Chapter 126: Nyanjara Bay

Celeste, Celes Church Magitech Research Facility

Somewhere deep within the Celeste Kingdom, hidden from public eyes and inconvenient questions, stood a magitech research facility where coordinated chaos reigned supreme.

Mages—both human and elf—rushed from station to station, arguing over mana flow rates, recalibrating glowing runic arrays. Magical energy hummed constantly in the air.

At the very center of it all stood archpriest Uriel and archpriest Sachiel. Suddenly, a small figure appeared between flashes of light and hurried footsteps.

Raphael, the child archpriest, strode toward them with confident pace.

“Ah, Raphael,” Sachiel said pleasantly. “It seems your presentation is working. Minister Ignacio sent a mana-comm report—many kingdoms are now withholding themselves from joining the demon coalition.”

“That’s great news,” Raphael said brightly, clapping his hands together. “I’m glad our presentation managed to shine some light on Talvarians before they step onto the wrong path.”

“Hmph,” Uriel grunted, stroking his long beard. “I still object to the fact that we had to display our secret technology to the world.”

“Hahaha, I’m really sorry, Uriel, my dear friend,” Raphael said, scratching his cheek without a trace of guilt. “But it’s hard to send a powerful message without a powerful presentation. And nothing sends a message quite like your creation.”

Sachiel nodded calmly. “Please understand, Brother Uriel. At the very least, we’ve managed to keep the demons’ political influence at bay.”

“Besides,” Raphael added casually, “we also bought ourselves some valuable time. And redirected the demons’ attention elsewhere.”

He paused, his gaze drifting toward the massive structure dominating the heart of the facility.

“Enough time,” Raphael continued, “for you to complete our true gate of salvation.”

The three archpriests turned their eyes toward it.

A half-finished GATE.

But this was no ordinary Gate. It was enormous. Far larger than any previously constructed. Its surface was layered with unfamiliar carvings, its structure reinforced by an excessive number of runes, each one pulsing with restrained power. At its center stood a smaller Gate, nested neatly within the larger one. And at the heart of that smaller Gate was an even smaller Gate, still under construction, surrounded by technicians and mages frantically working to align its delicate components.

A Gate within a Gate within a Gate.

“Just prepare enough believers to power the divine Gate while I finish it,” Uriel said calmly.

“Ah, about that,” Raphael replied. “Since the number of tributes you requested is… significantly larger than before, I hope you don’t mind if, in my plan, we don’t exclusively use true believers to meet the quota.”

He smiled, tone light.

“One million souls is quite a number, hahaha.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Uriel said flatly. “If anything, it’s better. By giving their lives to power the divine Gate, even non-believers will be redeeming themselves.”

“Well, brothers,” Raphael sighed softly, clasping his hands behind his back, “it seems we have a long journey ahead of us.”

He turned back toward them, smiling warmly.

“But let’s do our best to make this journey… as enjoyable as we can.”

His eyes, however, were cold.

---

Somewhere in the Outer Wesroth Ocean

Far from any grand scheme, divine conspiracy, or arms race, a small Dwargonian merchant ship sailed quietly across the open sea.

A thin trail of smoke drifted lazily from its chimney as it cut through the waves. It had been days since Solo and the Misfits left Dwargonia—completely unaware of the fantasy cold war steadily brewing back home.

Inside one of the cabins, Solo squatted on the floor with his arms folded, staring intently at the object resting in front of him.

The Dragon’s Egg.

“Hmmm… you’re not magitech,” Solo muttered, tilting his head slightly. “So what are you…?”

Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” Solo said without looking up.

The door opened, and Irving and Kovalski entered the cabin, carrying a strange-looking rifle between them. It was, without question, not Murican.

They stopped, straightened, and snapped into a crisp salute.

“Sir,” Irving said, “we’re done with your Dwargonian rifle.”

“Ah, excellent,” Solo replied.

Kovalski stepped forward and began demonstrating the weapon.

The rifle itself looked like a fantasy steampunk energy rifle at its core—brass accents, glowing conduits—but now it was layered with unmistakable Murican sensibilities.

“We added a two-point adjustable tactical sling,” Irving said in a fully professional tone. “It distributes weight across the torso instead of the wrist. Quick-adjust tab for sprinting and crouching.”

Kovalski demonstrated the sling smoothly.

“O… kay…” Solo said.

“Next, we replaced the original shoulder pad with a Murican foldable shoulder pad extension,” Irving continued.

Kovalski flipped the pad out and back in with practiced ease.

“Improved grip,” Irving added, “especially if your hands get… wet.”

Solo frowned slightly.

“Three-to-four-times magnification combat optic,” Irving went on, “with offset iron sights mounted on the side. We left the original Dwargonian laser pointer assist intact.”

Kovalski continued demonstrating every feature with flawless precision.

“And finally,” Irving said, “we applied rubberized sealing around all exposed seams for environmental hardening. The rifle is now essentially weatherproof and waterproof.”

Kovalski finished by presenting the rifle to Solo with exaggerated, ceremonial seriousness.

