Romanticist (4)
Humans of the Outland were, for the most part, broken. At least, every person Najin had t out there was that way. So writhed in pain from creeping erosion, others surrendered sothing precious so they would not feel that pain; so simply spiraled into madness. Each broke in a different fashion, until the land itself seed to demand their ruin.
“Ahhaha! Put your back into those oars. Row with vigor!”
That man—how would Najin put it? He glanced over at Anton, who was laughing as he pointed at the raging storm. The fellow was clearly not in his right mind, but he sohow didn’t feel damaged.
“They say he was already a Transcendent four hundred years ago, so he must be around five hundred now, and most of that ti was spent searching for a witch…” For all that, Anton Quixano looked unreasonably intact. There were no signs of erosion on him, and his abilities certainly hadn’t dulled. He was, without question, a Transcendent.
Each ti Anton dipped an oar, the waves smashed about.
Najin, rowing in ti beside him, could only sweat and gasp. “Could you… row… a little… slower…?”
“What? Are you tired already? Your voice is ragged!”
“Well, you are a Transcendent, but—”
“Can’t hear you. The current is loud, and the waves are louder. What good is a rower whose voice doesn’t carry?”
‘This lunatic…’ Grinding his teeth, Najin shouted while he worked the oar. “You may be a Transcendent, but I’m not!”
“Oh? I fail to see how that’s my problem. Keep up.”
‘Damn it, seriously.’ Najin swallowed the curses rising in his throat and kept rowing. At first, Anton matched his pace, but the mont Najin pierced a wave with Battle Ram, the man flashed a aningful grin and began rowing at full strength, as though to say, “Surely you can keep up, fledgling.”
“Huff… huff…” Panting, Najin pulled until his arms felt ready to tear apart. The small sailboat carrying them sliced through the current like an arrow loosed from a bow.
“It’s coming. Brace for impact!”
Ahead of them lood a whale with its jaws gaping. Najin had never seen a continental whale before, but he was fairly certain the creatures did not have such razor‑sharp, wicked teeth.
“Pick up the pace, rower!” Anton charged them straight at that wall of teeth without slowing.
“What are you trying to do!” Najin blanched.
“What do you an? I told you. We ram it.”
“This is a skiff, not a warship! Any sensible person knows we’ll shatter on contact!”
“Ah, right. I suppose.”
“Madman!” The crash of the waves swallowed their voices, so Najin had to scream. Still rowing, he hurled the spear he had been using as an oar to Anton.
“Oh, an extra oar. Splendid.”
“Row it yourself!”
With a crisp smack, Anton caught the thrown spear to hold an oar in each hand, and he once more dug into the water with enthusiasm.
As the sailboat surged ahead, Najin drew the sword at his waist.Balancing on the wildly bucking prow, he let his Sword Aura surge. Pale killing light trailed from the blade. Najin narrowed his eyes. The instant the whale’s savage teeth were about to tear the boat apart, he moved.
The whale’s fangs were shaved away by the aura, and the sailboat, still at full speed, shot into the creature’s open mouth. Najin had no desire whatsoever to tour the beast’s stomach.
“Ha!” Letting out a short breath, he swung again. The aura burst from the tip of his sword, mincing the whale’s inner flesh and even slicing through its outer hide. Perhaps not expecting its prey to carve it from within, the whale shrieked, but Najin paid it no mind.
Blood spewed like a fountain from the fresh hole that opened along the whale’s spine, and the sailboat burst back out into the open sea.
“Whhew. Felt like a tour through a cave.”
Seeing Anton pretend to wipe sweat from his brow while he caught his breath, Najin had to restrain the urge to plant a fist in that smug face. “Could we please find a slightly more normal thod? For once, think like sane n…”
“What is sanity, boy? Common sense is rely knowledge shared by most people, and you and I are not most people. We’re Transcendents, and we have our own ways.”
“I’m not a Transcendent.”
“A trivial distinction. You’re close enough; call yourself an honorary one. Don’t be chained by common sense, lad.”
Najin enjoyed breaking common sense as much as the next rebel, but beside a true madman, his own madness felt quite small. He shot rlin, who was cackling beside him, a sharp glare and sighed. ‘So that’s how we’re going to play.’
Running a wet hand through his hair, he tightened the cord, stretched, and reclaid the oar from Anton. “Listen here, Anton.”
“Address as your captain, rower.”
“Fine, Captain. So, Captain, you say we need not be bound by common sense, yes?”
“Indeed. At last, you understand .”
“Then we should even change how we row. What we’re doing now is the epito of ordinary rowing, isn’t it?”
“What are you talking about?” Anton tilted his head, but before he could ask, Najin stomped down hard on the aft deck.
The skiff lurched; Najin spun his spear in a clean circle and angled its tip toward the sea’s surface. “Hold tight.”
“Eh?”
Battle Ram.
Najin drove the spear straight into the water.
“Rower…”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I was wrong.”
“Good to know.”
