CHAPTER 516: 518. DOCKING

That night, Lann and Cassandra each drank an entire amphora of wine.

Lann’s extraordinary metabolism left him unfazed, but Cassandra was already a bit tipsy.

It seemed the power within her didn’t grant her resistance to alcohol.

When Cassandra was with Lann, the cheerfulness and carefree spirit she showed on the deck during the day vanished.

"Do you, hic... do you understand how I feel right now, Lann?"

Like anyone drunk, Cassandra placed one hand on Lann’s shoulder, drawing her face close to his.

And with her other hand, she thumped her chest, as if she desperately wished for her inner turmoil to be laid bare.

"Yeah, I understand somewhat."

The Demon Hunter could even feel her gentle breath against him, alcohol mingling with the fragrance of her hair, not at all unpleasant.

"You didn’t kill your adoptive father, so you’re relieved, thankful you weren’t consumed by anger. Yet, the hardships of your past aren’t so easy to let go, and you regret not taking action at the time... ha, just imagining that state of mind is enough to give anyone a headache."

"So there’s not much I can do, except drink with you."

As Cassandra listened to the person beside her analyze her emotions, she stared blankly at Lann’s profile.

Unexpectedly, she felt a strange warmth, as if being understood was truly wonderful.

"I can’t show my struggles to Phoebe because she always looks up to me; I don’t want her to see me weak like this."

"I can’t be honest about my depression with Barnabas either, since he’s the ship’s quartermaster, the direct contact with the crew. If I show hesitation in front of him, the crew would also lose their courage and decisiveness."

"It’s only in front of you that I can be like this..."

Seemingly seeking a more comfortable position, Cassandra leaned her face against Lann’s shoulder and snuggled in.

The Demon Hunter merely glanced down at the now-empty ceramic amphora in his hand.

"Take a good rest, Cassandra."

"Even if it’s just for tonight."

-----------------

It was the sweltering season of June, and the small harbor town named Kira was unbearably hot. The dazzling reflections from the sea were blinding, and the pale inland mountains were even more glaring under the sunlight.

The paths crisscrossing the hills were filled with Pilgrims hiking, all heading to Delphi to visit the renowned local resident—the famous Pythia of Greece, the Oracle and keeper of Apollo’s wisdom.

Merchants shouted, trying to sell their "sacred" statues and various trinkets to all passersby. Local children jumped between boats, selling cool drinks to thirsty travelers.

A litter, draped with gold curtains, like a small boat sailing against the current, passed through the private docking area crowd. The owner of the litter was a slightly famous local wealthy merchant—Erpinuo.

In his thin hands, he was weighing a bulging money pouch up and down.

This was his ’bone’ to toss to the hooligans at the harbor, ensuring those cunning mutts would properly execute a task for him.

He planned to put ’small holes’ in Draco’s ship.

Since childhood, Draco had been his best friend, with Draco’s wife and daughter affectionately calling him "Uncle." In earlier days, Draco’s family was so poor that they almost had to beg on the streets. During that time, Erpinuo immensely enjoyed taking a few Drachma from his earnings to help his friend’s family.

But now, Draco had developed his business quite well. He discovered a place abundant with sea bream and improved his life with it, claiming he no longer needed his good friend’s help.

Ordinary people would truly feel happy for their friend’s fortune.

After all, no matter how lucky Draco got, he wouldn’t surpass Erpinuo financially, so Erpinuo shouldn’t even have the common sentiment of envy.

However, Erpinuo wasn’t an ordinary person.

He detested those who deprived him of his pleasure, so he decided to let Draco perish among his sea bream.

After passing through a maze of narrow alleys, the litter with gold curtains finally reached the town’s edge. They passed through an iron gate and entered his estate.

Meanwhile, at the bustling, noisy port, a ship with three rows of oars but slightly smaller than a regular navy warship docked.

Onboard the Adrestia, Phoebe stood with one foot on the mast of the ship’s sail, effortlessly maintaining her balance among the waves.

In her hand, she juggled three apples like a performer.

"Want me to throw you an apple, Cassandra? Lann?"

Children always eagerly show off after learning a new trick.

"No, Phoebe. Those three apples are almost polished smooth by your hands; I don’t want to eat them at all."

Without looking up, Cassandra shouted.

"Me neither."

Lann chimed in, politely declining.

Barnabas earnestly directed the crew to dock the ship steadily; on the ship, only this old captain had that skill.

The sailors onboard sang sea shanties of the Aegean.

Among these grand, coarse, or melancholic tunes, sharp sounds of whetstones sharpening blades occasionally pierced the air.

Harsh and cold.

Cassandra was using a whetstone on a Spartan Battle Blade.

That was also the [Blood Wolf]’s sword.

Its shape resembled an enlarged Gurkha Curved Knife, with significant weight at the blade’s tip boosting its cutting power, while the handle was a gold-colored wolf head wrapped in blood-red twine.

Though simple, it’s a Divine Artifact meant to boost cutting power, deadly in the right hands.

This time, they were after Erpinuo, and Cassandra’s demeanor indicated that she and Lann never intended to ’negotiate peacefully’.

"Why not use the Prometheus Short Scimitar?"

The Divine-made Armor crafted by the Lady of the Lake didn’t need sharpening, so the Demon Hunter could leisurely watch Cassandra work with arms folded.

The Prometheus Short Scimitar was the name Cassandra gave to the blade that amplified fire powers.

"This blade was used for a long time by Nikolaos, so its power is nearly depleted, right?"

"... Becoming a Mercenary for long makes one thriftier; I habitually use those about to break first."

Cassandra paused for a moment, then candidly voiced her reason.

"It’s because you gave it to me, and I want to keep it."

"Wow..."*2

Barnabas, who was directing the ship’s docking, and Mentos in Lann’s mind both exclaimed in awe.

Barnabas, his eyes on children playing with a ball ashore, added one last comment.

"What a magnificent straight shot! This lad ought to join the Olympic someday!"