Silence.

Solo stared at Kovalski for a few seconds.

“…I only asked you guys to clean and oil it,” he muttered, slowly taking the rifle from Kovalski’s hands.

“We only deliver the best, sir,” Irving and Kovalski replied in perfect unison, backs straight.

“Thanks… I guess,” Solo said after a pause. “Dismissed.”

They saluted once more and exited the cabin.

Solo let out a long sigh.

“How long are they going to keep kissing my ass…” he muttered.

He looked back down at the rifle in his hands. A gift from Dwordoug, given alongside the Dragon’s Egg for the journey.

“Hm… but I gotta say,” Solo admitted quietly as he inspected the modifications, “they did a pretty good job making this more handy.”

Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting.

The ship’s bell suddenly rang out above.

Solo looked up.

“Hm?”

---

Solo stepped out onto the deck, the salty wind brushing past him. He approached the ship’s owner—a merchant dwarf who was already standing near the railing, hands clasped behind his back.

“Ah, Mr. Solo,” the dwarf said, nodding. “We’ve arrived.”

Solo followed his gaze across the deck. Ahead lay the Beast Island, a vast landmass dominated by dense tropical forests. Near the shoreline, a port town sprawled outward, rough but busy. Several wooden merchant ships were anchored nearby, while small boats moved constantly between the docks and the larger vessels.

“Finally,” Solo muttered. “Beast Island.”

“Yes,” the merchant said. “The birthplace of the beastmen.”

“For a so-called undeveloped island,” Solo observed, “trade looks pretty lively.”

“Well,” the dwarf replied, gesturing toward the harbor, “they have special commodities that are cheapers than anywhere else in Talvaris.”

As he spoke, a small boat drifted past their ship, heading toward one of the anchored merchants. On its deck, several beastmen were visibly... chained.

“Ah…” Solo said quietly. “Slaves.”

“That’s right,” the merchant confirmed. “Unlike the beastman kingdoms on other continents, the tribes here never unified. They’re still divided, many still fighting each other.”

“So that makes them easier targets for slavers,” Solo said.

“That,” the dwarf sighed, “and the fact that it’s common for the winning tribes to sell the defeated ones to slavers themselves.”

He shook his head. “An endless cycle of slavery.”

Solo was silent for a moment.

“So what business brings you here?” he asked. “Dwargonia doesn’t deal in slaves.”

“I sell metal ores and minerals,” the merchant replied. “In return, I mostly buy exotic fruits.”

“I see,” Solo muttered.

He turned his gaze back toward the island, watching the port bustle with quiet efficiency, the forest looming behind it like a patient witness.

“Tribal wars, huh…” Solo said softly.

He exhaled.

“Sounds like the Demon Kingdoms a hundred and thirty years ago.” he added.

---

Nyanjara Bay

Later that day, Solo and the Misfits disembarked from a small Dwargonian boat onto the port docks of Nyanjara Bay.

“Oh finally! Laaand! Laaand!” Bella cried as she leapt off the boat and immediately dropped to her knees, kissing the wooden planks.

She looked noticeably very thin now.

“There, there,” Ivy said, squatting beside her and gently patting her back. “Now you can eat normally again without puking everything up.”

Ahead of them, Irving and Kovalski were already at work. They positioned themselves in front of Solo, backs straight, eyes scanning.

“Specialist Kovalski, eyes peeled,” Irving whispered in a grave tone. “Ensure no suspicious individuals approach our VIP.”

“Yes, Captain,” Kovalski whispered back crisply. “No harm shall come to the VIP.”

They somehow managed to whisper loudly enough for Solo to hear every word.

Solo who stood behind them, visibly annoyed. He turned to the dwarf merchant to say goodbye.

“Well, Mr. Solo,” the merchant said, “I wish you a safe journey ahead.”

“Thank you for the ride,” Solo replied.

They shook hands. Solo and the Misfits moved off toward the town while the merchant stayed behind, already barking orders as his crew began unloading cargo from the ship.

With their capes pulled tight to conceal their demon features, Solo and the Misfits entered the port town. Drawing attention in an unfamiliar place was never a good idea.

---

Nyanjara Bay itself was a well-developed town. Originally built by slavers, now bustling with constant activity. Humans and beastmen filled the streets, and the architecture resembled an old eighteenth-century European port town.

But what stood out most was the slaves. Groups of chained slaves were herded through the streets. Beastman merchants displayed other beastmen openly—sitting on the roadside, shackled and helpless—while shouting prices and trying to attract buyers.

Irving, Kovalski, and Bella passed through the scene without any visible reaction.

But somehow... Solo and Ivy slowed slightly, and froze. The two members that was not demons. One was human, the other was a human trapped in an orc’s body. Both were being emotionally assaulted. Not by injustice, not by cruelty. But by something far worse.

In their minds, they weren’t seeing slaves.

But they were seeing furries.

So many cute furries.

A whole town filled with cute furries. More than any Ravendawn city had.

They both froze as cuteness overload hit them like a truck.