Fleet Sets Sail

Valantis, Silver Dragon Dock.

After several weeks of rest and preparation, Lonzell finally notified the other nobles that they would soon set sail. House Pentaro had utterly collapsed, its wealth and lands divided between the Tiger Party and the Elephant Party. Lonzell had also gained a considerable amount of gold, along with twenty-three large ships and nearly a hundred small and medium-sized vessels.

All these ships had now been incorporated into the Valaerys family fleet.

Of course, they would not need so many vessels for this voyage.

During the preparations, Lonzell selected the ships for the expedition, including the newly built Crying Boy and Silent Lord. The latter would serve as the flagship. These two colossal vessels had been constructed using the shipbuilding methods Cleorius left behind. They used no oars, instead boasting enormous masts and sails vast enough to blot out the sky.

It was said that during their sea trials, these two warships had been faster than three-hundred-oar galleys.

Besides these two behemoths, the fleet included nine oarless sailing ships, twelve three-hundred-oar warships, and sixty-five two-hundred-oar and one-hundred-and-fifty-oar warships.

So long as it did not encounter a storm, this navy could sail unhindered across the Summer Sea.

The silver-haired youth had barely jumped down from his horse before eagerly throwing open his arms and rushing toward Lonzell Valaerys, who stood waiting with his arms open as well.

"Brother." Valar hugged his brother tightly, letting Lonzell stand on tiptoe to ruffle his hair and pat his shoulder.

"Not bad. You've gotten much sturdier. I'm sorry about the assassination."

"It had nothing to do with you, Lonzell." Valar only released him after hugging him to his heart's content. "We were the ones who weren't careful enough."

"It's enough that you're safe." Lonzell nodded at Hofa and Sebastian, who had followed Valar over. "The same goes for you two. Safety comes first."

The two young men stood at attention together and struck their fists against their chests.

"Valar!" An unhappy voice came from behind Lonzell, and only then did Valar notice Rey hiding behind his eldest brother.

The little fellow had shot up quickly, seeming to change with every passing day.

"And you." Grinning mischievously, Valar vigorously ruffled Rey's head several times. "You little brat have grown quite a bit too."

"Hmph." Rey pouted in displeasure, but still gave his brother a big hug. "Thank goodness you're all right, Valar. Everyone was worried about you."

"How is Flame Wing?"

"Very well. It flies off every day to have some fun." Rey glanced somewhat resentfully at Visari, who had come to see them off. "It's much freer than I am."

"Flame Wing is already very old." Lonzell sighed. "It may not survive until we return, so I had them set it free."

The three youths mourned the falcon for a while before boarding the warship amid the crowd's escort.

Since Lonzell had announced the warships' departure through the Senate beforehand, there were far fewer onlookers. The area outside the docks had essentially been cleared, allowing the large ships to sail out side by side.

The red priest Malach, who had mostly recovered, had come along as well and was now quietly reading on deck.

Vansen Kaon and Gonsor Jieyan remained behind in Valantis, while Visari returned to the estate with his disciple's grandson, Evans Dayne.

Most of the young men around Lonzell had boarded the warships alongside their lord.

Lynn Valtaken wore purple armor, standing to his lord's left alongside Ago, who wore no armor and had an arakh at his waist. Hofa and Sebastian Calamityflame were also aboard the flagship Silent Lord, participating in its command alongside Amor.

Tigaro Dagarion and Adams took young Rey aboard the Crying Boy. This great ship was more comfortable, with spacious and well-lit cabins inside.

Amos Fezer and Zesal the Shadow Weaver went aboard the three-hundred-oar warship Swordfish, commanding this main warship alongside Aslan Longdell.

The deep blare of horns echoed through the harbor.

Towed by barges, the massive fleet slowly departed the port.

The waves rolled and roared.

At that moment, in the distant north.

In a place shrouded in thick fog, the towering Titan of Braavos abruptly broke through the mist, revealing the city floating upon the waters behind it.

Hundreds of islands, large and small, were scattered throughout the vast city, connected by gray, golden, and red bridges.

The city was stone everywhere, without the slightest trace of green.

Upon an island surrounded by waters, atop a low rocky hill, a building with strange black spires slept in silence.

The twelve-foot-tall carved wooden doors were tightly shut. The left weirwood door was white as bone, yet bore a crescent moon carved from ebony. The right ebony door was black as night, yet bore a crescent carved from weirwood. Together, they formed a round moon of black and white.

The ten-foot-wide pool still rippled, reflecting the countless niches in the walls and thirty statues of varying forms.

Among them were the Weeping Woman, the Night Lion, the Hooded Man, Bakkalon, the Pale Maiden, the Stranger, and the Merling King. All the gods stood solemnly here, silently watching the reflection in the pool.

The man staggered to the poolside and dropped to his knees beside a man clad in a half-black, half-white hooded cloak. He accepted the cup of water handed to him.

"May you find rest at last." The voice beneath the hood was utterly indifferent, yet carried a strange magnetism, as though some magic compelled one to listen while making one instinctively overlook the speaker's existence. A red candle burned slowly.

The black cup fell to the ground.

The man died without making a sound.

The hooded man gently brushed a hand over the corpse's face.

The next moment, he raised his head.

It was unmistakably the dead man's face, except utterly expressionless.

Suddenly, the man clutched his face, as if immense pain had exploded from within him.

He crouched down in agony, muttering words that could not be understood.

Until a long time had passed.

Only then did the man rise, his face expressionless.

"A revelation from the Many-Faced God?" The man stroked his gradually decaying face. "The descendant of the Breaker of Shackles, the benefactor of the Faceless Men, was finally setting foot upon the journey ordained by fate?"

The man lowered his head, slowly walked beneath the Stranger's statue, and sat down.

"The Faceless Men never forget," the man murmured. "As the Many-Faced God desires, someone will do it. Someone surely will."

A tall, thin figure wearing a hood as well emerged from the shadows.

"All men must die."

He spoke.

"All men must serve."

The hooded man raised his head, revealing a face half-rotted away, yet still expressionless.

"Someone has come when called." The man who had just approached the pool raised his head. There was nothing beneath his hood.

"Someone must still serve." The expressionless man's other half of his face was decaying as well. "The price has been paid, and the gift shall also be given. Someone must go east and find the musician who changes the melody, the one guided by the god."

"Someone still has doubts."

"As the god wills." The man whose entire face had now completely decayed lowered his head once more.

"Someone will tell all that he knows."