Knights and Magic Wand
Chapter 95 - 95 67 Crossing the Sea

95: Chapter 67: Crossing the Sea 95: Chapter 67: Crossing the Sea “Young knights, I will remember your timely rescue.

In time, a poem celebrating your chivalrous deeds will spread across the continent…”

Even as he was roughly escorted by the guards of Dragon Throat City, the disheveled poet did not forget to look back and express his gratitude with great intonation and rhythm.

“Shut your mouth and get in there,” a guard kicked the middle-aged poet on his backside, violently shoving him into the cell.

His contentious reputation certainly did not invite any kind treatment from the soldiers of Dragon Throat City.

Moreover, he was now being accused of seducing married women and abducting someone else’s wife, a serious allegation that needed thorough investigation.

In the cell next to the poet, several gangsters guilty of kidnapping were likewise thrown into the jail by the soldiers.

Clarifying the sequence of events was not difficult.

By presenting the documents proving their identity as knights and the innkeeper’s testimony, Leon and his two companions were respectfully escorted back to the inn they were staying at by the captain of the guard.

Their actions were deemed akin to the valiant intervention of Ranger Knights.

Had they not insisted that they were setting sail the next day, the captain might even have reported their crime-stopping heroics to the Dragon Throat City Council to request a reward.

Alas, they simply did not have the time to stay in the city and wait for him to complete the complex approval process.

Before parting ways with the captain, Leon curiously inquired about the entanglement he had gotten involved in.

Only after a brief chat in the tavern did they learn that the middle-aged man named Galliard was apparently a very famous minstrel.

However, his reputation was troubling, representing that category of poets on the continent known for talent but no virtue.

Especially notorious for not being able to control his own desires, he had offended countless nobles.

“…I think, it’s a miracle he’s managed to live this long with how famous he’s become,” the captain of the guards burped and mused to Leon.

However, despite the sordid tales of debauchery, the poet’s talent was undeniable.

Many nobles and wealthy merchants, unconcerned about his reputation, still invited him to their events and parties, paying handsomely for him to recite poetry and leave behind works full of elegance.

The boss in the mouths of those beaten gangsters was one of them.

According to the captain, he was a merchant who had recently risen rapidly through maritime trade in the city, albeit without much other renown.

Perhaps caring about his image, the merchant had never reported the matter to the guards.

Yet the only gangster able to speak assertively accused Galliard.

He said that during the days Galliard was invited to Rody the innkeeper’s house, the poet and the innkeeper’s wife were constantly exchanging flirtatious glances.

And after the last sighting of the wife, the enraged Mr.

Rody found an improperly dressed Galliard in his wife’s room the next day, while his wife herself was nowhere to be seen.

That day, many servants witnessed the astonishing sight of the minstrel, bare bottomed, jumping from the wife’s window and fleeing for his life.

The entire affair wasn’t too complicated but had an indescribable sense of chaos.

Luckily, Leon had a peaceful night’s sleep and promptly put this minor and irrelevant episode out of his mind.

Even if that dishonorable minstrel was indeed a kidnapper, now locked in a cell, he was subject to the laws of Dragon Throat City.

The next day, the three of them boarded the sailing ship as scheduled.

The merchant ship, loaded with goods, slowly departed from the dock, entering the ocean as it sailed west along the Rushina River.

This was the first real sight of the ocean for Azeryan and Lokhak, who faced the grandeur of the endless blue sea and sky, standing on the deck for a long time.

Having seen the ocean in his past life, Leon was not overly moved, and he knew that the journey ahead would be even more monotonous than on land.

Sure enough, less than half a day later, the two youths lost interest in the unchanging seascape.

In the days that followed, everyone either played chess in the cabin, slept, or participated in the wrestling events organized by the sailors during their leisure time.

Since they did not gamble, they couldn’t partake in any more of the ship’s entertainments.

Despite being a much faster route compared to land, the three found the journey exceedingly tedious…

…

The briny sea breeze buffeted the largest port on the western coast of Kantadar Kingdom.

On the countless towering masts of ships large and small at the dock, flocks of white seagulls would occasionally perch at the top to rest their wings, overlooking the bustling coastal city beneath them like an ant colony.

In recent days, the Western Port had been especially noisy, not because of trade from around the world at the harbor, but because of the celebrations being prepared by the Felcon Family, rulers of this city.

The heir to Count Felcon was about to have his wedding day.

Nobles from the surrounding areas came in an endless stream, and even though war was breaking out in the distant eastern part of the kingdom, the King of Aviut had still sent envoys from the royal family to his stalwart allies before the war had started.

With the strong backing of that distant realm, the importance of Western Port to the Kingdom of Kantadar was now unparalleled.

Even the King of Aviut’s residence could not compare to this harbor, which was receiving a continuous supply of powerful military equipment, resources, and trade from the distant empire.

Perched atop the seaside cliffs was a grand castle complex built and expanded over generations with the Felcon Family’s vast wealth, where servants and slaves busily readied day and night, welcoming the stream of invited guests.

At this moment, only the exotic guests dwelling in the castle’s eastern courtyard buildings could enjoy the undisturbed tranquility of old.

Warriors clad in uniform black and gold armor stood tall before the luxurious courtyard gate of the castle, their eyes scornfully and arrogantly watching the unending procession in the distance.

Watching these so-called noble rulers of Kantadar dress themselves in finery, the black-armored guards with gold trim seemed to silently observe a group of ridiculous primitives.

And within the courtyard guarded by the black-armored guards.

A handsome, golden-haired young man dressed in a light, waist-tied tunic strode along the neatly carved stone paths, through the meticulously cultivated lawns and shrubbery, to the courtyard behind the building.

The golden-haired young man circled around a hidden statue and finally found that familiar figure.

“Elena?” he softly called out her name in a gentle voice.

Behind the slope of the statue, the gently weeping woman stopped crying and turned her tearful, blurred eyes.

“Are you still missing your family?” the youth sighed.

“…I had a nightmare again…”

Elena spoke with a trembling voice, a bit choked up, “I dreamed about my brother…

I just hope he’s still alive, that he’s safe.”

She was not surprised that he had found her, the young man before her was now one of the few friends she could talk to.

“I don’t want to disturb you, but the master is coming back tonight, and he specifically requested you, Elena,” the handsome young man reminded her helplessly.

“Yes, I understand…

Thank you, Kovis,” Elena replied with a forced smile.

The young man nodded, and without further urging the pitiful lady, who shared his misery, turned and left.

Silence fell once again,

Elena stood up, dried her tears, and took a deep breath to calm the emotions of longing…

“The Song of Fate, ever unpredictable.

…It is a song of bitterness…

…With smiles fading within the illusions…

Whispering softly with the murmurs of sun, moon, and stars…”

A deep, melodious voice drifted down from above.

Elena turned around, surprised to see the castle walls that backed onto sheer cliffs.

A middle-aged poet dressed in bright clothing leaned pensively there, gently strumming his lyre as he sang a song of sorrowful lament.

“Ah~, sorrowful little nightingale~”

“Sir, who are you?”

Elena widened her eyes in doubt.

She had been here for so long, yet she had never seen this face before.

The poet’s smile curled around his small mustache as he removed the feathered cap from his head and bowed courteously from atop the wall: “Galliard, a mere minstrel, at your service, m’lady.”