In Vig's memory, during the Age of Exploration, European merchant ships traveling to the Americas first sailed south along the coast of Africa. From there, they followed the North Equatorial Current westward to reach the Caribbean.
Once there, ships could sail north along the Gulf Stream to trade at ports in North America, and finally return to Europe by riding the North Atlantic Drift.
The entire route formed a great clockwise loop across the ocean.
The real difficulty lay in one question:
How do you find these ocean currents in the first place?
For some time, voices within the Ministry of the Navy had been calling for the opening of new sea routes. The Minister of Maritime Affairs had once asked Vig where he learned about these ocean currents.
Vig had simply lied, claiming he heard the knowledge in a dream.
It was barely convincing—but out of trust in the king, and perhaps a measure of blind faith, the navy proceeded to draft an exploration plan.
They built a new three-masted ship designed specifically for long-distance exploration.
It was named:
The Traveler
In July, the Traveler completed sea trials successfully. With preparations finished, she set sail southward with sixty crew members, beginning a voyage that was both dangerous and filled with glory.
A month later, the expedition ship reached the Canary Islands.
The local count hosted a banquet in honor of the sailors. Three days later, he personally came to the docks to see them off.
"I truly wish I could join this expedition," he sighed.
"Unfortunately, affairs in the Canaries keep me busy. Still—I wish you all the best."
With everyone's blessings, the Traveler continued south along the African coast.
Two days later, steady northeasterly winds began to blow across the sea.
After consulting with the officers, the captain gave the order:
"Turn west."
Soon, the coastline vanished completely from view. Endless ocean stretched in every direction.
The wind filled the sails from behind, pushing the Traveler steadily westward.
Gradually, the crew began to sense an invisible force carrying the ship forward. Even when the wind weakened, the vessel continued moving with steady momentum.
Time passed.
The crew grew accustomed to the monotony of the voyage.
Their daily tasks included:
keeping watch from the masthead over the endless sea
adjusting the sails to catch the wind properly
inspecting ropes for signs of wear
Whenever there was nothing else to do, Major Lake ordered the sailors to scrub the deck with stone blocks, burning off excess energy to prevent fights.
This voyage had been carefully supplied.
The water barrels were even lined with a thin layer of silver foil—a luxury said to help prevent contamination.
Every three days, the captain issued measured rations of beer or cane liquor to boost morale.
After thirty-two days and nights at sea, the lookout spotted dark specks drifting across the western sky.
Not long afterward, an island covered in dense vegetation appeared on the horizon.
"Look—birds! We've reached land!"
The lookout's shout sent everyone rushing onto the deck.
They stared in awe at this unfamiliar land no one had ever seen before.
At noon, the Traveler anchored in a sheltered bay.
The crew took small boats to shore and ran excitedly across the beach. Warm seawater wrapped around their ankles.
Some cast fishing nets and hook lines nearby. Soon, they lit a campfire. Orange flames licked greedily at fish skewered on branches. Fat dripped into the fire with a sizzling sound, filling the air with a rich aroma.
"Hey, share some with me!"
Hungry sailors crowded around, eyes shining. They sliced steaming fish with daggers and stuffed the meat into their mouths, barely chewing.
That night, they strung hammocks near the beach and, for the first time in weeks, slept peacefully.
The next day, an exploration party followed a stream inland.
There, they discovered numerous giant land tortoises roaming the island. The creatures were enormous and slow-moving—an adult weighed more than five sailors combined.
"By Odin… what in the world is that?"
One bold sailor raised a light crossbow and cautiously pulled the trigger.
The bolt struck a tortoise's hind leg.
Sensing danger, the remaining tortoises began to lumber away.
Realizing the creatures were defenseless, the sailors rushed forward. They easily flipped the heavy shells onto their backs. The tortoises' thick limbs flailed helplessly in the air.
Using ropes, the crew dragged the animals back to the shore. Their shells scraped loudly against the rough ground.
Lots were drawn to select a tester.
The unlucky man grimaced as he swallowed a small piece of stewed tortoise meat.
He chewed.
Then paused.
Then shrugged—and finished the entire pot, along with the broth.
After three days of observation, the tester remained perfectly healthy.
Major Lake promptly ordered the crew to capture more tortoises to replenish their meat supplies.
During the rest period, the sailors:
hunted animals
repaired sails
explored the island
They also erected runestones on both the beach and a nearby hilltop, recording the date of the Traveler's arrival.
If the ship were to sink later, these stones would remain as the final trace of their existence in the world.
In late September, before departure, the crew captured large numbers of tortoises and packed them into the lower hold as food reserves.
Then the Traveler set sail again—this time heading due north.
One night, when the wind was weak, Major Lake noticed the ship's speed had suddenly increased.
He immediately took out an astrolabe, calculated their position, and recorded the location of the ocean current in the ship's log.
More than a week later, the sky changed.
The bright blue faded into a dull gray.
The coastline ahead looked entirely different:
towering conifer forests replaced swaying palm trees
jagged black reefs replaced white sandy beaches
the air carried a damp, salty chill
During the journey, Major Lake and his officers carefully mapped the coastline. Each time they landed, they erected another runestone claiming the territory for the House of Tynefort—even though all they could see were barren shores and circling seabirds.
The North Atlantic in late autumn was unforgiving.
Without warning, in early October, the Traveler was struck by a violent storm.
Heavy clouds swallowed the sky. Massive waves hammered the hull relentlessly. Freezing rain poured down, reducing visibility to almost nothing.
The situation grew critical.
Major Lake altered course, seizing a brief gap in the winds to steer toward the nearest coastline.
By fortune alone, they reached the mouth of a relatively calm river.
When they finally made landfall, there were no cheers—only exhausted silence.
Many sailors had fallen ill from the cold. Coughing echoed everywhere.
"Damn… only forty-nine of us left."
After holding a funeral for two crewmen who had died from sickness, Major Lake sank into gloom.
He ordered the strongest sailors to cut timber and, using the rising tide, haul the heavily damaged Traveler onto the beach for extensive repairs.
After more than three months at sea, the ship's hull was covered in a dense layer of gray-green barnacles and oysters. In some places, shipworms had bored visible holes into the wood—a terrifying sight.
"Damn barnacles!"
The sailors cursed as they swung iron scrapers with all their strength.
Fragments of barnacles fell like rain, and each strike of metal against the hull produced a harsh, grating screech.
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