The massive warship carved its way through the western sea with stubborn persistence, its hull groaning under the weight of waves that refused to settle. Each swell lifted the vessel high before letting it drop again with a heavy, bone-rattling thud, as though the ocean itself was testing its endurance.
The sails above strained against the wind, snapping sharply whenever the current shifted without warning. Thick ropes stretched and creaked, their fibers darkened by years of salt and use. Every sound—the flap of canvas, the groan of wood, the endless rush of water—blended into a constant, oppressive noise that never truly faded.
Still, the men aboard—armored or not—worked without pause.
They moved with the kind of efficiency that came from long familiarity with danger. Bare feet gripped the damp deck as they hauled ropes, adjusted sails, and shouted instructions across the chaos. There was no hesitation in their actions, no wasted movement.
"Rȳbās! Rȳbās, ēdruta ūndegon!" a broad-shouldered sailor shouted, bracing his stance as he pulled on a thick rope that resisted him like a living thing.
"Rȳbagon ñuhon!" another snapped back, his face flushed with effort. "Jaelagon aoha hen nykeo raqiros!"
"Tata, raqirās gevie, daoragon ziry henka! Ȳdra daor gaomagon kepa rȳ pōnta ānogar?"
A third man barked out a laugh, though there was little humor in it. "Se ānogar, yn hen kostilus gevives, iā iā gaomagon se moriot jēdri!"
"Pōja aōha prūmȳsa, rȳ ābrazȳrys iā ziry istan."someone muttered darkly. "Iksos istan."
That earned a few uneasy glances. No one argued.
Superstition ran deeper among the sailors now, especially after what they had survived.
Along the Old Valyrian sea route, they had been hunted by something ancient—once thought to be nothing more than a tale told to frighten children into sleep—an immense kraken that rose from the abyss as if drawn by their passage alone. The massive warship had been torn in two, two hundred lives lost in an instant, while the remaining survivors stood on the brink of resignation, some still fought—while others had already resigned themselves to fate.
And then a being had appeared.
A young man from a merchant ship, without ceremony or hesitation, had slain the ancient creature that had terrorized sailors for thousands of years. With a simple wave of his hand, he restored what had been on the verge of ruin—repairing the shattered warship as though it had never been torn apart.
Since that night, none of them looked at the western waters the same way. The ocean no longer felt like a place, but something alive—silent, watchful, as if it had witnessed what had come to save them.
Still, the work continued without pause.
Orders were shouted across the deck.
Ropes were pulled until muscles burned.
Sails were adjusted against an unruly wind.
And for a time, at least, everything still held together.
Then something… changed.
It started small.
So small that it might have been ignored entirely under normal circumstances.
A sailor near the mid-deck frowned as the rope in his hands gave a faint twitch.
At first, he thought it was just tension shifting along the line. That happened sometimes when the wind caught the sails at odd angles. He tightened his grip and leaned back, putting more weight into the pull.
The rope twitched again—faint at first, then stronger, as though something beneath its fibers had stirred awake. It was no longer tension or resistance, but clear movement.
"…Ziry kostōba?" he asked, glancing at his companion.
"Kostōb—"
The rope twisted sharply.
Both men froze, eyes dropping to the coil in their hands.
It moved.
Not like rope should.
The thick fibers began to writhe against each other, tightening and loosening in unnatural patterns. The strands seemed to separate, shifting and reshaping as though something beneath them was pushing outward.
"…Daor,"the second man whispered.
The rope split open, and a scaled, slick head forced its way through—alive.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then—
"AAAAAAAGH!"
The scream shattered whatever fragile order remained on the deck.
The sailor hurled the rope away with such force that he stumbled backward and crashed into a stack of barrels. The creature hit the deck with a heavy thud before immediately coiling and lifting its head, tongue flicking as it hissed.
"Zaldrīzes! Zaldrīzes—zaldrīzes ēza!"
"Skoroso ūndegon naejot syt— hen ābra iā—!"
Another rope twisted.
Then another.
All across the deck, thick lines that had been essential to keeping the ship together began to transform. Some dropped from above like traps snapping shut too late, while others slithered across the planks, weaving between boots and cargo.
Chaos erupted instantly.
Men stumbled over each other, shouting in panic as the situation spiraled out of control.
"Se mōris! Se Mōris! Ziry ēza!"
"Skoros iā?"
"Rȳ zaldrīzes! Rȳ zaldrīzes gēlēs!"
"Zȳhon īlva!"
"Skoros perzys? Ziry bē?!"
"HAE, ȳdra, se ia! Zȳhon īlva iā!"
