Chapter 83

After several days of sailing, when they returned to the sunlight, Captain William was already at the bow of the Ice Mountain, discussing their next port with Kraft.

After getting to know each other, the two quickly grew close; by the time Kup, barely adapted to life aboard and clutching his stomach, staggered back to Kraft’s side, he was astonished to discover that his own attendant was not the person closest to Kraft on this ship.

Realizing this fact, the already chilling night wind grew colder. Kup rubbed his hands and walked toward the bow, preparing to fulfill—merely in theory—the duties of an attendant.

He felt someone who could banish such things had little need for a bodyguard. Added to his days of seasickness and weakness, he hadn’t even done a single chore assigned to a servant, yet still drew pay—this unsettled him deeply.

The night wind howled like a mournful cry; scenes from the captain’s terrifying tales surfaced in his mind. Kup shivered, pulled his coat tighter, and hurried toward the two dark silhouettes ahead.

The bulkier figure on the right extended a hand, pointing toward the darkness ahead—a darkness like the world’s birth, before the gods had demanded light appear.

“Yes, right there. You’ll see it soon.”

“Are you certain?” asked the younger voice on the left, tone skeptical. Kup followed his gaze and felt the same doubt: what on earth could be worth seeing at this hour?

“Trust an old captain’s hard-won experience—you’ll see it soon. And I strongly recommend you go down there. Rare opportunity. You won’t regret it.” He left the suspense hanging, as every good story should, leaving the listener eager to imagine what came next.

The bow fell silent. Kup stared into the distance, seeing nothing but darkness, while the two men ahead waited patiently, showing no sign of impatience.

Just as he was about to give up on the endless wait, a bright point appeared far in the distance, piercing the dull black. Like a morning star, but far brighter, it slowly rotated its angle, then vanished into the heavens after a few breaths.

As the ship drew nearer, the periodic light rose higher, its brilliance intensifying. A slender beam, like lightning, sliced through the night sky, leaving a horizontal streak of luminance in their vision.

“Welcome to Comfort Harbor!” The captain turned, arms wide, introducing their first port of call to his two passengers—his cheer unmistakable. “We’ll be staying here for several days.”

Behind him, a line of tiny points emerged, forming a faint trail—if he hadn’t been mistaken, their colors were all different. The brilliant beacon overhead had so dazzled them during approach that they’d overlooked these lights entirely.

They were the shore’s lanterns—dreamlike and enchanting at night. Kraft had never imagined he’d see something resembling neon here.

“The Kristen Mountain Lighthouse, isn’t it beautiful? But don’t just stare up high—we’ll be there soon.” William proved his experience, lowered his arm, and stepped beside the young man. “Remember to bring your money. And keep hold of your purse.”

Cheers erupted from the deck. The captain left the bow, symbolically scolding his crew not to get carried away, driving them back to their posts to prepare for docking.

The bustle far surpassed Wenden Port. Kup had never seen so many colors of light outside a church. The line of glowing points grew richer, more continuous as they neared shore.

They were flames shining through colored glass—brilliant, shifting hues that bathed the entire waterfront street in warm, hallucinatory tones. Merely looking at them lessened the damp chill; the lively atmosphere dispelled homesickness.

The scent of food and alcohol tickled the noses of those just disembarking, mingling with unfamiliar aromas—oils, incense-like fragrances—some scented dust heightened their presence, rivaling the others.

“Ugh.” Kraft pressed his nose. The powdered scent stung, making him want to sneeze—and it was growing stronger, creeping up behind him.

He remembered the captain’s warning, clutched his purse, and turned defensively—only to see a face thickly painted white with red powder pressed close, wearing an artificial, forced smile. The strange odor came from the falling powder.

“Stay away from my friend.” William appeared beside Kraft, replacing Kup’s duty in his daze, swatting away the woman’s hand as it reached for Kraft’s shoulder. The woman took the hint and withdrew, seeking another customer.

“You’ve never been to a place like this? Need me to recommend a reputable one?”

“No.” Kraft declined awkwardly. He now understood what William had meant. “I think I’ll just find a tavern.”

William confirmed Kraft had truly never been here, laughed, and clapped him on the back. “No need to be shy. Some places aren’t reliable—they’ll give you diseases you can’t even name. My recommendations are absolutely trustworthy.”

