“He was the finest young officer in the Ingrima Empire’s Royal Navy, unmatched to this day. It was just an ordinary mission to eliminate pirates—no one expected to encounter Zimourman Axel Robin…”
“Right, back then, he wasn’t called Axel yet, just Zimourman Robin.”
“At first, my husband’s fleet had the upper hand, but he was provoked by Zimourman Axel Robin’s taunts. His prideful nature couldn’t stand being looked down upon. He prided himself on his swordsmanship and agreed to a fair duel.”
“Zimourman Axel Robin…”
“In that duel, he killed my husband, routed the Ingrima Royal Navy, and rose to become the Pirate King’s second-in-command.”
“No words can describe the despair I felt when I learned of his death. If it weren’t for novels giving me solace, I wouldn’t have survived all these years.”
Charlot, initially enraged, felt a slight pang of sympathy after hearing Princess May’s recounting of events. His rage diminished slightly, though it was still intense, and he shouted, “What does that have to do with me?”
“I’m not Zimourman Axel Robin!”
Princess May replied softly, “It was that scoundrel, Emperor Alfred Guillaume, who had you approach me, wasn’t it? Even without an old grudge, what’s wrong with punishing a little rascal with ulterior motives?”
Charlot was left speechless. He wanted to say, “What does this have to do with me?”
But how could he explain this clearly? From the moment Emperor Alfred Guillaume granted him a residence at 698 Seventais River Street, he had been roped into this mess. This was a black mark he had to bear, whether willingly or not.
Princess May smiled faintly and said, “Didn’t I save you in the end?”
“You should be grateful that you know how to recite a few novels.”
“Otherwise…”
She left her sentence unfinished, as two Saint-ranked Byron vampires were closing in.
From his vantage point high in the sky, Charlot could see the Titanic Whale already engaged in combat with a magical alchemy warship of the Byron fleet. Another Byron warship, though unable to catch up with the flying Saint-ranked combatants, continued to pursue from a distance.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Charlot said, “Find an island and drop me off.”
“In a battle involving Saint ranks, I’m just dead weight.”
He no longer wished to remain in the company of the Grand Princess.
Princess May nodded, then let go.
Charlot plummeted from the sky, nearly losing his soul. Fortunately, he activated Bloodfire Transfiguration just in time to cushion his fall before hitting the ocean’s surface. A massive wave swept him dozens of meters deep into the sea.
Hurriedly, Charlot reverted to his human form and activated Swiftstep Technique to rise back to the surface.
Above him, the three Saint-ranked combatants had already begun their clash. He exhaled deeply and chose to drift with the waves instead of running across the surface.
With two “enemy” Saint ranks in the sky, any stray attack would likely spell his end. Exposing himself unnecessarily was out of the question.
Charlot oriented himself, estimating the distance to his destination, and swam towards Goring Island, reasoning that it was likely the nearest landmass.
Exhausted from a recent fierce battle, Charlot moved at a leisurely pace. While slowly recovering his Blood Glory, he made his way toward Goring Island. Soon, the aerial battle among the Saint ranks and the warships on the horizon disappeared from view.
Relieved to have regained some semblance of freedom, Charlot suddenly noticed a massive shadow rising from beneath him. Alarm bells rang in his mind as he quickly swam to the side. Moments later, a giant whale broke through the surface, leaping into the air.
This whale, an enormous creature surpassing any lifeform on Earth, measured seventy meters in length—like a small mountain—and plunged back into the sea, creating waves as high as several stories.
Charlot, tossed about like a grain of coffee in a violently stirred cup, was flung into the air by the waves before crashing back into the water. For the first time, he realized how insignificant even a Transcendent could be against the overwhelming force of nature.
After its dive, the massive whale flicked its tail, sending Charlot flying once again. He landed beside the creature, drew his Unicorn Griffon, and prepared to strike, but the whale turned, its enormous eye—larger than his entire body—locking onto him.
Charlot hesitated and sheathed the Unicorn Griffon. To his surprise, the whale’s eye seemed to glimmer with amusement.
The whale extended a fin, appearing to invite him. After a moment’s hesitation, Charlot jumped onto the whale’s back.
To his astonishment, the whale neither dove nor leapt but instead swam steadily in a particular direction.
Charlot found the situation increasingly odd. He gazed around at the clear skies, the beautiful blue sea, and the idyllic scenery. Yet, every detail seemed laced with strangeness.
Having no other options, he decided to adapt to the situation as it unfolded.
Removing his soaked clothes piece by piece, Charlot wrung them dry before putting them back on. Without Julian Arsilo to prepare dry clothes for him, he could only improvise.
In the martial arts novels of Earth, masters could use internal energy to dry their clothes—a common skill. However, in the Old Continent, very few Transcendents could achieve such precise control.
Charlot knew he couldn’t manage it either. His Blood Glory lacked heat, and while Bloodfire Aura could ignite his clothes, using it to dry them without burning them was an art far beyond his ability.
For hours, Charlot practiced atop the mysterious whale, eventually restoring his Blood Glory to near-full strength. Confidence renewed, he shouted, “Old buddy, what’s your name?”
The whale let out a resonant sound, almost like singing, but Charlot couldn’t understand a word of its “language.” Shrugging helplessly, he said, “Sorry, I don’t understand!”
Irritated by his “stupidity,” the whale sprayed a jet of water at him.
Charlot, relying on his agility, dodged most of it but still got his freshly wrung clothes wet again.
Deciding not to provoke the whale further, he waited patiently. Whatever the whale’s origins or intentions, Charlot figured he would eventually learn its purpose.
It couldn’t have brought him along to eat him, could it?
Charlot felt oddly confident. Whether or not he tasted good, he was sure he didn’t weigh enough to make it worthwhile.