One sailor slipped while trying to back away and landed hard on his back, scrambling like a startled crab as a snake slithered past him. Another grabbed a loose plank and swung wildly, missing the snake entirely and nearly striking a crewmate instead.
"Qilōn ābre zaldrīzoti, ābra!"
"Ao gōntan daor, yn zaldrīzī hēdrus!"
"Skoros iā istan?"
"Mērī iā raqiros!"
A man near the mast froze completely as a snake dangled inches from his face, swaying slightly as it hissed. His eyes crossed as he tried to look at it without moving.
"…Daor riña iā naejot. "he whispered.
"Skoros ñuha riña naejot!" someone shouted back.
"Daor riña naejot ziry iā!"
"Gēlēs iā!"
"Ñuha jorrāelagon iā!"
"Skoros jorrāelagon gevie!"
And above all the chaos came laughter—bright, unrestrained, and utterly out of place.
Suspended several feet above the deck, untouched by the panic below, Thaddeus held his stomach as he watched, shoulders shaking as he failed to contain his amusement.
"Pfft—HAHAHAHA—okay—okay—this might be my best one yet—!"he said. Like it wasn't the first time he had done this.
One of the snakes lunged toward a sailor's leg, barely brushing his boot before the man screamed and jumped backward so hard he collided with two others.
That did it.
Thaddeus completely lost it.
"HAHAHAHA—alright, alright—maybe that one was a bit much—!"
With a lazy flick of his fingers, the transfigured ropes unraveled.
The snakes vanished instantly. In their place, ordinary ropes dropped harmlessly onto the deck, coiling as though nothing had ever happened.
Silence fell.
Heavy and uneven breathing replaced the shouting.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then, slowly, as though guided by some unspoken understanding, the sailors lifted their heads and looked up.
At him—floating above the deck, watching. Smiling like someone who had just overturned a cart for entertainment.
Unlike before, there was no panic this time. No screams.
Only then did the sailors realize—they had been played again.
One by one, the men dropped to their knees until the entire deck bowed in submission.
"…Here we go again," Thaddeus muttered under his breath.
Low voices rose, murmuring in reverent tones.
"Avy jorrāelza va moriot ēdruta…"
"Ñuhor qēlos avy jorrāelza va moriot ēdruta sȳndor."
"Ñuhor qēlos sȳndor."
"…Yep. Still don't understand a single word."Thaddeus blinked slowly. Listening to their language gave him headache.
The cabin door slammed open. Heavy footsteps followed.
The captain emerged, his expression sharp and ready—until he saw what was happening.
His gaze lifted. Locked onto Thaddeus and immediately softened.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward and dropped to one knee, bowing his head like the rest of his crew. His silver-platinum hair caught the sunlight, gleaming as he lowered his gaze.
"Ñuhor ōrā jorrāelza va moriot ēdruta iā."
Thaddeus clicked his tongue in mild annoyance seeing their reactions.
"Boring."
He descended slowly, boots touching the deck with a soft thud. The murmurs grew louder as he landed, though none dared to look directly at him.
"I'm here to provide your weekly rations," he said casually, as if addressing employees rather than a crew that had once believed him to be some kind of sea deity.
What he received are blank stares.
"…Right. Of course. The language barrier strikes again."
With a small sigh, he reached into his wizard robe pocket and pulled out a small pouch. He slipped his hand inside and retrieved a sleek briefcase instead. It looked absurdly clean and modern against the weathered ship around him. Another system reward—an artifact with vast internal space, perfectly tailored for him, since he had no system inventory.
He opened it.
Then waved his hand.
Sacks of wheat spilled out first, landing neatly in stacks. Barrels of fish followed, the smell of salt and brine filling the air. Then came cages filled with live animals—chickens flapping in confusion, goats bleating, and a pig that looked deeply offended by its sudden existence.
The sailors stared.
Awe is in their gaze.
"Moriot ēdruta iā, avy jorrāelza ziry se mēre."
"Ñuhor gaomior qēlos, va kindor avy jorrāelza."
One of them kneeling, hesitantly reached out and touched a sack near at his side, as though expecting it to disappear. It didn't.
Thaddeus snapped the briefcase shut.
"That should keep you guys going for a while," he said.
More murmured followed in the same language, louder now, more confident, and he can feel that even if he doesn't understand their word's—they were thankful.
As he floated upward again, he glanced down at them with mild amusement.
Three weeks. That was how long this had been going on. Three weeks since he had stepped in and altered their fate.
Three weeks of visits, pranks, and food drops.
They used to call him a god. Panics whenever he saw him and when he use magic.
Now?
They still spoke with reverence, panic still exist, but the fear from their eyes had faded.
