Chapter 52: Chapter 48: Tipsy Caroline
Tonight, the Golden Sail Commerce Association had booked the entirety of the Gilded Siren Restaurant, Tarry Port’s finest, for the night.
A magical chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling illuminated the grand hall as bright as day. Light cascaded over every long table, reflecting the brilliant gleam of silver cutlery and crystal stemware.
The air was thick with the aroma of roasted meat, the mellow scent of red wine, and the perfume of the ladies present.
The place was packed, and no one was leaving sober.
Everyone who felt they had played a part in the stunning comeback was there. Their faces, flushed with alcohol and excitement, beamed as they loudly and eagerly recounted their exploits to companions, superiors, and anyone else who would listen.
The banquet was now winding down, and the scene had long since devolved into a chaotic mess.
Sea Wolf’s face was flushed. With one foot propped on a table, he slammed his tankard down with a CLANG. Froth from his drink splattered onto the face of a manager at the next table.
"You damn quill-pushers! If I hadn’t led my men and put on that show, with our lives on the line, your contract would’ve been nothing more than a piece of paper to wipe your ass with!"
He slung an arm around a terrified waitress and slapped her on the thigh, then roared at Freeman and his cronies, "You should’ve seen the look on that Blackrock Hand agent’s face when he signed the contract! He thought he’d struck the deal of a lifetime! HAHA! Now, with that ten thousand Golden Sun compensation, we have enough to build a whole new fleet!"
He was surrounded by a crowd of equally boorish captains who erupted in laughter. They all raised their glasses, gloating to the colleagues who had benefited from their supposed "betrayal."
Freeman, who had also been splattered by the drink, stiffened. ’The logic of a brute.’
He adjusted his glasses, a scornful smile playing on his lips. "How crude. A true victor doesn’t need to shout to prove his worth. Sea Wolf, that little ’life on the line’ act of yours is nothing but an insignificant sideshow in the face of a real financial gambit."
"If our contract hadn’t been an airtight web, one that sealed every ’force majeure’ loophole and ran circles around Blackrock Hand’s so-called ’hounds of the law,’ do you really think they would have just coughed up all those Golden Suns?"
The accountant beside him elaborated, "According to our calculations, we lost nearly a third of our fleet. However, we took advantage of the window when shipping prices plummeted to counter-charter twenty-seven mid-sized freighters at rock-bottom prices. As a result, Blackrock Hand has been forced out of the maritime trade entirely. And while we’ve exhausted our liquid cash, our foundation remains intact."
"It’s not toilet paper, sir. It’s called a financial one-two punch."
"’One-two punch?’" Sea Wolf’s one good eye widened. He slammed his hand on the table, rattling the glasses. "Who the hell are you punching, the air?! Without us brothers risking our necks out at sea, could your ’punches’ magically pull gold from a piece of paper?!"
The atmosphere in the hall became charged with tension. The captains and the administrative staff stood on opposite sides, clearly divided, glaring at each other like two flocks of roosters about to start a fight.
This was a long-standing internal conflict within the Golden Sail Commerce Association. At the slightest sign of trouble, the sailors, the accountants, and the shipwrights would all crawl out of the woodwork to argue over who was more important.
Just then, not to be outdone, Chief Designer Gregor rose gracefully to his feet.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, let’s have some harmony. I believe the course of a war is ultimately decided by the superiority of one’s weapons."
He raised his wine glass in a toast to the crowd.
"The ’Sea Serpent-class’ blueprints we gave them were a stripped-down version. And what we brought back? The complete core schematics for Blackrock Hand’s ’Wavebreaker-class.’ They thought they had secured their future, but in reality, they’ve just lost their present."
"Bah! You bald bastard, you’re a cunning one. You’re nothing but a turncoat who came running back the second you saw things were going south!"
Gregor’s face turned beet red, and he looked like he was about to retort.
The arguments grew louder as different factions and departments bickered, each man convinced that his piece of the puzzle had been the most crucial.
"Enough!"
An aged voice cut through the clamor, and the boisterous hall fell silent.
Chief Alchemist Valerius rose to his feet. He had not joined in any of the factions’ squabbles, having been quietly eating the grilled fish on his plate.
The old man set down his knife and fork, his gaze sweeping over the faces in the room, some flushed with excitement, others with indignation.
"Your plans, your courage, your wisdom—all are worthy of praise."
He paused, his voice ringing with indisputable authority.
"But, gentlemen, without the antidote, we would not be celebrating a victory. We would be discussing how to divide the remains of the Golden Sail Commerce Association."
No one in the hall dared to speak.
It was an undeniable fact. In the face of absolute technical superiority, all their schemes and courage were meaningless.
Valerius looked out at the crowd, his face beaming with pride.
"And that antidote was the product of our alchemists’ sleepless nights of research."
As agreed, the Chief Alchemist accepted this rather conspicuous glory. Only a few people in the entire association harbored any vague suspicions about the matter.
The men exchanged glances, but ultimately, they all tacitly accepted this conclusion.
The captains sat back down, and even Freeman lowered his head to take a sip of his wine.
As the boisterous atmosphere cooled, it slowly dawned on some of them that something was wrong.
"Come to think of it..." a captain said, looking around in confusion. "Where’s the Vice President? Why isn’t she here?"
"That’s right! Where’s Caroline?"
"I haven’t seen her for a while now."
It was as if everyone in the hall was waking from a dream.
Lost in their drunken revelry, they had completely forgotten the true architect of this victory—the "Silver-Haired Witch" who had turned the tide at their most desperate hour.
...
「On the open-air balcony atop the Gilded Siren Restaurant.」
Caroline leaned against the railing. The evening wind stirred the hem of her skirt and the strands of her hair, making her seem as if she might melt into the nightscape of Tarry Port.
"Not going down to celebrate with your heroes?" Velin asked, standing beside her and swirling the fruit juice in his glass.
"Heroes?" Caroline scoffed, her laughter tinged with the haze of wine. "They’re not heroes, they’re hungry wolves. If I were to appear downstairs now, they’d just see me as a bigger prize to be won, with every one of them wanting to carve off an extra slice for themselves."
She turned around, her emerald eyes startlingly bright in the moonlight, fixing Velin with an intense gaze.
"They don’t understand. From beginning to end, there were only two people in this war."
She took a step forward. The crisp CLICK of her high heels on the stone floor seemed to echo in Velin’s own chest.
She held her glass out, its rim almost touching Velin’s lips.
"So, this toast isn’t for victory."
Her voice was a lazy, husky whisper, and her breath, fragrant with wine, brushed gently past his nose.
"It’s to my... ’Mr. Antidote.’"
