Chapter 79: Deckside Chat

"The sea view is quite nice?"

"Indeed, it feels completely different from watching from the shore." The well-dressed young man with blond hair brushed off the wet, heavy hand on his shoulder, stepped aside to give the bow position to the newcomer, and said, "It would be even better if there were less tossing."

A retching sound came from behind. A man in squire's clothes leaned over the ship's rail, weakly spitting out a bit of acid. The dry bread he had eaten in the morning hadn't even had time to digest before it was fed to the sea fish; there was nothing left in his stomach.

He tried several times to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, but concern for his brand-new clothes stopped him. A thick hemp rope was tied around his waist, secured to the mast, to prevent any wave from making him vanish directly from the deck.

The sailors passed him by as if he weren't there, adjusting the sails and scrubbing the deck; the ship operated in an orderly fashion.

"Ha, this doesn't count as much tossing." The bearded captain rolled up his sleeves, revealing the muscular arms forged by battling the waves, and casually displayed a large tattoo of surging sea waves from wrist to elbow. He looked like a man with a story.

Ordinary passengers were mostly attracted by the tattoos, which would lead to half a day of idle chatter and boasting, passing the time of the monotonous days at sea, and in the process, hearing more anecdotes and interesting stories from passengers of different backgrounds.

But this passenger did not give his attention to the eager captain; instead, he looked at the boundless sea. Under the cloud cover, the sea surface showed a color mixed of deep blue and leaden gray, the gloomy and ominous hue merging into one at the farthest edge of the vision.

The remnants of the cold wind from the Northern Sea Ice Plains were pushing them south, but no matter what, they could not escape this rain.

The captain had seen many passengers. Regardless of their status, once out on the boundless sea, facing the approaching storm, they would all feel doubt about the small sampan beneath their feet, an inevitable sense of fear.

"No need to worry. It looks terrifying, but it's just a rainstorm." He pointed to the sea horizon hidden on the port side of the ship, as if he could see distant land. "Besides, we are not far from the coast. Even if something unexpected happens, I can row you ashore with one hand."

"That is truly reassuring." The passenger combed his wind-tousled hair with his hand, pressing it back into place, and continued to look at the rolling sea. It was impossible to tell if he was being perfunctory.

The captain couldn't figure out what he was looking at. They had been underway for three days; the monotonous sea scenery should have worn down any young man's excitement long ago. Moreover, the current scenery was nothing worth praising; it was nothing but the cold, hard sea wind that scraped the face, a gray expanse where water and sky were indistinguishable. Looking at it for too long would create the illusion that the ship was stationary and not moving.

A slender hand pointed to a small dot in the distance, guiding the captain to follow its owner's line of sight. "What is that thing?"

"Hmm?" The captain looked in the direction of the finger. There was indeed a small dot on the sea surface that was not easy to spot, with a faint reflection. "Probably a piece of floating ice."

"There is still floating ice here?"

"Good luck. I haven't seen one in quite some time. It came from the Ice Sea. Over there, there aren't many large pieces, and very few that can reach here without melting completely. We call it the Lucky Star."

This remark piqued the passenger's interest. He took one last look at the floating ice submerged in the waves, then turned around as the captain wished. "How so?"

"It's a name sailors on this route came up with. I heard a ship caught in a storm lost all its fresh water and beer." The captain licked his lips beneath his thick beard; it was a story that made one feel thirsty just hearing it.

"Then the one with the sharpest eyes among them, just like you, spotted something on the sea surface that shimmered like white crystal, or perhaps a morning star. In despair, they took it as some kind of omen and decided to take a gamble."

"Of course, it wasn't white crystal, nor a star fallen into the sea, yet its value far exceeded those things." The captain paused at the right moment, noticed the audience was listening intently, and satisfiedly revealed the answer.

"A block of fresh water ice, a whole two barrels' worth of fresh water ice. Drifting from the Ice Sea, which is the Northern Sea, all the way here, perhaps even further south, it's simply incredible. So everyone who travels this route thinks seeing floating ice is a symbol of good luck."

"I can imagine that." The passenger nodded. This was a story he had never heard before; he could add it to his story collection someday. Then, suddenly remembering something, he asked, "So you have been to the Ice Sea."

"Of course. I used to deal with those Ice Plains people over there. There were small floating ice pieces everywhere, but I didn't see myself getting any luckier." The captain was always willing to share his experiences; in this, he bore a striking resemblance to the talkative driver from the other world's soul.

Whether on a ship or in a tavern, this feeling of being watched was irresistible. Your ticket price might even include an unstated story fee; at least, you didn't have to buy him drinks until he was willing to speak, as in a tavern.

"What about large icebergs or something like that?"

"No, just many small floating ice pieces. The tallest small iceberg wasn't even high enough to touch from the ship's rail; calling it a 'mountain' would be a bit of a stretch."

The passenger was a bit disappointed, not knowing what he was expecting or what kind of plot he was rehearsing in his mind. "Really none? You haven't seen even one?"

