Chapter 667 - 554: Wedding

Chapter 667: Chapter 554: Wedding

An unknown amount of time passed. The treacherous, rocky coastline on the outskirts of the Broken Star Sea was gradually left behind, giving way to a relatively open, yet still scattered, expanse of inky black sea dotted with small islands and hidden reefs.

By the time the silhouettes of more, denser islands began to appear on the distant horizon, it was deep into the night.

However, one of the larger islands was strangely conspicuous against the profound darkness.

Not because of the glow of Magic or some disaster, but because of...

Lights.

An abundance of lights.

From high above, the island’s bay-facing side had gentler terrain, with layers upon layers of wooden buildings and dock facilities built into the mountainside.

Right now, hundreds of windproof lanterns, torches, and even some colorful orbs of magical light were hung from masts, eaves, and between alleyways, bathing the entire settlement in light and even reflecting off the nearby sea.

The ships moored at the docks were also decorated with lights and colorful banners, the primary colors appearing to be a striking crimson and gold.

Even over the night wind, a din drifted up—a mixture of musical instruments, boisterous laughter, and communal singing. The atmosphere was incredibly lively, a stark contrast to the silent darkness of the other islands.

"Tsk!"

Holland craned his neck to look down, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What the hell is going on? What day is it? Why is the Serrated Anchor’s lair lit up like it’s on fire? It’s so bright... Could they be at war with someone?"

He instinctively connected it to a battle; after all, in these waters, lights and noise on this scale usually meant violence.

Roland also observed the scene below, his gaze intent.

The festive uproar was certainly at odds with the typical image of a maritime faction known for its brutality.

But the air didn’t carry the scent of blood or smoke that would signal a battle. Instead, it smelled of...

A public festival—a mix of fragrant food, alcohol, and the heat of a crowd.

He had Black Wind circle higher in the sky, using the shadows and the darkness of night to conceal their presence, while more carefully discerning the details among the lights.

There were deep red silk ribbons everywhere, along with decorative motifs of crossed anchors and swords. The heart of the gathering didn’t seem to be the docks or any defensive structures, but a sturdy, spacious-looking longhouse at the island’s highest point.

"It doesn’t look like a battle."

Roland concluded in a low voice.

"It’s more like... they’re holding some kind of massive party."

"A party?"

Ellis leaned in for a look as well.

"It’s certainly a large-scale affair. For a celebration this resource-intensive in such a remote chain of islands... it’s either an important traditional holiday or something of extreme significance has happened for the local faction."

He paused, lost in thought.

"Have they struck a major deal or forged an alliance?"

"Who cares."

Holland rubbed his hands together, a flicker of instinctual interest in the lively scene in his eyes.

"In any case, it looks like their guard is down. Their attention is on all the eating, drinking, and merrymaking. This is the perfect opportunity for us to sneak in."

Roland nodded, then gently patted the side of Black Wind’s neck, sending it a clear thought.

The Nightmare Beast rumbled in understanding. The Shadow Energy around it grew denser as it carried the three of them to a silent landing behind a secluded reef on the island’s unlit side.

The entire process was nearly silent, like a true shadow melting into the Darkness.

After landing, Roland stroked Black Wind’s cool mane, whispering for it to leave for now and wait out in the open sea.

Black Wind’s current form was far too conspicuous; it would easily cause a commotion and raise alarm in such a crowded place.

Black Wind’s ghost-fire eyes flickered in understanding before it melted back into the Shadow, disappearing silently behind the reef.

Watching their partner depart, Roland, Holland, and Ellis quickly straightened their wind-tousled clothes, trying to look less like intruders who had just battled the rough seas.

They then followed a small path leading up toward the brightly lit area, effortlessly merging into the boisterous crowd.

The lively scene before them was far more visceral than it had appeared from the sky.

Rough-hewn wooden longhouses and shanties clung to the mountainside, a winding main path snaking up between them. The path was currently packed with all sorts of people.

Sailors, Merchants, Adventurers in disparate gear—some bearing obvious scars—and local residents.

They held massive wooden mugs high, spilling foamy ale everywhere.

They laughed and chatted loudly, singing off-key sea shanties.

The air was thick with the charred aroma of grilled fish and roasted meat, the scent of spices, sweat, and the overpowering reek of alcohol.

Makeshift stalls sold food, cheap liquor, and inexpensive souvenirs, while musicians on crude instruments played upbeat, almost feral, rhythms.

Roland’s eyes, however, were quickly drawn to the markings that were everywhere.

Carved into rough wooden beams, embroidered on faded cloth banners, and even faintly visible on the bottom of the mugs people were raising.

It was an emblem composed of a tilted Shield, an anchor, a Curved Saber, and a spyglass.

Just as Holland had said, this was without a doubt the territory of the Serrated Anchor.

The sheer number of insignias was a silent declaration of who was hosting this revelry.

Just as Roland was discreetly observing his surroundings, trying to glean useful information from the din, Holland popped up out of nowhere, cradling a heaping pile of food wrapped in coarse parchment.

Golden-brown chunks of grilled fish, sausages on wooden skewers, and even a few pieces of fruit that looked reasonably fresh.

He shoved some of the food at Roland and Ellis while taking a huge bite of a greasy piece of roasted meat himself, his cheeks bulging.

After a difficult swallow, he chugged a large mouthful of ale he’d filched from somewhere before leaning in close to the other two.

Despite the surrounding uproar, he deliberately lowered his voice, a look of mysterious excitement on his face, as if to say, ’You’ll never guess what I found out.’

"Hey, I was just shooting the breeze with a few drunk sailors. Guess what?"

The Priest’s eyes were shining as he wiped his mouth with a greasy hand.

"No wonder this place is going nuts! They’re celebrating a joyous occasion!"

He paused to make sure he had their full attention, then, in the tone of someone making a grand announcement, he spoke, enunciating each word.

"They’re holding a... wed... ding... for the Serrated Anchor’s female leader!"

"A wedding?"

Roland felt little emotion at these words.

It had nothing to do with his reason for being here.

The priority was to find out from the members of the Serrated Anchor if anyone had seen an unconscious Bronson.

With that in mind, he turned to the Priest and asked.

"Holland, do you know anyone in the Serrated Anchor we can ask for information?"

Before he could even finish his sentence, a strange aura and a ripple of Energy—like a stone tossed into a calm pond—were instantly caught by Roland’s extraordinarily keen Perception.

It wasn’t the boisterousness of the celebration or the Chaos of drunks, but a cold, highly ordered disturbance of Magic. It was powerful and...

...suffused with an undisguised, oppressive presence.

It was emanating from the island’s high point, from the direction of the longhouse where the lights were most concentrated.

At almost the exact same moment, Ellis snapped his head up, his pale face looking even more grim in the flickering firelight.

His gray-blue eyes locked onto the high point, his voice sinking to a near-whisper.

"Powerful Casters, and more than one... They just appeared. Up there."