Chapter One: The Wind from the Far East

The Celeste sailed across the azure surface of the sea, surrounded by the tranquility after a storm. Just that morning, a tempest had swept through this area. Fortunately, the sailor on duty had spotted it in time, and with everyone working together, the ship had altered its course, skirting around the storm’s edge.

Though this detour cost the Celeste half a day's journey, no one complained. Instead, they were grateful to have avoided the tempest—after all, who could say what horrors might lurk within, perhaps even more dreadful than the storm itself.

Such was the sea—anything could happen: typhoons, tsunamis, hidden reefs, man-eating sharks, sea monsters, pirates, necromancers’ isles, and the Feshi people. None of these were things the Celeste wished to encounter.

Unable to restrain himself, Amango strode onto the deck, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted loudly, “Cecily, my sweetheart, my angel, I’m coming home!”

“He’s lost his mind,” the sailors muttered among themselves.

First Mate Fulton rolled himself a cigarette and took a deep drag, understanding the young man’s excitement. Even he, after this voyage, planned to rest for a year before considering another journey at sea.

The Celeste had been away from Landia for nearly three years. The original plan was to return within a year and a half, but too many mishaps befell them between Landia and the Far East, delaying their departure from Donghai County in Huaguo until about six months ago. Yet the extended stay wasn’t all misfortune; the Celeste had gained some unexpected benefits in the largest nation of the Far East. Local Taoist priests had made some secret modifications to the ship’s interior. Of course, this came at a price—Captain Kaplan had been forced to sell the magic crystal ore he’d hoped to market for a fortune in the capital, right there in Donghai County.

There was no other way. With the extended voyage, the crew clamored for extra pay, and the Celeste needed to restock supplies.

The sailors weren’t left empty-handed either. Clever ones sold their trinkets along the way to the locals in Donghai County—useless baubles, really, but curiosity fetched high prices. Amango even met several local young women, one of whom wanted to marry him—provided he agreed to join her family.

Amango didn’t see this as shameful, as local men might, but his heart wasn’t in it. His heart belonged to Landia, where his home, Uncle Harrison and Aunt Carida, and most importantly, Cecily—the girl whose beauty could make the moon jealous—awaited him.

“You’re the loveliest pearl in the ocean’s depths. I want to kneel at your feet and pour out all my longing for you…” Amango praised his beloved across the distant waves.

“Hey, you got it wrong! It’s that you want to slip under her skirts, and then… whip them right up! Hahaha!” the sailors teased him.

The sea was vast and wild, and time changed many things, including Amango himself. No one would guess now that he’d been a green, awkward lad on his first voyage. The old hands aboard still remembered how shy and clumsy he’d been at the start, but now he was a handsome youth with bronzed skin. His uncle, a good friend of Captain Kaplan, had entrusted him to the Celeste to broaden his horizons and, hopefully, earn some money.

Facing the slowly sinking western sun, Amango let out a long breath, his arms half-lifted, then lowered—a posture he’d rehearsed for three years as his proposal. This time, back in Landia, he would ask Cecily to marry him. He’d wanted to do so three years ago, but, being penniless, the poor lad didn’t want to burden the Harrison family further. Yet his longing to wed the kind and beautiful girl never wavered, so he’d asked Uncle Harrison to help him join the Celeste. Who could have foreseen it would be three years before he returned?

As Amango was about to leave the deck, he suddenly saw what looked like a person floating on the horizon. At first, he thought it was a trick of the eye, but on closer look, he saw a man lying face up, drifting on the waves.

“Man overboard! Man overboard!” Amango cried out in alarm.

“Where?” The sailors rushed over. There was no other ship near the Celeste, so if there was a survivor, he must have been swept away by the storm before the Celeste arrived.

The crew spotted the man too, but just then the wind picked up, and the waves began to push the figure further from the ship.

“We have to save him,” Amango said anxiously.