"Usually, there are no large icebergs." The captain didn't close the door on the matter. How could a seasoned sailor have nothing more to say? Since there was "usually," there must be a "but."

Very cooperatively, the audience picked up his sentence: "Just as rare as the floating ice in the south?"

"Yes, so rare that almost no one has seen them, and the meaning is completely opposite." The captain looked around at the deep sea with no end in sight, moved away from the ship's rail, seemingly not wanting to continue the story there, and extended an invitation to his passenger. "It's a long story. You wouldn't want to hear the second half in the rain. Let's go to the cabin for a drink?"

"Sounds more interesting than beer." The passenger readily accepted the invitation.

"Water is fine too; you have to drink something, right?"

Roughly five years ago, during the summer, a fairly mature Ice Plains trade route suddenly became vacant, connecting with an Ice Plains tribe that had been in contact for a very long time.

Normally, this was impossible. An Ice Plains tribe willing to communicate with outsiders implied an extremely stable and safe exchange relationship.

When a captain rare enough to be recognized by them decided to leave the sea, he would only introduce his closest heir to the tribe, continuing it like inheriting family wealth, becoming a continuous source of income.

That middle-aged captain named Becker was willing to transfer this opportunity at a very favorable price, selling the intact empty ship as well, exchanging it for fixed assets within Wendeng Port and a substantial sum of cash to distribute and dismiss the crew.

The favorable price had its cost. Becker refused to personally introduce the buyer, only willing to give some items considered "tokens," and couldn't even send a crew member familiar with the Ice Plains people to go there again.

This inevitably made people suspect he had a conflict with the Ice Plains people and was using this method to make one last score.

But after privately probing the crew members who were drunk as mud in the taverns, those who were moved came to a negative conclusion, unless all the sailors could remember to cover the captain's truth while blowing bubbles of snot and smelling of alcohol.

During the brief moments of sobriety in the daytime, they refused to discuss the issue. From ordinary sailors to the first mate, they all clearly expressed unwillingness to sail this route even once more, no matter how much money was offered.

From this, rumors spread about the ship being cursed, but this couldn't stop a few young second-generation captains with adventurous spirits and their own ships from competing for this opportunity.

After a fierce struggle, one of them won all of Captain Becker's tokens, along with the secretly imparted communication techniques and details of customs.

He did not set sail immediately but waited patiently to observe, until those crew members of Becker who had picked up bad habits squandered the last penny in their pockets, even falling into debt, and had to accept a meeting in a sober state in exchange for some compensation.

Thus, from the mouth of a sailor who was being threatened by a lender to lose a finger, in exchange for paying off part of his debt, he extracted a description of the voyage that sounded like madness.

Even at this point, that sailor would rather lose a finger than agree to go to the Ice Plains with him again.

Until just before departure, he recorded the sailor's intermittent and fragmented narration, roughly reconstructing the incomplete half of the picture.

From the perspective of the sailor Siman.

The return journey, like every time before, began with Captain Becker bringing back the people transporting furs and metal ores.

His companions stopped teasing Siman about his name sounding similar to Saint Simon, climbed the mast to gaze at the approaching black dot in the distance; it was the returning party.

Several Ice Plains people dragged a large human-powered sled to deliver part of the cargo for them. The leader chatted happily with the first mate and, before leaving, pressed a locally produced raw gemstone into the hands of the captain and the first mate each, saying they had picked it up while hunting.

It was rare for the Ice Plains people to remember the preferences of the Norse guests. Captain Becker smiled from the moment he boarded until the anchor was raised, playing with the stones in his hands that revealed beautiful crystals alongside the first mate, discussing whether there was material inside suitable for making large pieces of jewelry.

Siman knew nothing about this; he just looked enviously a few times before going to busy himself with moving the cargo.

The sailors had to assign positions for the cargo in the cabin, placing the heaviest ores evenly at the bottom hold, arranged together with the ballast.

The furs were stored in the driest possible places, leaving enough space to spread them out. Even a slight flaw could greatly reduce the value of a perfect pelt. If that happened, the captain would want to skin them alive.

This work was tiring, but fortunately there was animal meat replenished from the Ice Plains tribe. The captain, as usual, generously distributed this frozen meat as part of the extra meal. After soothing the stomachs that had been tormented by long-voyage food for over two months, Siman returned to the cabin and fell asleep amidst the rocking.

Sleep at sea was not very good. In the middle of the night, he vaguely heard footsteps and conversation coming from the deck. A companion woken by the noise beside him cursed, turned over, and covered his ears. A stern voice hushed the commotion; it was probably the watchful boatswain.

Afterwards, the sounds subsided. He slept soundly through the rest of the night and went to take the shift of the people above in the morning.

The deck's atmosphere was strange; Syman was just about to complain about last night's noise, but was silenced by a glance. He took the rope and looked over—the boatswain's face was grim.

"Don't ask," the man whispered. "It's just a Bingshan. Nothing serious."