Captain Todd's shout rang loud across the camp. The frenzied cultivators spared him a single glance, the sort you gave a stump in the road, then forgot him at once.
They continued to swarm the tent's cloth, clawing for any corner they could seize.
Fingers worried the seams. Nails scraped at knots. The canvas hissed and snapped in their hands.
One of them held the torn cloth up to the moonlight like a priest lifting a relic, lips moving, eyes fever bright.
His face was set with certainty that divinity hid in the weave, that every thread was scripture only he could read.
The men before Radeon looked like they had never watched someone cultivate.
He did not laugh. His mouth tightened, and his eyes stayed on their hands, as if he could not name what he was seeing.
For him, the Samsara was a terminus reached only after sentience had crawled and climbed through uncounted epochs.
A treasury sealed by time itself, rich with knowledge and the methods to ascend to higher realms.
As Radeon mulled over the seriousness of the predicament, Captain Todd approached and patted his shoulder.
The captain pointed helplessly at the ruined tent and shook his head. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came, not for what he was seeing.
Radeon had already taken what he came for. He had no appetite to be stalled by small talk.
Giovanni's identity sat deep within, and the allure of the cult's art cast a clean light on what he truly needed.
The means to construct his body, piece by careful piece. He excused himself with a nod that invited no questions.
"I'm going out for grub," he said to the captain.
Radeon wanted something. Prestige, for now. Access to materials without using pilfering hands.
That was when he saw the signpost. Paper flapped against it, notices layered like scabs.
Radeon tore down a recruitment sheet in one clean pull and folded it away before the wind could steal the rest.
It asked for talent. Old and young were welcome. Scout the way forward for the glorious march.
Radeon turned back to the tents. He wanted in, and Todd would not mind.
"Let this first mate in on it, eh? Show him whose crew's best," he coaxed as he pressed the posting into the captain's palm.
The captain looked Sail Knife's wrinkled face up and down, then dismissed him as a mumbling old man.
He was about to tear the paper when Radeon caught his wrist and pushed his hand down.
"Captain Todd," he said low, "This old sailor won't make gilded core. Not in this life. See to it this gets to my grandson. Maybe some master will take a liking to the boy's ugly mug."
Radeon drew out a pouch heavy with spirit stones and pressed it into Todd's hand. His grip stayed tight on it, leaving no room for refusal.
"Aye," Todd replied, low. "I'll see it done."
With heavy hearts they headed for the shared tents, the captain's chest tight and uneasy under the weight Sail Knife had put on him.
The sun rose, and the camp was already stirring. Itinerant cultivators, who were originally not meant for combat, lined up.
This would let them earn a huge sum of stones, with luck and the right age. One could even be recruited to a sect.
Offers were written out in neat rows, from supply runners to sword-bearing escorts, but one job stood out to him.
Helmsman needed for the Spirit Boat Karvi. Gilded Core required. Experience must be proven in real flight.
"That's the one." Radeon took the posting at once.
The old man Sail Knife had never served as formal helmsmen before, but Radeon himself had ridden through turbulent voids and spatial storms.
As he handed over the job notice, the sword maiden at the desk, serving as receptionist, politely tapped the line of requirements. Tactful enough that he did not have to flush over it.
"Aye. This old man can handle that," Radeon said.
The sword maiden studied Radeon with quiet doubt, the kind that sat behind innocent eyes.
Her fingers hovered as if she meant to wave him off, to turn back to the business of the forming line.
But she did not know how to dismiss a man who stood as if he belonged.
They did not wait long. A young man in robes so white they seemed to drink the firelight stepped out from the side and crooked two fingers at Radeon.
Radeon knew the face. Not from warmth, not from friendship, but from memory filed under useful things. He went with him without hesitation.
"Old sailor, I'm only making this exception because you've worked with us a long time." The man said.
"Ah… little Lee, is it?" Radeon said quietly. "I remember you. I've tossed your soiled cloths overboard more than once, back when you were naught but a wee lad."
"Hush now. That's done and gone." He gave Radeon a slow look from boots to brow, then met his eyes. Quietly asking whether he was truly fit for the work.
Lee thought it safer to rely on a veteran he had worked beside for decades than on some no name.
Ships were far too costly to entrust to strangers. As he watched Radeon stride with confidence toward the air dock, Lee felt the old man was not one to boast, or gamble with his life.
"Over here. This is the one." Lee pointed to a compact longship. "Fine little thing, isn't she?"
Radeon stepped closer. He knew the ship and its history.
Its oars, once meant for water in the old days, had been replaced by a flight array.
Wings lay folded tight along its flanks, ready to let it soar and turn in open air.
"She turns quick," Radeon said with a grin. "Good for slipping in and out. Though not much belly for a beating."
Lee beside him flushed at the sharp appraisal. He did not want Radeon to think he was being sent to his death.
"Skin and bones? I can get you round shields for the rails," Lee said. Radeon cut him off.
"Strip her more. I want her down to skin and bones," he said.
"We can even add qi. Wait. What did you just say?" Lee blurted.
"Pull off the hull and bare the array," Radeon said. "Leave only the frame. Seats too. Just a hollow for a man's bottom."
"No. No. I dare not strip her further. That would be preposterous." Lee retorted.
Radeon did not wait for another protest. He snatched up a hammer and went to work, prying plank after plank from the longship.
Men on deck and those tending their own vessels paused to watch. The measured blows, the sure rhythm of his hands. It said he knew more than most ever would.
When the last plank fell away, Radeon hauled down the wool sail, then grabbed a torn tent from a pile of castoffs. He worked qi through the cloth, weaving a new sail from plain linen.
"Deep scouting, enemy ground… with just this?" Lee's jaw tightened. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Radeon did not let him finish. He was already at the ship's array, fingers splayed on etched stone, feeding qi into the grooves as if the craft had been waiting only for his touch.
The wings answered with a low hum and an emerald sheen that crawled along their edges.
The craft leapt. Its first arc carried it straight at the great frigate.
At the last heartbeat, Radeon leaned into the array and let the Karvi slip aside, missing the hull by a narrow breath.
Sky Sailors along the rail jolted back, then leaned over again to gawk, mouths open and hands clutched to rope.
He drove into the lanes of canvas and cord, where tent lines hung like snares and rigging made a maze.
The Karvi threaded through gaps that had no right to fit, wings beating inches from cloth that snapped in the wash of air.
A whip of rope even brushed past close enough to kiss Radeon's sleeve.
Then he rolled the ship. Upside down, clean and sudden. The world flipped. Sky became ground. Ground became sky.
He dove low over the applicants, over mercenaries with callused hands and hungry eyes.
They threw their arms up as if they could seize him by the heel and claim the skill for themselves.
Laughter broke out. Shouts followed. The noise turned into a roar.
After a brief, dazzling run, Radeon eased the Karvi down and bled the qi away.
The wings dimmed. The hum softened to a purr, then to nothing.
"So?" Radeon asked Lee. "You hiring this old hand, or not?"