The wind blew gently through the sails, carrying the Grey Seagull toward the unknown, while the two companions, silent, prepared themselves inwardly for what was to come.
The first day at sea passed at a calm and steady rhythm. The cutter moved smoothly across the tranquil waters of the East Blue, its sails filled by a moderate breeze. Tomas and his small crew went about their tasks with the quiet efficiency of men accustomed to long, uneventful voyages. Elian spent most of his time near the bow, gazing out at the endless stretch of sea before him. Shikamaru remained leaning against the main mast, hands in his pockets, eyes half-closed, as if he were dozing.
From time to time, Tomas cast them a glance, still uncertain about this strange duo: a silent boy with striking violet hair and a young man with a lazy demeanor who seemed to put in the least effort possible. But he asked no questions. In these remote corners of the East Blue, it was better not to ask too many.
As evening approached, the sky took on a soft orange hue. Elian sat on a coil of rope, feeling the gentle rocking of the ship. The new warmth in his chest was now steady, a subtle presence that made him feel a little stronger. He took out one of his shuriken and slowly spun it between his fingers, recalling the trial in the courtyard. The motion now felt natural.
Shikamaru eventually came to sit beside him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Shikamaru broke the silence in his low, drawn-out voice:
"Tomorrow, we'll reach the halfway point. Keep your eyes open. In these waters, even a simple escort can become troublesome if someone gets too greedy. Watch the crew. Watch Tomas. And stay ready."
Elian nodded slowly. He slipped the shuriken back into his pocket.
"I will," he replied softly.
Night fell over the sea. The deck lanterns were lit, casting small circles of warm light. The crew ate together in silence, sharing dried fish and hard bread. Elian and Shikamaru stayed apart, eating little, listening to the creaking wood and the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull.
The second day dawned clearer. The mist had lifted, and the sea shimmered beneath a pale sun. The Grey Seagull continued its steady course. Tomas seemed more relaxed, occasionally sharing brief stories from his past voyages—nothing important, just enough to fill the silence.
Elian quietly trained, throwing his shuriken at a wooden crate when no one was watching. Each throw was sharper than the last. His body, leaner and more stable after weeks of training, responded with growing confidence. Shikamaru observed from a distance, offering only the occasional murmured correction.
By mid-afternoon on the third day, the low, misty silhouette of Low-Mist Island appeared on the horizon—an island covered in dense, lush vegetation.
Tomas joined them at the bow, wiping his hands on a cloth.
"We'll arrive tomorrow morning if the wind holds," he said. "Stay alert until the end. These waters are calm, but you never know."
Elian nodded without speaking. Shikamaru, still leaning against the mast, simply gave a slight nod.
The sea stretched endlessly around them, calm and infinite. Port Mirage was already nothing more than a distant point on the horizon.
Ahead of them, Low-Mist awaited.
And with it, their first real mission.
The wind continued to blow gently through the sails, carrying the Grey Seagull toward the unknown, while the two companions, silent, felt the quiet weight of what awaited them.
***
Toward the end of the afternoon on the third day, a sail appeared in the distance, off the starboard side. A small, fast vessel, lighter than theirs, slowly but steadily closing in. Tomas visibly tensed.
"This isn't normal," he finally murmured, his voice tight. "This route isn't very busy. And that ship… I recognize it. It belongs to one of Varek's men. A business rival. He's been after my cargo for months. He already tried to sink me twice last year."
Elian slowly turned his head toward the approaching vessel. The sea, until then so calm, suddenly felt heavier. He felt the steady warmth in his chest, and the reassuring weight of the shuriken at his hip. Shikamaru, still leaning against the mast, didn't move, but his half-lidded gaze sharpened slightly, as if he were already calculating every possibility.
The rival ship drew closer. They could now make out the figures on board: four men, armed with short sabers and clubs. They raised no flag. Their intentions were clear. No negotiation. No bargaining. They had come to kill Tomas, seize the cargo, and likely sink or steal the Grey Seagull.
Tomas clenched his teeth, his face pale.
"There are four of them. Hired hands, not honest sailors. They'll try to board. My crew… they're not made for this."
Grappling hooks were thrown with rough shouts. Two of them latched onto the railing of the Grey Seagull. The first attackers leapt onto the deck, sabers drawn, faces hard and determined. One of them, a massive man with a black beard, charged straight at Tomas with a roar.
Elian didn't hesitate for long. He pulled out a shuriken, aimed calmly, and threw it. The small metal star spun through the air and buried itself deep in the first attacker's shoulder. The man cried out in pain and dropped his saber, stumbling back a step. Before he could regain his balance, Elian threw a second shuriken that struck the man in the thigh, sending him crashing heavily onto the deck.
On the other side, the second attacker turned toward Elian, saber raised. But Shikamaru had already stepped in, with that almost insolent slowness that was his trademark. He dodged the saber strike with a lazy step, then struck the man's solar plexus with the palm of his hand. The blow was precise, efficient, almost casual. The attacker doubled over, breath knocked out of him. Shikamaru followed with an elbow to the shoulder, then a simple, effective sweep that sent the man to the ground, where he remained motionless.
The third attacker, still on his own ship, shouted orders and tried to throw another grappling hook. Tomas, terrified, ordered his crew to cut the ropes. The sailors, clumsy and panicked, obeyed as best they could.
Meanwhile, the fourth man had managed to board and was charging at Tomas with a club. Elian threw a third shuriken that struck his arm, slowing him just enough for Shikamaru to intervene. With a fluid motion, Shikamaru struck the man's knee, then his temple, sending him collapsing onto the deck without a sound.
