"Ah, apologies."
Silas said quickly, his thoughts turning as he withdrew the chains back into his body.
Being scrutinized by an angel with such open hostility in her eyes was no small pressure.
He could only conclude that Roselle really did have a taste for mischief. He had no idea what kind of reaction his daughter would have when he brought her here later to meet this woman.
The woman in the black dress rubbed her slender, snow white neck. The collar and chain there hadn't vanished. Her gaze remained less than friendly, fixed on Silas, sizing him up.
A moment later, an odd smile crossed her face.
"So, that man Roselle finally settled on you?"
She spoke for the first time, her voice clear and magnetic, well matched to her tall, gracefully curved figure.
Her clear red eyes reflected Silas's form, his handsome face so fine it seemed almost unreal.
"Strictly speaking, I merely happened to obtain the key he left behind."
Silas answered carefully.
He could sense a trace of resentment in her words, as though she held some grievance against Roselle himself.
Until he understood where that resentment came from, it was better not to say too much, lest he provoke her. "Are you Roselle's flagship, the ghost ship of the Solomon Empire, the Black King?"
"Heh."
At the mention of that name, a mocking smile rose on the woman's face. "You could say so. You could also say not."
What kind of answer was that? Was she toying with him?
"I don't quite follow."
Silas said frankly. "Could you explain?"
The woman in black glanced at him, then turned and walked a few steps away, spreading her arms wide on the deck of the black three masted sailing ship.
"If you're asking about this ship, yes, it truly does come from the Solomon Empire of the distant Fourth Epoch, a ghost ship built by that great empire. Likewise, it was once the flagship of that Emperor Indis, the Black King."
The woman in black said softly.
What did that mean?
Hearing her words, confusion welled up in Silas's mind.
On one hand she admitted that the ship beneath their feet was the Black King, yet on the other she seemed to doubt her own existence. The stability of her mental state was truly worrying, qualified enough to rival his own.
"Then what is your relationship to this ship?"
"I was made by Roselle specifically."
The woman said plainly and directly.
She walked to the ship's rail, her long, slender fingers brushing lightly over the railing, her red eyes growing distant, as though lost in memory.
"Through the path of the Lawyer, using a Sequence 2 Duke of Entropy as extraordinary material, the ghost ship Black King as vessel, combined with the powerful ability of that Son of Steam, I was fashioned, an artificial life... in essence, more like a ship spirit. Or, you might say, a poor wretch who doesn't know who she is."
"So I have no memories from the era of the Solomon Empire, no impression of following Roselle into battle.
By the time I gained consciousness, I found myself drifting on the Fog Sea. The last image in my mind was of that damned Roselle. He told me that someday, someone would come bearing the key to find me."
The seawater's backflow had ended, the heat gradually receding, steam lingering in the air, the distant fog slowly closing in. This stretch of sea would soon return to what it had been for centuries, quiet, mysterious.
The woman looked around, an indescribable gloom in her eyes. "This sea, this fog... I've been looking at it for far too long."
"Can't you go elsewhere?"
Silas, somewhat affected by her mood, asked in turn. "You should still have the ability to travel through the spirit realm, shouldn't you? Why not go somewhere like the Sonia Sea for a change of scenery?"
The woman let out a light laugh.
"Unfortunately, Roselle doesn't want me sailing freely across the world."
She pointed to the chain around her neck. "He placed many restrictions on me. For instance, I cannot use my Sequence 2 abilities as I please, and I can only sail along fixed routes within the Fog Sea."
So that was it. Those chains had been made by Roselle.
Silas suddenly understood. No wonder the movements of the Black King he'd observed followed such a rigid pattern, and no wonder it had been so constrained and hamstrung when facing the Indis fleet.
By his analysis, the orders Roselle had left behind were all meant to ensure that the Black King could be reliably found by whoever held the key.
The nature of the Fog Sea already made it difficult to locate; fixed routes made it easier for the key's holder to search for it, and the strict limits on her powers were mainly meant to reduce her impact, lowering the chance of her being discovered.
But for her personally, this order was more than a little cruel.
Silas could almost picture the scene: for nearly a century, this black three masted ship had drifted alone across the sea, waiting for the one who would come to take her away.
Countless days and nights, the beautiful black haired woman standing at the ship's rail, her red eyes reflecting the same unchanging, heavy fog.
Occasionally she would encounter other vessels beyond the mist, hear human voices. But the strict restrictions meant she couldn't communicate with them, could only drive them away.
The fog closed in completely around them, a current of air stirring the sails, drawing out a low, mournful sound like weeping.
"What year is it now?"
In the strange, quiet atmosphere, the black haired woman suddenly asked.
"1350."
Silas said, coming back to himself.
"I see. So I've been sailing these waters for 152 years."
The woman sighed.
152 years?
Silas quickly did the math in his mind and immediately arrived at a conclusion: the year she'd been created was 1198, the very year Roselle had been assassinated in his own palace.
Had Roselle foreseen something, and made her specifically because of it?
"It's reasonable that you'd hold a grudge against Roselle."
He said to her sincerely. That she had kept her mind so stable under such circumstances was truly remarkable.
"Heh, it doesn't matter anymore."
The woman in black said, her eyes downcast, reaching up to tuck a few loose strands of black hair behind her ear.
"He gave me life, and he also made me suffer endlessly. The two cancel each other out, more or less. Besides, that man is already dead. There's no point resenting him further."
You're taking this rather well...
Silas thought to himself, only wondering whether she would still be willing to honor Roselle's final wish, and let him become her holder.
"What should I call you? The Black King?"
He asked again.
"Don't call me by that name."
The black haired woman shook her head. "That name makes me lose my own meaning. Through this long stretch of time, I gave myself a new name."
With that, she lifted the hem of her dress and gave Silas a slight bow.
"Antia Trois. That is my name."
"Alexander Gascoigne."
Silas answered in kind, offering his false name for the time being.