The silence that followed Diala's words lingered like soft warmth in the cold morning air. Kiaria had stood frozen, her hand still wrapped around his, her smile fragile yet steady–the kind that could lift a spirit even from the edge of despair. The Elder's laughter, the mercenaries' teasing, the Princess's distant footsteps… all of it blurred for a moment.
Kiaria exhaled slowly with the silent release of his worries about Diala's safety.
"Thank you," he whispered, though the words did little justice to the weight he carried. Diala squeezed his hand again, as if to say you're not alone.
Fatty rubbed his nose and sniffed loudly. "These two little monsters… I feel ashamed of myself. I should go eat something."
The mercenaries burst into laughter.
When the laughter faded, Kiaria and Diala bowed to them. "We'll return," Kiaria said.
"And don't die," Ferlin replied, waving a fan. "It's bothersome to write reports for dead brats."
A strong hand fell on Ferlin's head like stone. "Cursing from behind?" Harmless scold of Sheriff.
"Don't get cursed," Ellein added, half-pleading, half-scolding.
The Elder simply smiled. "Walk carefully. Even the softest land hides thorns."
The Princess was already waiting outside the camp with her guards, her cloak rippling in the winds of early dawn. Her gaze softened when she saw them.
"You're late," she said, but her tone carried relief.
Kiaria and Diala climbed into the chariot. The Princess sat opposite, one hand resting by the window.
The wheels turned.
"Kiaria," she asked quietly, "one last time… are you certain you want to go?"
Her eyes were not of a princess–they were of someone who had witnessed too much suffering.
Kiaria replied without hesitation. "Yes."
The Princess's gaze slid to Diala.
Diala met her eyes. "Where he goes, I go."
That was enough.
The Princess drew the curtain aside, letting the wind slip in. "Then listen closely. Before we reach the bay… you must understand where we're going."
The chariot rolled through the heart of the Vast Grasslands. The sun rose behind them, casting long golden shadows over tall swaying grass. Herds of horned beasts ran freely. The wind carried the scent of fresh earth mixed with dew.
It was peaceful.
But that peace began to fade as the terrain shifted.
The green thinned. Soil turned dry. The horizon dimmed with streaks of grey. Houses became fewer–some collapsed, others abandoned entirely. At one ruined checkpoint, broken spears stuck into the ground like grave markers.
The Princess continued:
"Infant River and Hunter's Bay share the same origin. The water flows from Maple Mountain–the border of Arshland. You may have seen Maple Mountain, Kiaria. Enlightenment Sect lies opposite to that mountain. Once, that mountain marked a territory of beasts… and the land around it marked the darkest corner of humanity."
She paused.
"Arshland was barren. To survive, its people sold their flesh and blood. They carved pieces of their own bodies for food and trade. In desperation, they signed contracts with the Cult of Rituals to gain access to beast cubs and eggs from Maple Mountain. But no one steals from Mythical Beasts and lives."
Kiaria remained silent.
"The beasts retaliated," she said softly. "Arshland was wiped clean. The survivors fled and hid in the ravines near Hunter's Bay. There, blood thirst and lust took root. They became hunters–not of beasts, but of people. Everything they have done not for survival, but for fun. Hunter's Bay is one and only route from Grasslands to Imperial city."
The chariot passed an abandoned village. Doors hung open. Scratched marks decorated the walls–human fingernails, not claws.
"Their cruelty…" The Princess lowered her voice. "Children stolen. Women tortured. If infants were born from their captives–babies of their own blood–they tore them away and placed them in crown leaves."
She raised her hand slowly. "Crown leaves, broad and float. Their buoyancy and thickness is higher than wood."
"But after one and a quarter miles," she said, "the river becomes violent. The Meddow Rocks tear everything apart. That's how its terrain. If a child survives that… the Meddow Waterfall takes the last breath. The people who dared to save those lives from water–taken away by flesh eating birds and fishes. If someone manages to save, die in man hunt."
Diala covered her mouth with trembling fingers.
Kiaria's jaw tightened.
"All those infants," she said, "turned the river into a grave. A river of silence and cries… drowned long before reaching the sea. That's why the world calls it Infant River. Every month bones and flesh remnants of infants float to the shore."
The chariot fell into silence again.
Kiaria and Diala exchanged a glance–but said nothing.
Because they remembered.
They remembered the bay.
And the Princess had no idea how close she was to the truth.
The road dipped downward.
Ahead, a staggering body of water spread like a steel-blue mirror–vast enough to resemble a sea. Lion-Face Gulls circled above, their cries sharp and lonely.