“Save him? Who knows if he’s even alive—it could be a corpse,” the sailors replied indifferently. “He doesn’t react at all. If we want to save him, we’ll have to launch a boat, and with the wind rising, we could be risking our own lives.”

“But we can’t just let him die!” Amango persisted.

The suspected corpse drifted farther with the waves, but Amango refused to give up. If there was even a breath of life left, he would never forgive himself for not trying. The others didn’t share his sentiment, so the determined young man hurried to First Mate Fulton for help. Because of his friendship with Amango’s uncle, Fulton, though thinking him too soft-hearted, reluctantly agreed. But the ship would not wait for him; if it was a corpse, he was to return immediately.

The Celeste adjusted course slightly towards the man in the water, slowing as much as possible by trimming the sails. Amango tied a sturdy rope to the stern of a small boat, connecting it to the Celeste, and, with the help of familiar sailors, launched it. He grabbed two oars and rowed with all his might toward the floating man.

The crew prayed for the brave youth, but none would accompany him—not for lack of kindness, but because the risk was simply too great.

The rope grew taut as Amango rowed, but it was as if the sea god was toying with him—several times he drew close, only to have the currents pull the man away at the last instant.

But Amango was certain the man was alive—he lay on his back, his face ruddy, his body strong and completely unclothed. From his features, he did not look like a Westerner, but a Huaguo man, just like those they had left behind not long ago.

This gave Amango hope—he was saving a life, not, as some base men would think, scavenging for a windfall from a corpse. Yes, he needed money, but would he propose to pure Cecily with such tainted wealth?

Never—absolutely not!

At last, the boat drew near the man from Huaguo. His nearly perfect physique made Amango glance twice. A wave surged; Amango acted at once, reaching out for the man’s arm. But the rope connecting the boat to the Celeste was already stretched to its limit—just a finger’s breadth short, he couldn’t grasp him.

The sailors aboard the Celeste cried out in dismay. Their attitude had changed—from misunderstanding and suspicion to admiration for Amango’s unwavering courage. Sailing required bravery; the sea had no place for cowards.

Some began to feel ashamed. Fulton, now worried for Amango’s safety, regretted granting his request. To avoid the captain’s wrath, he ordered the sails lowered and the helm steered closer to Amango. A second boat was readied and secured with a rope to assist him. In the months at sea, the kind and upright young man had won the affection of nearly everyone aboard.

But these changes on the Celeste could not help Amango in time. Seeing success slipping away, he didn’t hesitate—he dove into the water.

Cries of alarm rang out aboard the Celeste. Now things were truly dire. While he was in the boat, at least his safety was somewhat assured and the rope could be hauled in or a second boat launched. But once in the water, no skill at swimming could guarantee survival—one passing shark might bring regret for a lifetime.

The brave youth finally seized the man’s hand and swam with all his strength back to the boat. After battling the wind and waves, he managed to grip the boat’s gunwale, climb aboard himself, and then haul the stranger up after him.

But another small mishap occurred—a large wave nearly capsized the boat. Amango clung tightly to the man and realized his body was burning hot, not at all like someone who’d spent hours adrift at sea.

There was no time to ponder this oddity. With help from the Celeste, Amango finally got the man safely aboard. The crew greeted him like a hero, tossing him into the air. The rescued man was quickly taken to Doctor Dawson’s care.

Exhausted, Amango nonetheless felt proud—not just for saving a life, but for proving how much he’d changed. Before joining the Celeste, he’d dreamed of becoming a mage’s apprentice. But even after entering the magical arts, it would take years before he could support himself, delaying his proposal and forcing Cecily’s youth to be spent waiting. In the end, he chose love over ambition and boarded the Celeste. Though the voyage had taken longer than expected, the captain’s promised reward for delivering the goods to Landia made it worthwhile—especially with the extra income from Donghai County.