The rival ship, seeing its men down and the resistance stronger than expected, began to pull away in haste, abandoning the grappling hooks still attached. Tomas shouted for his crew to cut the remaining ropes. The wood creaked, the ropes snapped, and the enemy ship quickly retreated, carrying with it the frustrated shouts of its captain.
Silence fell again over the Grey Seagull, broken only by the lapping of the waves and the low groans of the two wounded attackers lying on the deck.
Tomas stood motionless for a long moment, his face ashen, his hands trembling. He looked at Elian and Shikamaru as if seeing them for the first time.
"You… you saved my life," he finally murmured, his voice hoarse. "Varek must have learned I was carrying something valuable this time. He'll stop at nothing. Without you…"
Shikamaru calmly wiped his hands on his pants, as if he had just finished a tedious chore.
"We were paid for it," he replied in a drawling voice. "Nothing more."
Elian put away his remaining shuriken without a word. His breathing was steady. He felt the warmth in his chest, calm and present. For the first time, he had used his shuriken in a real situation, against men who truly meant to kill them. And he had succeeded.
The sea stretched out around them once more, calm again, as if nothing had happened. Low-Mist was still far away, but the journey had just taken on a far more tangible turn.
The wind continued to blow gently through the sails, carrying the Grey Seagull toward its destination, while the two companions, silent, felt that their first mission had already taught them far more than they had expected.
The next two days passed in relative calm. The sea remained peaceful, almost too peaceful, as if it wanted to give them time to process what had happened. Tomas, still shaken, spoke little. He spent long hours at the stern of the ship, watching the horizon with a nervousness he could no longer hide. His crew, uneasy, carried out their tasks with newfound caution, occasionally casting furtive glances at Elian and Shikamaru.
Elian often stayed near the bow, his gaze lost over the sea. From time to time, he would take out a shuriken and slowly spin it between his fingers, mentally reliving each throw against the attackers. His body was leaner, steadier, his shoulders slightly broader. Every movement reminded him of the fifteen days of training in the grove. The warmth in his chest had become a constant presence, almost reassuring.
Shikamaru, for his part, remained leaning against the main mast most of the time, hands in his pockets, eyes half-closed. He observed everything: the crew's movements, the way Tomas clenched his fists, the rhythm of the waves. He spoke little, but when he did, it was always in a low, drawn-out voice.
On the fourth morning, Low-Mist finally appeared on the horizon: a low island covered in dense, misty vegetation, with a small harbor nestled in a protected bay.
The Grey Seagull docked slowly late in the morning. The wood of the pier creaked softly under the ship's weight. Tomas stepped off first, visibly relieved to have arrived in one piece. He quickly handled the formalities with the local authorities, then returned to Elian and Shikamaru, who were waiting on the dock.
He pulled out a well-filled leather pouch and handed it to Elian.
"Here's what we agreed on," he said, his voice still slightly unsteady. "500,000 Berries. You did far more than what you were paid for. Without you… I probably wouldn't be here anymore."
Elian took the pouch calmly. He weighed it briefly in his hand, feeling its tangible weight in his palm, then slipped it into his inner pocket. It was their first real payment for a mission. Shikamaru, beside him, said nothing, simply giving a slight nod.
Tomas remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the dock's planks. Then he raised his head, his expression more serious.
"Listen… I know you're not ordinary guards. You're different. And Varek won't stop there. He'll try again. Sooner, harder. He wants my trade route, my cargo—everything I've built."
He paused for a long moment, as if carefully weighing his words.
"I'm offering you a new mission. Not an escort. Not simple protection. I want you to kill Varek."
The silence that followed was deep. Only the lapping of the water against the pier's posts and the distant cries of seagulls broke it.
Tomas continued, his voice lower:
"He lives on Black Rock Island, three days' sailing from here. He thinks he's untouchable because he has a few men and pays well. But he's not invincible. If you accept, I'll pay you 800,000 Berries. Half now, half when it's done."
Elian remained silent, feeling the weight of the pouch against his chest. He glanced at Shikamaru, waiting for his reaction.
Shikamaru let out a long, almost weary sigh, his half-closed eyes turned toward the sea.
"Killing a man… that's not a D-rank mission," he murmured. "That's already C-rank, maybe B depending on the difficulty. And in a remote place like this, it could attract attention."
He paused, then added in a drawling tone:
"But… it's also a way to make sure he never comes back to cause us trouble."
Tomas waited, his face tense.
Elian looked toward the horizon, where the sea blended into the sky. He felt the steady warmth in his chest, the weight of the shuriken at his belt, and that new calm determination that had been growing in him since their departure from Crystal Island.
After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice low but firm:
"We'll think about it. But we won't leave today. We need to rest and prepare."
Tomas nodded, visibly relieved that they hadn't refused outright.
"Take the time you need. I'll be here for two days to unload the cargo. If you accept, come find me."
He walked back toward his men, leaving Elian and Shikamaru alone on the dock.
The sea breeze blew gently, carrying the scent of salt and damp wood. Low-Mist stretched out before them, calm on the surface, yet already carrying the promise of something new—or something dangerous.
Shikamaru stared at the horizon for a long moment, then murmured:
"Killing a man for money… that's no small thing. But in this world, leaving an enemy alive is often more troublesome in the long run."
Elian didn't respond right away. He kept his eyes on the sea, feeling that their path had just taken a darker, more tangible turn.
The sun continued to rise in the sky, softly illuminating Low-Mist in a calm, golden light, as if nothing were urgent.
But for them, the time of innocent first steps was over.