Vanguard

Diancie stood in the middle of the deck, her hand still resting on the mast's rigging.

She had watched the entire process from start to finish. From the moment that mass of black appeared beneath the sea to the moment the last remnant of a tentacle vanished from the deck—it had taken less than a minute.

One minute.

Diancie’s palm gripped the rope tightly, the hemp fibers digging into her skin, but she didn't even notice.

The Third Imperial Knight Order had spent three days hunting down a Throat-Ripper Whale. The Royal Navy's Ironclad Fleet had lost over two hundred men and spent a month and a half blockading the Abyss Trench. She had read those battle reports; she still remembered the numbers, which reeked of blood.

Even for a mage, magic usually involved concrete elements like wind, fire, thunder, or ice—you could see a fireball, hear the thunder, and feel the chill of frost.

Those things were at least within the realm of human understanding.

The scene before her was truly uncanny.

Diancie felt her understanding of Klein had been refreshed. Not just updated—overturned and rebuilt.

Perhaps he wasn't an alchemist at all, but an Archmage.

Or perhaps... he was both?

Maybe the latter was the correct answer.

However, Diancie found it difficult to accept.

The deeds of Lady Ophelia were traceable—the title of the Sword of the Empire had been carved out on the battlefield with blade and sword, documented, witnessed, and marked by the scars left on the land.

But Klein seemed to have never done anything significant.

At least in all the records she could access, this man was merely a minor rural noble, an alchemist of some repute. Nothing more.

Surely he didn't just enjoy the pleasure of being unknown?

Diancie didn't understand.

Ophelia was also watching.

But her focus was different from Diancie's.

Ophelia thought seriously—if she were facing this magic, what could she do?

Break free. Before the gravitational field fully formed, use battle qi to forcibly tear through the traction and escape the range.

Interrupt the caster before it was completed. There was an interval of about one second between Klein raising his hand and the appearance of that black mass—that second was the window.

Other than that, she couldn't think of a third option.

This conclusion left her with complex emotions. The part of her that was a knight was on guard—if an enemy possessed such an ability, there would be almost no room for a direct confrontation. The part of her that was a wife was—

Klein was never an ordinary person. She had only realized this after marrying him. Therefore, no matter how much power he displayed, it shouldn't surprise her.

What truly concerned her was something else.

The original purpose for which Klein had created this magic wasn't combat.

It was research.

He just wanted to take apart those anomalous creatures to see what their internal information structures looked like, and he had written this spell as a byproduct. As it turned out, this "byproduct," when used in actual combat, had a one-hit kill effect on deep-sea behemoths.

What was there to say?

Ophelia’s gaze lowered slightly, falling on Klein’s right hand. That hand was currently holding a charcoal pencil, the tip moving rapidly across the paper. A few minutes ago, this same hand had hovered over the old fisherman’s chest to "reorder the sequences"; after that, it had pointed at the sea, completely erasing a deep-sea monster from the physical plane.

Now it was taking notes.

The owner of that hand was crouching in a corner of the deck, his posture as casual as an ordinary man crouching in a market to write a shopping list.

Ophelia suddenly felt like laughing. Not because it was funny—it was an indescribable smile, tinged with a bit of heartache. This man always placed himself in the role of a "researcher"; no matter how shocking the event that had just occurred, his first reaction was always "let me record the data."

He probably didn't even realize he had done something extraordinary.

Or perhaps he did, but simply didn't care.

Klein likely noticed her gaze when he looked up. The two of them locked eyes.

Ophelia didn't speak. She just looked at him, her expression calm, as if watching something she had long known would happen.

Her golden eyes appeared very quiet in the evening light.

Klein couldn't read what she was thinking. He paused for a moment, then lowered his head to continue writing.

The charcoal pencil made a scratching sound on the paper.

Lohr composed his expression and walked over. His military boots stepped on the seawater-soaked deck, each step making a faint squelching sound.

“Mr. Klein.”

“Yes.”

“That monster—”

“Dead.” Klein didn't look up, and his pencil didn't stop.

Lohr waited for a moment, but realized the other man had no intention of saying more.

“...What about its corpse?”

“Gone.”

Lohr’s mouth hung open. He had spent half his life in the military and had killed his fair share of magic beasts. Every single one had left a corpse, used to report military merit, study weaknesses, and extract materials. Leaving a corpse after killing something was common sense.

“What do you mean, gone?”

“Literally.” Klein drew some sort of symbol in his notebook, tilted his head to look at it, then crossed it out and redrew it.

Lohr’s brow furrowed. “If that’s the case... won't it affect follow-up research? The origin of that thing, its species, whether it was carrying anything in its body—”

Only then did Klein stop writing.

He looked up and gave Lohr a glance.

How to describe that look—it wasn't contempt, nor was it impatience; it was a kind of pure confusion. Like the expression a mathematician would give if someone asked him if "one plus one equals two."

