The waves of the Southern Ocean at night continued their relentless surge, and if you were standing on the Iceberg Queen, which had slowed its pace, you would be fortunate enough to behold a rare spectacle in this world, a vision that endlessly revolved in the dreams of countless navigators.
In the distance, where the sky met the ocean, each rising and falling wave seemed to be laden with innumerable stories. The moon, hanging in the sky, gradually skewed, casting countless bright, blurry semicircles upon the uneven sea surface. It was as if numerous mirrors were laid out upon the waves, each reflecting a world of its own.
And on deck, Fisher, clad in a white shirt, leaned on the railing, privileged to be one of the few witnesses to this exceptional scene.
The chef aboard the Iceberg Queen was quite skilled, preparing top-tier cuisine from the Northern Realm that left Fisher with the rare satisfaction of a full meal, earning praise from everyone else as well. Later inquiries revealed that this ship’s chef had once been the head cook in Alagina’s palace.
Fisher realized that since Alagina had murdered her mother and defected from the Sardinia Female Country, she had brought quite the entourage. Surprisingly, all the unassuming sailors on board turned out to be competent officials from her Eastern Palace—no wonder these women had never failed in their years of piracy on the high seas; their strength was well assured.
After dinner, Renie and Isabella went back to their rooms to rest and did not come out again. Old Jack, fearing Karma Holly and her companions might stir up trouble again, took the three little Mouse Ladies—who also wanted to argue with the Steel Blade Parrot—back to their room. Only Fisher took one of Old Jack’s old white bartender shirts, seizing the perfect moonlit night to take a stroll and ease the pressure in his heart.
Leaning against the deck railing by the moonlight, he pulled out a water-stained photograph from his pocket.
The black-and-white photo depicted the interior of Fisher’s rented room in Saint Nali, centered on his usual workbench, yet at this moment, it lacked the presence of Hart, the purple lark.
The photograph had been left by Renie as a means to contact her. Through it, Fisher could call out to her from afar, even if she was miles away. However, since she had left Saint Nali, the lark in the picture had disappeared without a trace.
Although Renie had told him she would be too busy to stay in touch for a while, several months had passed since she departed Saint Nali, so Fisher couldn’t help but worry if she had met with an accident or faced some danger.
Under the moonlight, Fisher gazed at the photo for a long time before reluctantly tucking it back into his pocket. Just as he did, an annoying, quacking voice landed on his shoulder,
"Pining for another sweetheart again?"
Fisher glanced sideways at Emhardt, who had appeared beside him at some point,
"What do you mean ’another sweetheart’?"
"Heh, after spending some time with you, the great Emhardt has come to thoroughly understand your nature. While the pursuit of beautiful ladies by brave males is always an admired tale widely told, even found in many of the books I’ve read, those men who pursued the most and were most greedy never ended up well. In fact, one could even say their ends were quite tragic. In my eyes, you are just such a person."
Hearing those words, Fisher raised an eyebrow, while Emhardt continued,
"Love is a double-edged sword, both sweet and bitter, for anyone. Numerous people even relish paying back an entire lifetime’s bitterness for those fleeting moments of sweetness... Think about it from another angle—imagine if a Lady involved with you discovered you had liaisons with other women. If her feelings were shallow, of course, she could curse you and then leave. But what if she were deeper in her affections, more determined, and unwilling to let go... Tsk, tsk, that would be quite interesting, wouldn’t it?"
"I’ve only been with you a short while and have already encountered plenty, I don’t even dare to think about what comes next... Don’t get me wrong, I am just worried about being killed by those frenzied Ladies with a knife before you can fulfill the trade compensation. You know, I’m not much of a fighter and can’t help you at all; and morally, I stand on higher ground with those Ladies, in contempt of you."
Emhardt took a turn, skewed the book cover he was holding with an air of conceit, and the way he blinked while quacking in his duck voice was simply begging for a slap. Fisher squinted at him and then suddenly said,
"I suddenly know why Paimon chased you to beat you up... You must have sneaked into her library, derided how badly she had cataloged everything while reading, and then she caught you in the act, right?"
Emhardt’s smug demeanor halted abruptly upon hearing Fisher’s words. His eyes darted guiltily at Fisher, and his voice stammered,
"Eh, how did you know... pah, pah! What... what ugly words, they were just within a reasonable range of criticism! It’s Paimon, that damned Demon, who’s too narrow-minded, or rather, demons are such rotten creatures. I bet you, Fisher, are not so petty..."
"Uh! You rascal, you’re just annoyed... let go..."