Magic had once been an unattainable threshold, held by only a select few. But with ongoing reforms in the southern kingdoms, magic had become a goddess half-unveiled, beckoning to the many. High-level magic was still the domain of the privileged—royal court magi, mage guilds, and the like—but southern merchants, wielding wealth, had enticed many lesser mages. Whether for lack of talent or the funds needed for magical research, these mages accepted patronage from merchants and adapted magic to suit more practical needs.

Archmages might denounce these lesser mages for selling their dignity, but more and more joined in, retorting to the great mage towers: “We lack royal or guild support. Some of us need money; some will never advance in rank. Yet we must burn through gold to maintain our craft. We sell only our labor to earn what we need—there’s no shame in that.”

This growing trend led to a quiet schism among mages. Those with prospects or prestige aligned themselves with nations or powerful groups; the rest collaborated with merchants. The changes continued—clever merchants, at the military’s urging, sought to improve the matchlock’s flaws. With magi’s wisdom, the modified gun was born. Just a small alteration to the matchlock and a short spell derived from Light, and merchants’ coffers overflowed.

No wonder they called it the best of times.

It was half a day before Amango awoke in the sailors’ quarters. His body, battered by the waves, was still sore. He was roused by word that the rescued man had regained consciousness.

Hurrying to the infirmary, Amango listened as messenger-sailor Lea recounted the survivor’s oddities. Amango had risked his life to save this man, who, though unconscious in the infirmary, showed no signs of harm—except for a terrifying fever. As Lea described it, an egg cracked on his chest would be cooked in moments.

Doctor Dawson attributed it to magic. In this age of flourishing magic, even medicine was merging with the alchemist’s arts. Unfortunately, there was no true mage aboard—the Celeste’s resident mage had died in a pirate skirmish near Donghai County, a fierce battle that still haunted the younger crew.

In the infirmary, Amango met the fortunate survivor.

He possessed bright, lively eyes, sparkling with curiosity and, to Amango’s confusion, a joy he could only attribute to the ecstasy of being saved.

Doctor Dawson took Amango aside to explain the situation and his theories, giving the young man a fuller understanding. The patient was truly remarkable. When first brought aboard, he was unconscious, his body burning with fever. Lea’s description was imprecise—Dawson believed his body should have been aflame at that temperature. Yet the man bore no ill effects, despite drifting in the sea for who knows how long. But Dawson could accept this: in an age of magic and mighty individuals, not everything could be explained by medicine alone. “Never judge the strong by common standards,” as the Prime Minister of Landia once said.

But when the man from Huaguo awoke, his fever vanished as if it had never been—the doctor could only comfort himself with the Prime Minister’s maxim.

“Are you from Huaguo?” Amango tried to communicate. The other’s eyes flashed with curiosity but showed no sign of comprehension.

Amango slapped his own forehead—he’d spoken the common tongue, forgetting the man was from the Far East. Fortunately, after half a year in Donghai County, Amango had picked up some of the local language.

He introduced himself in awkward Huaguo speech; the stranger clearly understood and responded. Encouraged, Amango pressed on, but soon had to stop—his vocabulary was too limited.

Later, First Mate Fulton and Captain Kaplan visited the Huaguo man as well. During their stay in Huaguo, the Celeste had received much kindness—when trade was barred and supplies ran low, the locals had freely shared food and basic goods. Over six months, many friendships had formed between crew and locals, which was why Amango insisted on saving the man and the sailors ultimately agreed to help.

Captain Kaplan, more fluent in Huaguo speech, learned that the man called himself Wei Wuji. Though his fever had subsided, he was still recovering, so Kaplan assigned Amango to look after him. When he was well enough, he could leave at the next port if he wished.

And so, the Celeste gained a new apprentice sailor from Huaguo, who followed the youngest crewman, Amango, everywhere. At first, the crew kept their distance, but one night, when the sailors were drinking on deck, the apprentice from Huaguo drank every last one of them under the table. By the next morning, he was part of the family.

A sailor who cannot drink is no true sailor—just as a dog who doesn’t like bones is no true dog.

So First Mate Fulton once said, after a night of heavy drinking.