this ordinary drizzle affect their movements.

But there, Elder Pude saw a white-haired boy who should not, in theory, have been there.

Ian, who ought to have been resting indoors, was now strolling through the fish market with an intrigued look on his face.