CHAPTER 90: TO THE WINTER REGION [I]

Azel had spent three more days in Rochel City.

The days had blurred into a rhythm that was both strange and comforting.

In the daylight hours he divided himself between Edna’s quiet grace and Medusa’s sharp humor, and even little Lillia often demanded to be carried on his shoulders, giggling as if the world itself bent for her joy.

At night, however, when the city slept, he found himself drawn into the Plane of Light, where the goddess Nyala waited.

It was tiring a bit but it took a day to get used to it.

Those nights were filled with lessons and mischief.

She drilled him endlessly on aura, mana, and the delicate balance between the two, her divine hands guiding his until he could feel every current within himself.

Yet she also laughed easily, poked fun at his stubbornness, and made him build sandcastles like a child beneath the golden skies of her realm.

On the beach of the plane, they had perhaps built over a hundred sand castles or more.

Now, after three days of this dual life, they were leaving.

The ferry swayed gently as it cut across the wide expanse of sea, heading north toward the Winter Region.

Azel stood at the railing, his hands braced against the cold iron stand as the spray of salt kissed his face.

He had never been on a ferry in his past life so this was just beautiful.

"At least Steven and the others were kind enough to see us off," he muttered.

Except Rain of course, she had made it a habit to avoid him completely.

The waters stretched endlessly before him, their depths far darker and more treacherous than the lands he had crossed.

Unlike the main cities and even some of the other Empires, the Winter Region was not bound to the network of teleportation gates.

No gleaming arches bridged this path — no shortcut, no safe passage.

The only way forward was by sea, a gauntlet where monsters lurked beneath the waves, waiting for an unwary ship.

The Winter Region was an exile in its own right, much like the lands of the elves.

If one wanted to reach it, one had to earn the right to set foot upon its frozen shores.

Azel exhaled slowly, his breath curling white in the air.

The winds were already getting cold which meant that they were close to the region of cold.

The ship had sailed halfway there, and the shift was unmistakable.

"Well," he murmured, "this should be profitable."

If they were lucky — or unlucky enough to encounter a magical beast, he could test his strength.

It had taken patience and pain, but at last he had achieved what Nyala demanded: complete control.

Aura and mana no longer clashed recklessly in his veins.

He could now split them, weave them, or combine them into devastating harmony.

The thought made his fingers itch.

[Hehe~ The sea is so beautiful.]

Azel’s eye twitched.

He nearly rolled his eyes but caught himself — after all, anyone watching would only see a young man staring out at the waves, not hearing a goddess giggling in his head.

He’d almost forgotten that he had given Nyala the ability to see and feel through his senses.

Taste, touch, sight — all of it flowed to her.

She could not take his body unless he allowed it, but her presence was... constant.

"Beautiful, sure," Azel muttered under his breath, "if you ignore everything lurking underneath."

[You’re no fun, darling~ What’s the worst that could happen?]

Azel grimaced. "Don’t—"

But before he could finish, the world itself seemed to answer her mischief.

The air grew colder, sharp enough to sting his lungs.

The sea before the ferry began to tremble, parting unnaturally as if an unseen force commanded the waters.

Slowly and terrifyingly, something vast rose from the abyss.

A head broke the surface first, scaled like blackened steel, each plate glistening with an oily sheen that no sunlight could soften.

Golden eyes like twin lighthouses blazed as the creature loomed higher, and higher still, until its massive body seemed to blot out the horizon.

Tentacles as thick as the ship’s masts writhed and slammed against the waves, spraying salt like rain.

A Kraken, a Rank 3 Monster.

But not the fragile myths of sailors like on Earth.

This was a beast armored in scales harder than iron, with a shell-like crown protecting its skull and barbed suckers that gleamed like rows of knives.

Azel’s stomach tightened. "Shit."

He ran a hand down his face. "Stop jinxing things."

Nyala laughed sweetly in his ear.

[You say that like you can’t use my blessing.]

"And you’re saying that like I didn’t hire people from the church." His voice dropped, almost a growl.

His hand found the hilt of his sword.

Rochel had been a holy city, a place where the Church’s light dominated every street.

It had no Guild and no mercenary market.

If he wanted fighters, he had to rely on the Church’s own.

So, for this voyage, Steven had secured two Executioners to accompany them, even though he said he could do it alone, Steven said it was better to be safe than sorry..

Executioners was a position lower in station than Saints or Saintesses, but still formidable warriors blessed with the Church’s holy authority.

At least, in theory.

Azel’s gaze flicked toward them now.

One Executioner hefted a double-headed axe, its edge glowing faintly with sacred light.

The other unraveled a length of chain weapon, barbed links sparking as holy power rippled across its length.

Around them, the ferry’s ordinary crew had scattered — some running below deck, others praying frantically.

And Edna, Medusa and Lillia were inside the confines of the ship.

’Executioners,’ Azel thought. ’Let’s hope they’re worth the trouble. Because the last thing I need is for anyone to see the goddess’s mark on me.’

He gritted his teeth.

Rain had already made too much of a fuss over it.

He couldn’t afford more eyes, especially from the church folk.

The two Executioners shouted a battle cry and leapt from the ferry, their forms trailing light as they dove toward the Kraken’s massive head.

For a moment, it looked like bravery.

But then the ocean darkened.

A shadow fell across the deck.

Azel looked up.

The Kraken’s tail which was wide and thick, came crashing down sideways.

The strike was so sudden, so colossal, that the Executioners had no time to react.

They were swatted from the air like flies, their glowing bodies smashed into the sea with an echoing crack that split the waves apart.

A burst of water drenched the deck.

The ship rocked violently.

Men screamed.

Azel blinked.

His grip tightened on his hilt.

"...Really?"

Were they truly that useless?