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Admiral Bryce’s Autobiography, 20 P.C.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Francis said, trying his best to stay calm.
“Huh, you didn’t jump in fright,” Leonie replied in thought. “I suppose you really are a bounty hunter.”
“I’m serious, Leonie,” he exclaimed, causing her to frown. “You can get tracked.”
That, in turn, made her dismissive. “Oh, relax! Orange Town is big enough. I doubt anyone would care about a Supplicant power.”
His silence gave away yet another clue. “You even know what a Supplicant is! I truly underestimated you.”
Is this how people saw me before?
Francis nearly lectured the poor thing. But she had a point. The Submerged one needed to worry about didn’t waste away in a town such as this one. So the only thing his words would do was expose him further.
“Your funeral,” Francis said with a shrug before sitting on his bed and taking a huff. The inhale stung, but muscle memory did its part.
“What about you? Got any fancy artifact?”
The question was invasive, but it was also valid. What kind of bounty hunter didn’t have an artifact?
“I do, actually.”
“I bet mine is cooler,” Leonie replied, her declining diction unsettling him. She was done with the theatrics, it seemed.
“Shanty of Evasion, two Stanzas,” Francis finally answered as he settled on the perfect half-truth.
“Shanty of what now?” Leonie replied in confusion, leading him to laugh.
“Not as learned as you think you are, huh?”
His words broke her smug attitude, her face turning red—undoubtedly from embarrassment.
“Well, at least I can use fire. What do you have?”
Her indignation only led him to laugh harder. She was truly a small fish in a very big pond… just like him, at some point. That thought alone made him more sympathetic.
“I can detect danger ahead of time. Is that cool enough?”
“Why couldn’t you detect my flames?” Leonie asked with an infuriating grin.
Because you’re not much of a threat.
“Because you weren’t trying to hurt me.”
“Fair enough. What else?”
He nearly mentioned Substitution before remembering that it was a Deacon Stanza.
“I can turn slippery,” he replied, inwardly daring her to make a joke.
“Oh. Quite handy, if you know what I mean.”
I knew it.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he replied as he facepalmed.
“What! That was clever.”
“Anyway,” he said, desperate to change the topic. “Try not to get carried away. Even a Supplicant Stanza can draw attention.”
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“Aye, aye, captain!” Leonie said before saluting mockingly. “Gotta go now—thank you for the tip.”
She headed out, cigarette still in her mouth, using his floor as an ashtray.
“Oh well,” he said with a sigh. “It’s just some ash.”
The woman was interesting in a morbid way. It was like she was Valeria in Camila’s body. The thought made him shudder. Dealing with one of them was more than enough, and now he had to deal with both at once.
Oh, Camila. If only you could hear my side of the story.
Alas, she was weeks away. He left the melancholy for later and began focusing on the assignment at hand.
“Tonight, Yves joins the hunt.”
***
As Francis approached the ship, he exhaled in relief. Even though the harbor was full of vessels, the lights weren’t much to speak of, giving him the perfect cover.
His second—and more important—cover was approaching aquatically, as walking made it far easier to tail and compromise someone. Or at least that was what the books claimed.
Francis kept his head above water for a while longer, making sure no pirates were on deck, then submerged once more. The cold would’ve been biting to most, but to him it was a comfort—a comfort that kept his heart beating.
For all its blessings, Descension didn’t provide clearer vision underwater, forcing Francis to navigate the depths to the best of his ability. Luckily, he had memorized the trajectory, allowing him to reach it in mere minutes.
Before he could have second thoughts, Francis activated Liquidation, enabling him to climb the ship like an insect. It would’ve been a harrowing sight, assuming anyone could see him.
The moment he reached the railing, he deactivated the Stanza, fearing the release of ripples. A pirate worth four hundred silver was unlikely to possess Observation, but one couldn’t be too careful.
Francis edged closer, hoping no one would draw near, before quickly realizing how silly his approach was. An Acolyte was still human at the end of the day. It didn’t matter how many crewmates Dirty Fang had or what their weapons were. All it took was a single stab or shot, and he was gone.
What they didn’t have, however, was immunity to fire.
Francis took a deep breath, then unleashed an uncontrollable flame across the deck, which didn’t take long to reach the cabin.
The reactions were immediate. Some pirates screamed, others ran for the deck—but it was all futile. The panic undoubtedly helped, as most of those who emerged only thought of escaping, never expecting him to burn them to a crisp.
There should’ve been sympathy to be felt there. But if the intel was reliable, these people had killed and pillaged more than a dozen villages, earning them no mercy.
As the screams faded, Francis pushed deeper inside, taking advantage of the fire thinning significantly. The scene had already attracted onlookers outside, but it didn’t matter—not when he was an insignificant outlander.
Just as he expected, Dirty Fang looked unscathed, save for his burnt clothes and pained expression.
“Who sent you!” he barked from what seemed to be his cabin.
“Your wanted poster.”
Anger quickly gave way to fear as he noticed Francis’ calm demeanor.
“Why would a Submerged bother with me?” he asked, backing away.
“Your wanted poster.”
“Was it Read?” he asked, undoubtedly trying to buy time. “I can pay double—no, triple my bounty. Just walk away.”
Francis answered by sending a column of flame at point-blank range, instantly incinerating him.
The wanted poster was a half-lie. Francis had, in fact, another reason—one that metamorphosed the disgusting pirate into a piece of jewelry.
***
Hours later, Francis emerged from the water on the far side of town. Waiting until dawn might’ve seemed excessive, but he wanted to leave nothing to chance. His first hunt had to be flawless.
More importantly, the incident was bound to become the talk of the town due to its melodrama. One simply didn’t burn an entire ship for a bounty as low as four hundred silver.
Which is the whole point.
It could be an accident. It could be a mutiny. It could be anything. Why would the newcomer burn a ship?
Francis inwardly thanked the bounty hunter world for its discretion. If Bertrand’s word held true, he wouldn’t even need to deal with the intel broker—just hand over the silver to the bartender and take a well-earned rest.
The Iberian garrison posed a complication, of course, but the severed head at his waist made that complication easier to manage.
The quiet moment of triumph didn’t last, however, as a familiar face reared its head once more.
“Yves! Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Xavier. Small world,” he replied, trying to sound casual. “I was… swimming.”
“With your clothes on?” the fisherman asked, baffled.
“Yeah. I love how it feels.”
The fisherman looked sad at that. “Are you lying to me, Yves?”
Great. Just when he thought he’d done a perfect job, he’d been caught by the most suspicious person in town. He had to tell the truth—otherwise, he risked his unpredictability.
“Yeah, Xavier. I was,” he said with feigned regret. “I actually killed a few people just now.”
“Did they deserve it?” the fisherman asked simply.
“Yes.”
“Then that’s all that matters!” he said enthusiastically, catching Francis off guard. “You’re a good guy, Yves. I wish more people were like you.”
“I wish I could say the same, Xavier,” Francis replied wistfully. “Still, one can always try.”
“Imagination one must use, causing all that stands in thy way to lose,” the fisherman said with his characteristic toothless grin before walking away, leaving Francis a confused mess.
The confusion gave way to terror as Francis realized his clothes were dry.
He had emerged from the water minutes ago, yet they were as dry as they had been before the operation.
Whatever Xavier was, it wasn’t normal.
Not by a long shot.