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Admiral Bryce’s Autobiography, 20 P.C.
Francis hoped the night would be a quiet one, but life dictated otherwise.
“A bountiful harvest that must have been,” a random man said as Francis entered an alley. “Would be a shame if it wasn’t shared.”
What’s up with everyone speaking like it’s the Magna Carta?
Unsurprisingly, the strangers occupied both ends, trapping him in place.
Francis’ first instinct was to play them for fools before beating them to a pulp, but he thought better of it. The last thing he needed was half a dozen lead balls to the head.
The dark only worsened the predicament; he couldn’t see what they held. And even if Premonition was on his side, it would only generate unnecessary ripples.
“So much for keeping a low profile,” he mumbled.
“What was that?” the man said, apparently displeased by being ignored.
Wasting no time, Francis activated Intimidation, stunning the men on both ends.
One puked.
One dropped to his knees.
The last two fainted.
He rushed to the conscious ones, using Liquidation. A few quick dagger stabs later, they were left bleeding on the floor.
Francis then ran to the ones already down. It was for naught; their hearts had already stopped beating.
The realization gave way to discomfort. He had subjected his whole town to such a power, more than once. It was a miracle none of them had died in such a manner.
No wonder Valeria was very strict with me.
After confirming all the assailants were dead, Francis walked out of the alley inconspicuously, hoping no one would investigate further.
The way he had killed them was equally unsettling. It wasn’t a fight. It was an execution. One that couldn’t be avoided, as the last thing he needed was the town knowing he was a Dominion Acolyte.
Still, the only reason he had ended up in this situation was protecting a secret he never chose, one the sea enforced on a whim.
Francis hastened his pace, intending to reach his room as fast as he could. An alibi was highly unlikely to be needed, but one could never be too cautious.
He couldn’t tell if it had been five minutes or fifteen, but he made it to the bar without incident.
The peace didn’t last. The patrons immediately turned to stare at him.
This time, it wasn’t confusion.
It was reluctance. The kind a deer shows the moment it spots a tiger.
Serves me right for choosing a bar full of intel merchants as my home.
It didn’t bother him much. Being underestimated was far more troublesome than being feared. He took a seat near Bertrand without a care in the world.
“Someone became famous,” the bartender said playfully.
“What for?” Francis asked, equally amused.
“Being involved in the flashiest fight since Read chose this dump as his playground.”
He nearly asked who Read was before remembering the town was practically his. Worse, it was a piece of information he had learned only days ago.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
I’m really stressed out, huh?
“What can I say? I like leaving an impression.”
“Quite the understatement,” Leonie said as she sat next to him, causing her brother to nearly gasp.
“What are you doing here?” Bertrand hissed.
“I live here, in case you forgot,” she said, mockingly.
“You know what I mean!”
In fairness, Leonie had a point, especially since Bertrand emphasized the bar being safe. The overcaution was rather cute, even if Francis didn’t dare mention it—lest he find himself without a roof.
Then I’d get ambushed by Xavier.
Paradoxically, not seeing the old man that day was even more unsettling than seeing him. He made himself a staple in Francis’ life, yet he didn’t complain; the unsettling man could drown for all he cared.
Assuming he didn’t already.
“Relax! For how long are you going to cradle me like I’m five?” Leonie said, her tone betraying annoyance. “Besides, Master Arsonist packs quite the punch.”
Bertrand seemed to have more to say, but he gave up, undoubtedly refusing to go into something so intimate in front of Francis.
“Suit yourself,” he finally said with a sigh. “What can I get you, Yves?”
Leonie’s appearance nearly made him forget why he had gone to Bertrand. Then he pulled out a few dozen silver coins and handed them over. “I trust you know who to give this to.”
Bertrand merely nodded before pocketing the silver, undoubtedly pleased by the commission.
If Francis was honest, he could spend the rest of his life in such a town. It was no London or Havana, but that wasn’t necessarily bad. The last few days only highlighted the danger those cities possessed.
The port wasn’t remote; it had its own garrison to shield citizens from pirate raids or forced recruitment by the Royal Navy.
