Milta

Gold and silver had strong purchasing power in this era. Even in Paradise Port, a minted coin could buy a pound of Black Bread.

Two Small Silver Coins were not much, but they were enough to keep these slaves going until they found work.

Only then did the slaves realize that the captain before them might actually mean it.

"Captain, I have a request—"

A tall, lean slave stepped forward. Ian recognized him as the man who had risen with him in the cabin to fight yesterday.

"Speak."

The man immediately dropped to one knee, placed the two Small Silver Coins before him, and shouted, "I want to trade my freedom for my child's freedom—"

"He's too young. He isn't worth much. I'm willing to stay. You are merciful, sir. Please let him go."

The man looked up, staring nervously at Captain Homan.

Homan remained silent in thought.

The other slaves lost their joyful expressions as well, watching him anxiously. It was impossible to tell whether they feared being implicated or harbored hopes of their own.

"You lowly beast! The captain was merciful enough to free you, and you still dare make demands—"

The bearded First Mate rushed over, kicked the man to the ground, and raised his whip to lash him across the head and face.

Ian frowned slightly. The scene made him somewhat uncomfortable, but he had no intention of intervening.

Although Captain Homan had been extremely polite to him before, he knew that was entirely based on his own formidable strength.

Savagery, bloodshed, brutality, and greed were the true face of the Age of Exploration!

He could not deal with it now, nor could he deal with all of it.

"Stop! Since when was it your turn to make decisions for me? Get out of here—"

Seeing Ian's frown from the corner of his eye, Homan's heart skipped a beat. He immediately barked at the First Mate in a stern voice.

"What is your name?"

"Bart. My name is Bart, Captain."

"Bring his child over too."

Before long, a crewman in charge of the slaves came over with a boy in his early teens.

The boy was clearly under one and a half meters tall and extremely frail. His hair hung loose around his face, and like his father, he had gray hair and gray eyes. Filthy from head to toe, it was hard to tell exactly how old he was.

"Is this him?"

"Yes, yes, that's him."

The tense man grabbed the terrified child and pulled him into his arms.

"Freeing you was my promise, and it will not change. But now, I will give you an opportunity."

"After we dock, you may leave with him. However, within one month, you must pay one Gold Sun as his ransom."

Captain Homan slowly offered what seemed like a reasonable solution.

"I accept. Thank you, Captain. Thank you, thank you..."

The man hurriedly bowed in gratitude with the child.

Ian laughed inwardly. Who let someone take the person away before paying the ransom? Homan had not even mentioned the Windbreaker's schedule, or details such as where the money was supposed to be paid.

This was more like giving himself a way out while also silencing the slaves and crew.

"Enough. Get back to work—"

Before the crowd had even dispersed, Captain Homan smiled and walked toward Ian.

"Did Mr. Trist rest well last night?"

"Very well. Thank you for your concern, Captain Homan."

"The navigator says the wind will be favorable over the next few days. If nothing goes wrong, we'll be resting in Paradise Port by tomorrow evening."

"That's wonderful."

"Old Bill prepared breakfast. I'll have someone take you there. Milta—"

Captain Homan called over the short crewman from yesterday. "For the next two days, your job is to serve Mr. Trist well. Treat him as you would treat me. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain."

Milta's voice was full of excitement. Ian did not know whether it was because the work would be easy or for some other reason.

Over the next two days, Ian did not disturb Captain Homan, nor did he wander through the cabins, lest he violate someone's taboos.

Other than going to the crew dining hall for meals, he spent almost all his time meditating in his room.

Having just become Extraordinary, he was addicted to it!

After two days, even his minor external injuries had completely healed.

In the Spiritual World, above the Veil of Fate, the second star had begun to flicker. According to the feedback from the Fate Card, a second card would emerge in at most three more days.

In other words, if Ian was in good condition, he could generate a new card roughly every five days.

On the afternoon of the fourteenth, Ian stood on the Quarterdeck, gazing into the distance. A stretch of dark land was already visible on the horizon, and he could even clearly make out the rolling hills.

Nearby, ever since land had come into view, the crew and those slaves who had regained their freedom and were temporarily serving as sailors had been exceptionally excited. Naturally, their reasons for being happy were probably quite different.

Ian's feelings were even more complicated. There was excitement, curiosity, and perhaps a little unease.

"Mr. Trist, you can rest for a while first. It looks like we still need at least another two or three hours before reaching port."

Milta stood behind Ian and spoke softly.

Milta had brown eyes and gray hair, with deep-set features. He looked somewhat like he had the blood of eastern Poderian mountain folk.

He was small and thin, less than one and a half meters tall. In fact, he was already seventeen, a few months older than Ian.

Milta had no surname. That was common; many commoners had no surnames.

His father had been among the first immigrants to explore Paradise Island. He had been an ordinary stonemason, but as stories of extraordinary adventures kept reaching his ears, he eventually could not resist the temptation of the sea and set out on the road of exploration.

Naturally, he vanished in an utterly ordinary storm. There were far too many people like him in this era.

The Windbreaker's former Sailmaster had once been Milta's father's friend. A few years ago, he encountered the young Milta being bullied on the streets of Paradise Island and brought him aboard the ship.

The former Sailmaster had died last year as well. Milta had not had an easy time aboard ship these past years. His frail body could not handle much of the work, and he could only barely get by.

"Milta, did you grow up on Paradise Island?"

"Yes, sir. I was born in Paradise Port and boarded the Windbreaker the year before last."

"After we dock, would you be willing to serve as my guide for a while? I'll pay you."

"Of course I would. I know Paradise Port and the surrounding areas very well. There's no need to pay me, sir. You saved everyone on the ship."

Ian merely smiled and said nothing.

Milta had been right. Paradise Island had seemed to be right before them in the afternoon, yet the Windbreaker sailed for another two hours or so before it finally began entering port as night slowly fell.

Ian stepped onto the Quarterdeck and leaned against the bulwark, quietly taking in this legendary port he had heard about countless times.

Paradise Port was enormous. Countless sailing ships gathered here, from three-masted, double-decked warships the size of second- and third-rate ships of the line to tiny single-masted sailboats just over ten meters long. There were all kinds.

Hunting vessels, merchant ships, sailing ships towing vast loads of timber behind them—anything found on the Sea of Miracles could be seen here.

The harbor was bustling. Countless porters carried cargo, animal-drawn carts and rickshaws moved through the streets, and there were even towering wooden cranes using chains and gravity to hoist sea beasts more than ten meters tall.

Farther away, lights gradually flickered on throughout the commercial and residential districts, adorning Paradise Port's busy night.

The corners of Ian's mouth rose slightly. For a moment, he felt dazed. Wasn't this just a scene from a fantasy game brought to life?