“It doesn't affect anything.” After saying this, Klein lowered his head and continued with his notes.

Lohr stood there, waiting for a few seconds.

That was it.

Just those few words. Klein hadn't even given him a full look. It wasn't arrogance; it was simply that the question wasn't worth expanding upon in the other man's eyes.

Lohr had dealt with the civilian staff in the staff department and had accompanied scholars from the imperial capital into magic beast habitats for investigations. Those scholars all had a common trait: the smarter they were, the less they bothered to explain. It wasn't that they were unwilling, but their minds moved so fast that by the time you understood the first sentence, they were already on step seven. They felt steps two through six were unnecessary to mention.

Klein was likely that kind of person.

Except he was much more polite than those scholars—at least he had answered. Even if the answer was as good as no answer at all.

Lohr rubbed his hands together. After the seawater dried, his skin felt uncomfortably rough.

He looked back at the deck. The sailors had already begun clearing the seawater-soaked ropes and supplies, and several wounded had been taken below deck by the ship’s doctor. The Voyager had returned to its normal sailing rhythm, as if that creature capable of dragging the ship to the bottom of the sea had never appeared.

The only evidence was the patches of water on the deck that hadn't yet dried and Klein, crouching in the corner taking notes.

Lohr looked at his back, mentally calculating the mission he had been given.

Uncover Klein’s background. Assess his level of capability. Judge his potential threat to the Empire.

Well, now all three were moot.

Background? Would you dare to casually investigate a man who could decompose a deep-sea monster on the spot with unknown magic?

Lohr was here to gather intel, not to seek death.

Level of capability? After that display, let alone a level, Lohr could only vaguely sense a shadow of gravity magic in the composition; he knew nothing else.

Potential threat—

Lohr recalled Klein’s first reaction after dealing with the monster. It wasn't deterrence, it wasn't boasting, it wasn't even confirming safety.

It was pulling out a notebook.

How do you write a threat assessment report for a man whose first priority after killing a deep-sea behemoth is crouching on the deck to record experimental data?

“On [Date], the subject decomposed a giant deep-sea magic beast on the spot using unknown means, with the entire process taking less than a minute. After the battle, the subject’s first reaction was to record experimental data. Assessment conclusion: Threat level—”

What should he write?

“Very high, but he doesn't seem to care”?

Lohr sighed inwardly. This report wouldn't be easy to write once he returned.

He looked up at the sky. It was evening, and the sun had burned an orange-red hole in the western clouds. The wind began to shift, making the canvas flap loudly.

The boatswain was shouting for men to adjust the sail angles.

Lohr rubbed his temples. He moved his gaze away from Klein and walked toward the other side of the deck. Princess Diancie was still standing there, her hand on the rigging, her expression... well, like she had watched a play but hadn't understood the ending.

“Your Highness,” Lohr walked over and lowered his voice, “are you all right?”

Diancie snapped out of it and let go of the rigging. Her palm had been marked red by the rough hemp rope, and she hadn't even noticed.

“I’m fine.” Diancie paused. “Lohr, have you ever... seen this kind of magic before?”

“No,” Lohr answered bluntly.

The two were silent for a while.

“He’s very strong,” Diancie suddenly blurted out.

Lohr was taken aback, then he laughed—a helpless laugh.

“Yes, very strong.”

Diancie’s lips moved as if she wanted to say something more, but it ultimately turned into a soft sigh.

This was the part that gave him a headache. If Klein were an ambitious conspirator, things would actually be simpler. Report it, be on guard, and if necessary, unite various forces to contain him. The Empire had plenty of experience with that.

But he wasn't.

Klein was the kind of person you could tell just by talking to him—he was actually very easy to communicate with.

Although there was no lack of probing in his words, you could feel that the man bore no malice.

Lohr even felt that, putting aside their respective identities and positions, if the two of them sat down for a drink and a chat, they could likely get along quite well.

But because of that, the report was even harder to write.

If he wrote “this person has no malice, suggesting friendly relations” in the report—those old foxes in the Privy Council would strip him of his rank.

If he wrote “this person’s abilities are unfathomable, suggesting high vigilance”—then the next step would be sending people to “contact” him. If that ended up annoying Klein, who would deal with the aftermath?

Forget it. It wasn't time to return yet; there was no use in worrying.

Lohr adjusted his collar, which had been ruffled by the sea breeze, and turned toward the cabin. He took two steps, then stopped and looked back.

Klein finally stood up. He closed his notebook, stretched, and his joints let out a series of pops. Ophelia had walked over to him at some point, and the two were saying something, their voices too low and scattered by the wind.

Then Klein smiled, stuffed the notebook into Ophelia’s hand, and turned to look toward the stern.

Ophelia looked down and flipped through a couple of pages, her brow twitching—not a frown, but more like... a slight lift.

The Sword of the Empire and her husband.

