35
The tall swordsman clad in golden armor did not move, but the unusually long golden weapon in his hand made even the air grow heavy.
Beneath his armor, Gan Fall felt a needlelike sting against his skin, as though invisible blades were scraping along his bones.
He remembered this pressure-many years ago, on the deck of another ship, certain people had also made the light around them seem sharp simply by being there.
A petite figure sat on the figurehead, her feet swinging idly in the air.
Metallic clothing encased her, her arms and boots reflecting a cold, hard gleam.
Was she the product of some technology? Or had a body of flesh and blood been modified? Gan Fall narrowed his eyes. Memories of his dealings with Roger's crew churned in his mind, while the reasonably keen perception he had honed over the years sounded a silent alarm.
And standing at the very front was a boy in a black haori.
White casual clothes, a long sword hanging at his waist.
His face looked bright in the sunlight, yet something unquestionable had settled between his brows, reminding Gan Fall of two other names-Roger and Rayleigh.
How was that possible? He suppressed the thought as soon as it arose.
"Judging by your clothes, you aren't with these attackers?"
The voice came from the boy.
Gan Fall glanced at the people sprawled across the beach.
The Shandia rangers had wings that pointed upward; the soldiers under his own command had wings that extended to the sides.
And the people of Birka habitually folded their wings downward.
These details were merely traces left by ancient customs, yet they had become the most direct way to tell them apart.
"They are Shandia warriors."
Gan Fall kept his voice steady. "If they have caused