The End of 1485, A Conspiracy in the Cabin

In the damp, sweltering tropical rainforest flowed the long Congo River. Inside the rocking light sailboat lay the stifling lower deck. A pungent smell filled the lower deck, stretching all the way to the doors of the important storage hold.

Two lean, tough sailors gripped short knives and guarded the doorway like their lives depended on it. Their eyes fixed on the narrow passage, but their ears could not help pricking up, listening to the movements inside the cabin.

Faint candlelight cast murky shadows, and with the swaying of the hull, lit less than ten square meters of the storage hold. The cabin was terrifyingly quiet. Four burly men carrying weapons silently surrounded a newly ennobled noble with a short knife at his waist. Everyone's hands rested on their weapons, their eyes wary, staring unblinkingly at the others' hands. The splash of running water came from beneath the ship, as if it were the prelude to an eruption.

Bruno clenched the short knife at his waist, held his breath, and stood ready to shout at any moment. Sweat rolled down his forehead in streams, soaking the lashes above his eyes and stinging the corners until they burned, yet he did not dare blink even once.

The tense standoff lasted a dozen breaths, yet seemed to last a century. Diego, the boatswain, wore a fierce expression and was the first to speak.

"Bruno, just now Diogo called you over. What did he say?"

Hearing Diego call the captain by name, Bruno's heart instantly sank to the bottom of the Congo River.

On a ship at sea, hierarchy was strictest of all. The captain was a marshal who could decide whether a man lived or died, while the various officers controlled their own domains. The boatswain commanded the mass of sailors, the