This was Infant River Bay.
And at its stone embankment stood Chief Azriel, his cloak fluttering in the wind, face grim.
Kiaria and Diala changed immediately–Shadow Ghost form and Shade cloak.
Azriel raised an eyebrow. "Ghost. Shade. Come."
He gestured them away from the others, speaking low.
"You two decided to join us… so you must understand something. This trip is not adventure–it's gamble. Life will not guarantee its return."
"We know," Kiaria said.
Azriel grunted. "Then I'll show you the vessel we're using. Ever heard of spirit boats?"
Kiaria and Diala shook their heads.
"There are only eighteen in this world," Azriel said, "each crafted by master artisans whose skill no one has matched for thousands of years. Not ancient–just… unreachable. Among them, three boats stand above the rest. Our Empire owns the finest of the eighteen."
He reached into his spatial ring and drew out a golden sphere, no larger than his palm.
"This," he said, "is the Legendary Dragon-Tooth Tiger Boat."
Without ceremony, he tossed it into the water.
The effect was immediate.
The sphere hit the surface–not with a splash, but with a deep metallic pulse, like a heartbeat echoing across the bay. Water rose around it, swirling upwards, shaping itself into flowing contours. The golden orb elongated, its shell splitting into seamless plates that clicked into place with mechanical precision.
No divine light.
No ancient chants.
Just pure craftsmanship, so refined it bordered on impossible.
The sphere unfolded into a long vessel–smooth white jade wood reinforced with bone-like rib struts. The hull shifted subtly, at times shaped like a prowling tiger, at others like a fierce dragon ready to strike.
Two jade pendant eyes glowed faint green at the bow.
A low hum vibrated through the air, jade eyes blinked gentle, the craft recognizing Azriel's aura.
"Welcome aboard," the chief said simply.
Kiaria and Diala stepped forward.
As their feet touched the deck, the jade eyes flickered…
…then brightened.
Recognition accepted.
Diala gasped as they entered.
Inside was an entire miniature world.
Vast corridors illuminated by crystal lanterns. Painted ceilings depicting rivers and storms. Gardens of jade-stemmed flowers that swayed though no wind passed. Streams of spirit water flowing through transparent channels beneath the floor and midair freely, carrying tiny shimmering fish. Birds–smooth, pearlescent–flew through the halls, chirping softly.
Beast souls–gentle, harmless–floated like ribbons of light guiding the way.
Kiaria felt the air shifting around him, adjusting to their presence.
"This interior is… like a spiritual ring," Diala whispered to Princess Lainsa in awe.
Diala touched the polished wall. "It's… alive."
"No," Kiaria murmured. "Just built by someone whose hands were too skilled."
He remembered the words: not divine, not ancient–just people who achieved the peak of artistry.
Princess Lainsa walked between them, placing a hand on their shoulders. "Stay close. This boat reacts to unfamiliar auras. It can shut away rooms you wander near carelessly. If you get separated, the boat will not help you."
Kiaria and Diala nodded.
A chime echoed from the front deck.
Azriel signaled.
The treasure hunters boarded one by one–hard-eyed men and women holding weapons wrapped in cloth. Their presence is enough to suffocate common people.
The hum deepened.
The boat vibrated gently.
"Departure," Azriel called.
The jade eyes brightened fully.
A surge of energy shot beneath the hull, lifting the boat slightly above the water before easing it back down. Then–smooth as silk–it glided forward.
Princess Lainsa watched the water peel away before the prow, her expression unreadable.
"Ghost," she said softly, "the river ahead holds stories no tongue should speak. But you… you should learn to walk into them fearlessly."
Kiaria didn't reply. He looked across the endless stretch of water–mist crawling above the surface, cold rusty wind brushing his hair, the horizon dissolving into pale gray.
Something stirred far beyond the fog.
He felt it.
A faint pulse.
As if something… was waiting.
Not welcoming.
Not warning.
Just… waiting.
Beside him, Diala held his arm, her fingers warm despite the cold wind. "Ghost," she whispered, "whatever comes… we'll face it together."
He looked at her and nodded.
As expected from an expert craftsmanship, this boat can even repel the mist from penetrating the boat, only that rust-stench cold wind remains inside. No visible protective shield, yet feels worry free. Princess whispered in her mind.
The Dragon-Tooth Tiger Boat sailed deeper into the fog, the world behind them shrinking in the fog.
And somewhere beyond the mist–hidden from every map and every mortal eye–the Cemetery Island lay silent–waiting for the next chapter of misery to begin.