“I wonder,” he said, immediately drawing the attention of Bertrand and Leonie, “why is it called the Royal Navy and not the English Royal Navy? Are other navies less royal? Or are they less… navy?”
That was horrible.
Leonie fell out of her stool from laughter, causing a scene.
“Are you drunk?” Bertrand asked, facepalming.
“That was good!” Leonie said, wheezing.
It was mostly a valid question. Iberia was a monarchy, as were France and most nations he knew. Why claim the royal title?
Bertrand seemed to have the answer.
“Because they’re under the direct control of the king, while the rest is dictated by parliament.”
“So England is practically a… naval dictatorship?”
“What is this? Ancient Rome?” Bertrand said indignantly. “No. You can’t be a dictatorship and a monarchy at once.”
All the politics must have alienated Leonie, but running her mouth was her specialty.
“So what is the Iberian navy called?” she asked, finally recovering from her laughter.
“The Iberian Grand Fleet.”
“Fancy,” Francis remarked. Leonie agreed.
“You two are birds of a feather,” Bertrand said with a sigh.
And you, my dear sir, remind me of myself a month ago.
Alley murder aside, the day was… pleasant. These people were neither Submerged nor pirates, and they didn’t have to be.
Such a mundane existence would have appalled Francis before, but now it was the only thing he longed for.
Alas, it wasn’t the same anymore.
“Navies that are less… navy aside,” Leonie said, nearly losing it again. “I have something to discuss with you, Yves.”
That genuinely surprised him. She seemed only to be there for laughs, yet here she was, discussing business. He vowed to stop underestimating people after what happened with Camila. Leonie outperformed regardless.
“By all means, esteemed partner,” Francis said, matching her humor, which earned a groan from Bertrand.
“A client paid me to investigate a certain tower on the outskirts of town,” she explained. “It reportedly has a… morbid effect on its surroundings.”
Submerged.
“Tell me more,” Francis asked, keeping the one-second deduction to himself.
“Well, whenever people draw near, they fall ill,” she added, with a mixed expression. “At times, they even get something incurable and die.”
“Why hasn’t the government addressed it already?” Francis asked, genuinely perplexed. A matter related to the Submerged was never left to collect dust, especially when ripples existed.
“It happened less than a week ago,” Leonie explained. “Most Submerged around here aren’t… capable enough to investigate such an incident.”
The subtext was flattering, but Francis wasn’t the type to throw his life away for a muse’s cheers. He sacrificed it for alleged artifacts.
“Any idea about the reward?” he asked.
“The client left quite a lot to the imagination, but promised a thousand silver,” she said, voice low.
“Come again?”
“Exactly what you heard.”
Calling Francis baffled would have been an understatement. The reward was more than double the Dirty Fang bounty, yet all it took was a simple investigation.
It could be a Submerged in hiding, a plague, or buried treasure. But it didn’t matter—not when he could pocket almost 700 silver in one day.
“Deal,” he said calmly, head still in turmoil.
Leonie should have looked excited. Instead, she seemed alarmed.
“Will you be okay?”
He remembered the Rejuvenation ring he had crafted. He was going to be okay. Better than ever, in fact.
Still, he had to invoke Saint Agnes for good measure.
“If it goes smoothly, you’ll be getting 400 instead,” he replied, which seemed to calm her.
“Careful now,” Leonie said teasingly. “All the generosity might make me think you like me.”
“Kill me,” Bertrand said in the background.
The comment made Francis realize his behavior did indicate that, especially since he specifically chose her because he wanted her close more often. And, if he was honest, she was oddly… charming.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, my dear,” he said theatrically. “It is but goodwill on my behalf.”
Leonie snorted. “Very well, Master Charitable. Your excellent character is most commendable indeed.”
She then handed an ornate parchment. “Jokes aside, read this carefully. I wouldn’t want you to die because of my assignment.”
“You’ll be a rich woman in no time,” Francis replied playfully.
He patted her on the back, bid the two farewell, and went upstairs.
Orange Town’s peace was in jeopardy, and he had to do something about it.