The silver-armored priest swiftly strode through the corridor of the second-deck cabins. The ship rocked gently beneath his feet, but his steps were as steady as a mountain.
He first stopped by the captain's cabin to retrieve a navigational log, then headed back up the stairs toward the upper deck.
When he stepped out onto the deck once more, the scene was just as calm as when he had left it; a group of priests clad in silver robes were keeping watch over the bound crewmen.
The priests all turned their gazes toward the silver-armored priest at the same time, awaiting their leader's command.
Evidently, no battle had occurred—or there had been enemies, but they were so weak that the silver-armored priest had dealt with them without having to lift much of a finger.
In a corner of the deck, Viscount Francis was closely guarded by several silver-robed priests. His expression remained calm, even aloof.
Judging from his slightly furrowed brow, whether he compromised or not, his attitude toward these cultists would never change.
The silver-armored priest glanced at Viscount Francis and walked up to him. Their eyes met in an instant, and the air seemed to freeze. Tensely watching everything unfold, the crewmen could not help swallowing hard; their lives and fates might well be decided in the very next second.
The chill in Viscount Francis's eyes grew even heavier. He knew the silver-armored priest had merely searched the captain's cabin and retrieved their logbook.
Although he had no idea what use they had for it, Viscount Francis knew only that whatever greedy demands they were about to make would not change in the slightest.
Just then.
The silver-armored priest suddenly produced another document. He cross-referenced the logbook with the document for a moment, then said to the silver-robed priests beside him, "Untie them."
Everyone was stunned by this abrupt command. Then, after a brief hesitation, the silver-robed priests obeyed the silver-armored priest's order and untied the crewmen's ropes.
"Viscount Francis, today was actually just an unauthorized counter-terrorism drill organized by us. We frightened you, and I apologize."
The silver-armored priest bowed to Francis in apology.
"Are you threatening me?" Viscount Francis said after a moment of silence.
He suspected he had not quite caught the underworld jargon the man was using.
"Not at all. We never threaten people. I merely wished to use action to remind Your Lordship that someone out there wanted this incident to be real. Had I approached you directly to inform you, I doubt you would have calmly believed what I had to say. Our methods may have been a bit drastic, so I ask for your understanding."
The silver-armored priest handed a sailing itinerary along with the open logbook to Viscount Francis. It seemed he had only gone to confirm one specific thing just now.
Viscount Francis glanced at the contents of the document and instantly had a clear idea of where this sailing itinerary exposing his travel schedule had come from.
He also knew who in the city had provided this itinerary in an attempt to harm him.
"Earlier, I was not sure whether this could serve as incriminating evidence. Now that I have verified it, I can rest easy presenting it to you as a gift. Consider it a token of our sincerity," the silver-armored priest said with a smile.
"...I will not mistake this for goodwill on your part."
Viscount Francis had no idea what sinister scheme they were playing at.
Yet this itinerary was indeed substantial enough to serve as evidence before the provincial court.
"It does not matter. You shall soon see our brand-new look. This is only the beginning."
Leaving behind those words, the silver-armored priest bid the viscount farewell and departed with the rest of the silver-robed cultists.
"..."
Viscount Francis was left standing on the deck, somewhat dazed.
The crewmen embraced and cheered as if spared from the jaws of death, but Viscount Francis was unable to relax his tense nerves for a long time.
"Lord Francis, I am deeply sorry," the guard said, coming to his side with guilt written all over his face.
"It was not your fault. These cultists were too strong. It was I who nearly dragged you down."
Viscount Francis leaned on his cane, his lower back feeling somewhat stiff.
He could not comprehend what these Resurrection Church cultists were up to.
Was it truly as the man had claimed—just a drill?
Or was it... that an expert had secretly helped him?
Viscount Francis shook his head, pulled out his cigarette case, and lit a cigarette.
...
The merchant ship sailed across the calm sea for several more hours.
Around five o'clock in the afternoon.
The sky began to be painted in magnificent colors by the sunset glow—pale orange, violet, and soft pink interwoven—as the sun slowly sank, leaving behind a final streak of golden afterglow on the horizon.
The sea, softened by the sunset glow, sparkled as though inlaid with countless diamonds.
The ship's paint had peeled a little, looking somewhat weathered by time, yet that only added a touch of vintage charm. The sailors on board finally looked as though their workday was coming to an end, gazing in relaxation at the distant coastline.
The merchant ship was slowly drawing near the docks of a quiet town.
Inside the spacious cabin.
Since Lanqi had virtually no luggage, upon receiving a friendly reminder from a crewman, he promptly left his guest room and walked along the corridor to the exit where they would soon descend the gangway onto the docks.
Viscount Francis, along with his secretary and guard, was already waiting there.
After Lanqi offered his greetings, Viscount Francis remained as unassuming as ever, inviting Lanqi to accompany him back to the lord's manor for dinner shortly.
"Stay in our guest room at the lord's manor tonight," Viscount Francis said, leaning on his cane.
Tutors hired from out of town had previously received the same accommodation in the guest rooms.
However, most of them had left after staying only a few days.
Some tutors, driven to desperation, had even attempted to discipline Zestira with corporal punishment and raised their hands against her, only to end up suffering burns or being electrocuted unconscious and carted off to the doctor.
This brown-haired, green-eyed youth looked exceptionally gentle; at the very least, he shouldn't be provoked to anger by his daughter, leading to a clash that ended in injury.
"Thank you, Lord Viscount," Lanqi thanked him with a smile.
"Mr. Luoqi, did you know what happened on the ship earlier?" Viscount Francis asked after a moment of silence, glancing at Lanqi beside him.
"The ship stopped for a while this morning, but nothing seemed to happen," Lanqi replied as he recalled his experience in the guest room.
Although Boss Cat had used psychokinetic magic to float outside the window up to the edge of the deck level to see what was going on the moment the ship stopped, Lanqi had chosen to use the [Long Live Friendship Bug] to transmit a message summoning the silver-armored priest below only after hearing Boss Cat say the situation was not so urgent—rather than directly using [Wonderful Notes] to turn the entire ship into a ghost ship and personally stepping forward right away to rescue the viscount.
"I see."
Seeing Lanqi's naturally innocent and oblivious look, Viscount Francis quickly dismissed his doubts.
He truly was getting old and overthinking things.
It couldn't possibly be that the silver-armored priest had harbored malicious intent at first, only to be moved and reformed by a conversation with this youth after descending below deck.
Rather than imagining such absurdities, he would be better off praying to the Goddess that this scholar from the Southern Continent could tolerate his rebellious daughter even a little bit.
Chapter 245