“Allow me to decline.” In this age, there was no such thing as a truly reliable place. He’d read enough about such diseases in books—he had no desire to witness them firsthand where medical care was scarce.

“Kup, over here!”

Pulling Kup free from the crowd, the three walked into the city under William’s lead. The nightlife here far surpassed Wenden Port, with even a rudimentary concept of colored lanterns.

Kraft approached to examine the lanterns, discovering their colors were richer than he’d imagined—even within the same hue, there were clear distinctions: light red, deep red, orange-red, and more.

Perhaps it was the handcrafted nature of soul-touched but technically crude workshops that gave each lantern its uniqueness: irregular edges, uneven impurities inside, creating gradients and speckled effects in the light.

In effect, the poor quality produced varied results—even most were merely shards of glass set into lantern housings, with grease or other fuel burning behind them. Every tavern still open, and every primitive entertainment venue, bore some decoration of these lights.

Sailors in rough garb came and went, moving from one establishment to another, spending their coins before setting sail. The bright beam from the mountain lighthouse was entirely drowned out by the riot of colored lights; the smell of alcohol and itchy powder numbed the nose.

The decadent, indulgent atmosphere unsettled Kraft. He understood the repression of life at sea, knew sailors and captains alike needed psychological release—but only to a point.

This place, where he felt so out of place, resembled the early prototype of a commercial street, yet its consumption structure was simplistic, with no other industries to speak of.

As they walked deeper into the city, away from the harbor, the colored lanterns thinned, the streets grew darker. Captain William never slowed, his steps unwavering, guiding them steadily along the main road.

The crowd didn’t thin with distance from the port. Many sailors walked alongside them, their lanterns and torches casting flickering shadows that illuminated the path ahead, moving silently toward their destination.

The atmosphere shifted from exuberance to its opposite extreme. Kup, glancing around, suddenly noticed the change and fell quiet.

After walking in silence for more than ten minutes, estimating they were nearing the city center, the street turned sharply, angling at a right angle to one side.

A faint song drifted on the wind—not the rowdy sea shanties sung by sailors with throats dried by salt air, nor the sultry tunes from dubious buildings luring customers.

Ethereal, clear voices—voices frozen in the pre-puberty stage—sang in unison within some vast space, harmonies overlapping with unintelligible hymns, forming waves of sacred, untouchable reverence.

The man ahead stiffened abruptly, his hostility palpable—he halted, hand on his sword. Kup nearly ran into him. Kraft had only ever shown this same tension before, in the Salt Tide District, when speaking of his illness.

William heard the footsteps stop behind him and turned. “What’s wrong? We’re almost there.”

“Nothing. Just remembered something unpleasant.” Kraft steadied himself and followed William around the corner.

In the night, a brilliantly lit, majestic building burst into their view at the city center—as if it had gathered all the colored lanterns from half the street and piled them onto itself.

Countless stained-glass windows, each composed of translucent, polished glass arranged into symmetrical floral geometric patterns or figures in vivid robes, their heads crowned with golden-white halos refracting the cathedral’s daylight-bright candles—like angels walking among mortals.

The central golden ring was flanked by stained-glass figures on the façade; a massive chandelier’s light pierced the white-glass wings, transforming the glass’s brilliance and splendor into divine majesty.

“The Comfort Cathedral—the reason the harbor bears its name.” William dared not point directly at the glass figures, whispering softly to Kraft amid the crowd. “Be quiet once inside.”

“Huh? I thought it was…”

The contrast was too great. Neither Kraft nor Kup had expected to wander from the harbor’s intoxicating revelry straight into a church. They’d assumed “Comfort Harbor” meant sailors came here for spiritual relief through alcohol and physical release.

Fortunately, he bit his tongue before finishing the sentence. Several nearby sailors turned and glared at them. The unspoken implication was obvious—everyone who’d walked from the harbor knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

“Apologies, apologies. First time here. Deceived by those reckless souls.” Kraft quickly apologized, insisting it was an innocent remark, meant no offense.

It seemed this misunderstanding wasn’t new—the sailors didn’t press the matter. But that brief exchange triggered Kraft’s memory: at least two of them had just emerged from the lantern-lit doors of the harbor’s establishments, walking with them all the way to the cathedral.

The stark contrast no longer felt so jarring. An unspoken understanding bridged the two ends of the street: indulgence was comfort, religion was comfort too.

“The wise man’s hour, then?”

He realized he hadn’t really needed to apologize.