Lohr chewed on the thought. A legendary knight who suppressed the sea monsters of the west coast with martial force, and an alchemist who could dismantle a deep-sea behemoth into information fragments. When these two were paired together, did those big shots in the Empire who were used to pulling strings from behind the scenes really anticipate today’s situation when they agreed to marry Ophelia off to the countryside?

He looked away.

Don't look at what shouldn't be seen. Don't guess what shouldn't be guessed.

He quickened his pace and entered the cabin.

The first thing Diancie did after returning to the cabin was contact Nelisa through a communication magic tool.

She didn't mention Klein’s feat of dismantling the monster into information fragments. It wasn't that she didn't want to—she just didn't know how. She couldn't very well say over the communication, “He waved his hand and the monster was gone.”

Diancie only reported the result.

“The monster has been dealt with. There are a few lightly injured on board, but none are in life-threatening condition.”

The other end of the communication tool was quiet for two seconds.

Nelisa’s voice came through, her tone heavier than Diancie had expected. “Your Highness, if possible, I hope The Voyager can continue pushing west to help us confirm the situation at several other coordinates.”

Diancie glanced at Lohr. Lohr didn't speak, but he gave a slight nod.

“No problem.”

After the communication ended, Diancie put the magic tool away and leaned against the cabin wall, lost in thought for a moment.

She rubbed her palm, which was red from the rigging, and her thoughts involuntarily drifted.

The potion negotiation had happened two days ago. At the time, she felt she had given Klein enough importance—an alchemist capable of developing a limb regeneration potion was worth the Empire’s highest level of treatment.

Now she felt she had still underestimated him.

Underestimated him by far.

If Klein wanted to, he wouldn't have to make any deals with the Empire. With the power he had shown, no one could force him to do anything. The reason he had agreed to cooperate wasn't because he needed the Empire—it was because he chose to cooperate.

This realization made Diancie’s back feel slightly chilled.

It wasn't fear. It was... a lingering dread.

Dread that she might have said something she shouldn't have during the negotiation, or that there might have been something improper in her attitude—

Forget it, stop thinking about it. Things were already moving in a good direction. What she should do now wasn't feel dread, but hold onto this connection firmly.

Diancie stood up and walked toward the deck.

The light on the deck had mostly dimmed. The sunset hugged the horizon, burning the sky into a tapestry of deep orange and dark purple.

Klein was sitting on an overturned wooden bucket, twirling his charcoal pencil and staring at the sea. But Diancie could tell he wasn't looking at the sea—his gaze was empty, his focus falling somewhere far away, or rather, there was no focus at all.

Ophelia stood two steps to his right, also silent. The two stayed together, and the sailors around them gave them a wide berth, no one stepping forward to disturb them.

Aphros was sitting on a coil of rope not far away, her legs pulled up to her chest. Her gray-green eyes were exceptionally bright in the twilight, staring at the sea, her expression quiet—it didn't look like she was watching something, but more like she was listening. But there was no unusual movement on her face. Just silence.

Diancie hesitated for a moment but still walked over.

Klein and Ophelia were chatting about something, and they didn't avoid Diancie when she arrived.

“It’s not right,” Klein said.

Ophelia tilted her head to look at him.

“There’s no reason for these things to appear here now.” Klein’s speaking speed wasn't fast, as if he were talking to himself. “The will of the deep sea isn't a beast; it has logic behind everything it does—even if that logic is beyond our understanding.”

He raised his hands to frame a box.

“What can you achieve by sending out a bunch of monsters of this level? Attack merchant ships? Harass trade routes? Sea monsters can do that themselves; why bother with this extra step? A test? Testing whom? Testing what?”

Ophelia spoke up. “You think they aren't weapons.”

“It doesn't look like it.” Klein shook his head. “Their information density is too high, and their coding logic is completely different from normal deep-sea creatures—I already saw that when I decomposed that one earlier. The cost of creating such things isn't low. You wouldn't spend a fortune to create a batch of consumables just to harass a few fishing boats.”

“Then what are they, exactly?” Diancie asked.

Klein looked at Diancie, who had suddenly interjected. He didn't seem surprised by her presence; his gaze rested on her face for half a second before moving back to the sea.

Diancie waited.

The wind on the deck grew stronger. The canvas on the mast flapped loudly. The distant sea surface turned leaden gray in the last sliver of sunset.

After a while, Klein spoke.

He said something Diancie didn't quite understand.

“Vanguards.”

Diancie’s brow furrowed. “Vanguards?”

Klein didn't explain. He put the charcoal pencil in his pocket, stood up, and patted his trousers.

“They aren't here to fight a war,” he said, his tone calm, as if stating a conclusion that had already been deduced. “They are here to pave the way.”

He looked toward the sea.

The sea in the twilight was vast, deep, and quiet. The waves slapped against the hull in an even rhythm, with no sign of anything unusual.

But there was no sense of relaxation in Klein’s gaze.

“Something is coming.”