Soaked like a drowned rat, Anton wrung out his clothes and raised the white flag. In the face of true insanity, even he had been defeated. “Save that technique for special occasions, like when we need to vault a reef dozens of ters tall. Actually, forget vaulting it—let’s just break it. I’ll break it.”
“I thought you liked adventure. Does flying not suit your tastes?”
“Look here. No human enjoys being catapulted scores of ters into the sky while clinging to a single sailboat!” The brief yet unforgettable flight wrought by Battle Ram had turned Anton’s face ghostly pale. It was a trial even Transcendents would avoid. “Very well. Let’s row leisurely for a while and chat as we did before. That will do.”
That was music to his ears. Najin kneaded his aching arms and began rowing slowly. “Captain, I have a question.”
“Oh? If you an the story about Lapis I left unfinished earlier—”
“Not that. When we first t, you called yourself the lover of the century, right?”
“But of course. There’s no greater romantic than I.”
“Then let ask the greatest romantic alive… what exactly is love?” It was a doubt that had long lurked within Najin. “I simply can’t grasp why people stake their lives and toss away pride and reason for it. Fairy tales and heroic sagas are full of that stuff.”
For love, they cast aside country, honor, pride, even belief. He could never fully sympathize. When such reckless acts were dressed up as noble, he understood even less. “From what I see in stories, it’s practically hypnosis. The mont people fall, they beco soone else. What is it?”
It might have been a naive question to be mocked, yet Anton pondered it seriously. He even paused his rowing, stroking his chin. “Ever been in love?”
“No.”
“Then you’ve never confessed. Has anyone confessed to you?”
“Once.”
“With that face, I’m surprised it was only once. Anyway… what is love, you ask? Interesting question.” A grin crept onto Anton’s lips. “Perhaps, as you say, love borders on hypnosis. The Tower’s proud geniuses turn into fools; knights colder than ice go silly before their beloved. It numbs judgnt, turns objectivity and logic to trivial toys, and fires even a frozen soul into blazing heat. That is love.”
“You an it makes you stupid?”
“Ah, not wrong, but calling it stupidity is dreadfully unpoetic, don’t you think?” Anton spread his arms. “So mock the lovestruck as foolish and clingy. I do the opposite.”
“The opposite?”
“I pity those who never taste this joy—those who’ve never felt true love.” He sang, “It makes your eyes see only one person, and everything else fades. Your heart hamrs so hard you fear it will burst, and every sense sharpens for that one person alone. Then you realize sothing.”
“What?” Najin asked.
“I can burn this intensely and be this passionate. That was when I first felt alive. My empty life gained aning in that instant.” Anton gripped the oar. “Life flowed again, a goal rose, and for her sake, there’s nothing I won’t do. A sea like this is nothing. Love is the greatest magic, boy—the primal, subli art that lets mortals achieve the impossible.” He rowed. “Even the Witch of Camlann, the mightiest sorceress alive, can’t deny that supre magic.”
So much vitality shone in Anton’s face that Najin began to understand why erosion had never touched him. Indeed, for soone so fiercely alive, erosion coming would be the stranger tale.
Najin laughed in disbelief and kept his oar moving. “I’d like to experience it too.”
“What? Love? I sincerely hope your day cos soon.” The lover of the century rowed on, steering across the endless sea for the sake of the woman who asked him to find her.
The voyage stretched on for days.
They rowed, hunted monsters, and shattered reefs when needed. Even the continent’s finest navigators would scream and turn back from the seas of the Outland, yet a Transcendent and an honorary Transcendent relied on a single small sailboat to cross it.
Not that it was easy for them.
“The boat. Flipped. Over! I told you again and again. Row slower!”
“Ahhahaha! Puh, pfft!”
They were flung into the water when the boat capsized.
“A true sailor must be able to cleave storms. Tell , my rower, doesn’t the title of the man who pierced a cyclone that fires lightning upward from below stir your heart? A sailor’s dream must be big.”
“Were you a sailor?”
“No, I was a noble. Why would I steer a ship?”
Najin gave him a blank stare. “I’m firing Battle Ram.”
“Wait, hold on—”
They literally jumped a cyclone that hurled lightning from sea to sky.
“Whale! Whale! Incoming! Dodge!”
“That’s a kraken, Captain.”
“Whatever. Dodge!”
They fought a kraken large enough to swallow a fortress, severing dozens of tentacles while the absurd yet grand adventure continued.
How long did they sail like that?
– There.
In the very center of a sea thick with fog…
– That is the place I spoke of.
Najin and Anton saw their destination. The mist was so heavy they could barely see ahead, yet faint shapes erged. In the middle of the endless waves floated a solitary island.
Though they said nothing, both n’s gazes rose. They stared at a structure built upon the island—a spire that seed to pierce the heavens.
rlin pointed.
– That’s the tower raised by the Witch of Camlann, built to punish the guilty. It’s the prison of exiled witches.
The Black Spire lay ahead.
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