And strangely… interacting with them once or thrice a week eased his loneliness at sea more than he expected.
"…At least they stopped screaming 'Drowned God'," he muttered. It was an improvement.
With that, he turned and drifted back toward his own ship. A levitation parchment and a Quick-Quotes Quill awaited him—another system reward from the past few weeks.
"Another weekly task is done. Check it," he said.
The quill gave a small nod and wrote it onto the parchment.
"What's the next task for today?" he asked.
The parchment floated in front of him, flipping itself upright. His daily tasks were listed on the left column, while the weekly tasks he had set for himself occupied the right.
"Sign-in of the great wizard Thaddeus, one-hour daily reading session of the great Thaddeus—Oh please, I said don't exaggerate when writing."
He didn't even finish reading the second task before reaching out as if to smack the Quick-Quotes Quill. Unfortunately, it didn't have a head—and it easily dodged him.
He snorted.
"…Let's skip the sign-in for now. Let's do the second one," he said, glancing at the time. It was nearly three in the afternoon—perfect for reading spellbooks while eating snacks. The sign-in could wait.
He walked to the galley kitchen, scanning for something to eat. The once-old cookware had been upgraded into a far more modern setup.
There was a toaster, an oven, a rice cooker, a blender, a burner stove, and a two-window refrigerator. It almost resembled a modern kitchen now, though the dining hall itself still carried the unmistakable grandeur of medieval luxury.
And how had he reached this point? Of course, it was magic—primarily transfiguration. With his mastery of it, he had reshaped existing objects into the appliances he now used. But because these were mechanical in nature, transfiguration alone wasn't enough. He had combined it with his expertise in ancient runes.
The result was a set of modern-like appliances that didn't rely on electricity, instead powered by runes embedded within them. Unlike the larger systems anchored across the ship, these were self-contained, storing only a small amount of his magic within the runic structure. Their consumption varied with use—functioning much like a magical battery rather than an electrical one.
He prepared his snack personally. A utility charm could have handled it, but Thaddeus preferred to do it himself.
He was craving potato fries, but the ship didn't have any. So instead, he settled for an onion as large as his fist.
Within minutes, the oil was heating, and slices of onion were being dipped in batter before being dropped into the pan. The sizzling sound alone was enough to lift his mood.
"Still wish I had potatoes," he muttered, wearing a cerulean-blue apron as he flipped a ring turning golden in the oil.
"Fries would've been perfect."
After settling down with his snack and a floating book on advanced charms, he leaned back into a soft cushion and began reading on the poop deck.
Even though he already knew most of what was inside, there was something relaxing about going through it at a normal pace. As expected, some of the spellbook's entries were outdated or incomplete compared to the system's knowledge. Because of that, he occasionally added notes and corrections using an enchanted self-inking quill, quietly updating the margins as he went.
Time passed easily.
An hour of reading, eating, and judging the spellbook's imperfections—corrections, as he preferred to call it.
Eventually, he sat up and stretched.
"…Alright. Let's see what I get today."
He opened the system interface.
---
[ Day 67 Time of the day: 4:15 PM]
[Host Name: Thaddues
Title: Master of Charms, Master of Transfiguration, Master of Ancient Runes.
Age: 15
Current Condition: Healthy and Stable.
Magical Capacity: High]
[SIGN-IN*1] [SPELLS] [BRANCH OF MAGIC]
---
The window panel updated again. He could see the changes—capslock softened into lower case, the tabs clearer and easier to distinguish, even the time format subtly adjusted.
Thaddeus didn't dwell on it. He simply activated the system sign-in.
"Sign in," he said.
As the words left his mouth, a gift box dropped from the screen, bounced three times like it had stage fright, then exploded with unnecessary flair. A picture of the reward popped up in its place.
"…Another new effect," he muttered. "Of course it's dramatic."
---
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining The Philosophers Stone!]
[Claimed the sign in reward?]
[Yes] or [No]
--
"…"
For once, Thaddeus didn't respond immediately.
"…Yes," he said slowly, almost uncertainly, as if testing whether the system was serious.
Then something appeared in his hand—small, red, and perfectly cut, glowing faintly as it caught the sun's reflection.
Thaddeus blinked.
"No way,"
He turned it slowly between his fingers, expression finally slipping into genuine disbelief.
"You're kidding me."
TBC
Want to stay 12-15+ chapters ahead? Join me on Patr*on.
Patr*on.com/Rabbinwriter.
Be a Chapter Seeker!
Bea Chronicle Reader!
Be a Lore Archivist!
Or buy me a coffee ~~~
NEXT FREE CHAPTER WILL BE POSTED AFTER 50 PS!