novelraw Chapter 58: Port Crete
Chapter 58: Port Crete
By last night, the wound had already healed almost completely. Fischer had only told Raphaëlle otherwise to lure her into complacency, then catch her off guard when she realized something was amiss. It must be said, the physical enhancements and reproductive capabilities granted by the Demi-Human Girl Completion Handbook were truly formidable—this much was evident from last night's simple incident.
Fischer's carriage contained spatial magic, making the rooms soundproof. Otherwise, with just a wall separating them, Mir and Larr wouldn't have looked so unbothered this morning.
Early the next day, after packing up, Fischer prepared to head north toward Port Crete.
The well-rested carriage sped across the wilderness after leaving the forest. Within half a day, Fischer could already glimpse traces of the war between Schwalli and the demi-humans in the distance.
Schwalli, also known as the "Land of the Sun," excelled in close combat before the technological revolution.
Centuries ago, during their war with Nary, they reached the Nary capital three times—an event historically known as the "Goderin Disgrace." The Goderin surname belonged to the Nary royal family, bestowed by the Grand Pontiff of Cardo when the ancient Nary Emperor marched eastward at the height of his power. It meant "Divine Decree," symbolizing his authority across the continent.
Yet centuries later, his descendants were repeatedly driven to the coastal fringes by Schwalli's Sun Knights, forced to play hide-and-seek in their own territory while abandoning their wives and children. This alone spoke volumes about Schwalli's ferocity at the time.
Thus, Schwalli came to revere martial prowess and authority, forming a unique centralized political system where the parliament was largely nominal, and power rested firmly with the king and a few major clans.
Oh, and incidentally, this was probably why their nobility had a penchant for male companionship.
At least, that was Fischer's theory—one he hadn't published for fear of backlash from Schwalli scholars.Since the technological revolution, Schwalli had gone all-in on explosives research. Their artillery was the most devastating in the western continent, with specialized bombs for different structures and groups. Their firearms and naval technology, however, lagged far behind. They leveraged their ancestral close-combat strengths by bombarding enemy positions first, then charging in for melee once formations broke.
Sometimes, they even advanced under their own bombardment, leaving no time for the enemy to react.
The same tactics were used against the demi-humans. Though unofficial, the approach remained unchanged—no wonder Raphaëlle had heard such intense cannon fire that night.
The wilderness ahead was littered with craters over two meters deep, strewn with the corpses of goblins, centaurs, and satyrs, some intact, others not. A few fallen Schwalli soldiers in red uniforms lay among them, each surrounded by multiple demi-human bodies.
The outcome was clear at a glance: the demi-humans had lost.
The carriage door behind Fischer remained open, allowing Raphaëlle to silently take in the scene—even the lingering gunpowder scent. Her expression didn't change, but she committed the sight to memory.
This seemed to be the final battlefield between humans and demi-humans. After crushing the remaining forces, the Schwalli soldiers had withdrawn into the forest—likely toward the gold mines they sought.
Thus, Fischer's group encountered neither humans nor surviving demi-humans, passing safely through the wilderness.
After another day's travel, the area could no longer strictly be called wilderness, as frequent wagon traffic had carved visible paths through the grass. Soon, they crossed paths with several wagons—two from Nary, one from Schwalli—all likely recent arrivals to the southern continent.
Fischer tugged the reins as a vast lavender field came into view. Half-person-high lavender swayed in the wind, covering the hillside in a breathtaking display. The sea breeze carried its fragrance, mingling with distant waves and steamship whistles.
From this vantage point, the coastal structures of steel and brick were clearly visible. Massive steam liners docked at the port, their chimneys spewing black smoke.
They had arrived: Port Crete.
Fischer's gaze flickered, but he didn't proceed further. Instead, he parked the carriage at the edge of the lavender field and stepped inside.
Raphaëlle sat near the stairs, studying the carriage interior. Larr munched bread beside Mir, brightening upon seeing Fischer. Fassil and Cachil remained their usual aloof selves, though without their usual wariness—just reluctant to speak.
"I'm going out for air."
Once Fischer entered, Raphaëlle stood and exited without another word.
"Fischer, I ate your bread! Hehe."
"Go ahead."
He patted her head, then turned to Mir.
"The fourth door isn't locked. Supplies are inside—you already know where the utensils are."
"Huh? Wh-why are you telling me this?" Mir nodded instinctively, confused by the sudden instructions.
"Rest here for now."
Fischer retreated to his room and shut the door. Minutes later, he emerged carrying a folded saw cleaver and strode into the field.
Larr opened her mouth as if to follow, but Fassil and Cachil held her back.
"Larr, stay here."
"But—"
"I said stay."
"...Okay."
Pouting, Larr watched Fischer disappear with his weapon, her appetite gone as she leaned against Mir.
Outside, the lavender-scented wind greeted Fischer as he stepped down, tossing the cleaver into the grass. Ahead, Raphaëlle stood on the hillside, gazing at the distant port.
"That's... the steamship you mentioned?"
"Mm."
Fischer lit a cigarette.
"It doesn't look alive."
"I never said it was."
"..."
Raphaëlle fell silent, studying the massive vessel as it sounded its horn and powered away from shore. Wagons carrying humans from various nations—Nary, Schwalli, Cardo, even minor kingdoms—streamed into the wilderness.
They stood watching for a long while before Fischer tapped her shoulder.
"Promised you'd see a steamship. Satisfied?"
"...Mm."
Raphaëlle turned her emerald eyes toward him, inhaling deeply as her expression hardened.
"I still have one last assassination attempt, correct?"
Fischer exhaled smoke, nodding calmly.
"Correct."
"..."
Her scales began rising as crimson light flared from her twin horns. Steam radiated from her body, stirring the lavender around them.
"Your magic was depleted in Fieron City. Even if you've inscribed some these past few days, it can't compare to before... But this time, I'll give it everything."
Fischer stubbed out his cigarette and wordlessly retrieved the cleaver. His demeanor turned icy—the same coldness from their first meeting—as his Nary gentleman's suit accentuated his striking features.
*Human clothes only look good on him,* Raphaëlle mused.
Unaware, Fischer unfolded the cleaver, its silver-white engravings glowing faintly—newly inscribed magic.
The wind carried his voice through the lavender:
"Come, Raphaëlle."