The Spread

Malan Port.

It was an ordinary port in Ingsman, handling thousands of tons of cargo every day.

The azure sky stretched without a cloud in sight. On the docks, a tax official responsible for registrations yawned out of boredom and rubbed his eyes.

Even an ordinary dock brought in no small sum every day through fees for ships to berth and undergo maintenance—enough to make the city hall's officials green with envy.

He had clearly put a great deal of thought into securing his position.

But it was nowhere near the peak trading season of the trade winds, and the afternoon sun was so languidly warm as it chased away the morning mist that it was hard not to feel drowsy.

Suddenly, he stared in one direction, his eyes widening.

At the far edge of the azure sea, a black speck appeared.

It was so tiny that it took a long time to drift close to the docks. At last, it turned out to be a crude—wooden raft?!

"Good heavens!"

The tax official rubbed his face, feeling a little dizzy, then blinked hard. Only then did he realize he hadn't imagined it. The thing drifting over really was an ordinary wooden raft, not even as good as a fisherman's little boat. And on it was a figure with green hair.

Thump!

The raft drifted gently against the shore, and a fellow who looked like a savage stepped onto the dock, his expression confident and proud.

"Good day, sir!"

The tax official glanced at the soldiers patrolling nearby and immediately found his courage. He took out paper and pen and stepped forward. "By order of the kingdom, any vessel entering port must be registered. May I have your name?"

At that time, Ingsman's laws still had a somewhat barbaric flavor. For