The last glow of the setting sun faded, and night swallowed the faint light. The sea stretched boundless, and the distant outline to the south vanished too into the rising darkness. From dusk into night, the killing and shouting had receded, and the only thing unchanged was the vast, surging sea wind, blowing inexhaustibly from east to west, never stopping for an instant.
"Whoosh!... Whoosh, whoosh!..."
The east wind filled the sails, making them creak and sway. Two Longships covered in the marks of battle rocked on like this, yet flew westward all the same.
The wind was fierce. A torch was lit at the prow, and only with several people shielding it in the middle could its flame barely remain. Shadows shifted across the ships as people bandaged one another's wounds, then silently collapsed onto the deck. Everyone seemed like jellyfish drained of strength, quietly blowing bubbles, their breathing not even audible.
Old Militia Chiwako stood silently at the prow, motionless, like an aged wood carving. He gazed at the pitch-black night curtain shrouding the lightless sea. The firelight behind him went down from the deck into the depths of the cabin, then reappeared a moment later, until it returned to his side.
"Captain Chi..."
At that call, the old Militia trembled, and a little life finally appeared on his face. He raised a reddened palm and held it above his eyes, as though blocking the dazzling firelight. He had always liked brightness, but at this moment, darkness was a little more forgiving to him.
"How is it?"
The old Militia's voice was a little hoarse, perhaps from too much exhaustion, or perhaps because he had shouted too much and hurt his throat. And the tremor in that voice was like fear of something.
"On the flagship... there are