628 Neat Trick

...Tycon could not be certain of it, though. The sword art was known for its subtlety, as the highest level of practitioners used natural and somewhat-subtle, movements that were no more threatening than a dancer's stage performance. 

Lone leapt forward, smashing the pommels of his sword hilt onto a large male pirate's shoulders, then powered a knee into his solar plexus. The pirate opened his mouth to scream... but the strike to below the lungs left him stunned and unable to convey his agony. 

Then, Lone... with yet another spin and a flourish, cleanly decapitated the fellow. He was showered in blood as he turned to the remaining pirates-- still another half-dozen left. 

The Elven Blade Dance was... a graceful, flowing... inefficient sword art. However, the techniques Lone were using... bordered on... murderous... raw... relentless and unforgiving. 

"H-he... he just killed like ten of our guys!" One of the pirates shouted.

"He's gotta be TIRED!!" Another yelled back, "Let's attack him TOGETHER!!!"

Lone whirled his blades in a circular motion, ending with his wrists touching and thrusting his fists forward, "⌈Wind, heed my call.⌋"

A roaring tunnel of wind erupted from the twin swords, shaving off parts of the deck, spinning with dust and splinters of wood. The pirates caught in the tunnel... they bled, as the rapidly spinning debris rended away their skin. 

The bloody bodies were ejected off of the ship... and into the saltwater. 

Tycon gulped. 

Whatever that was... was a Third-Circle spell... 

...

⟬ On an unknown beach in the Free Nation, present time. ⟭ 

"After that," Tycon explained, "Lone fainted from mana exhaustion... and he has yet to wake..."

"So it's a no-brainer that he's cursed," Krysaos gestured towards the unmoving Lone, "He's got funny looking ears, after all... but why do ya think you gotta go all the way to Archangel to figure it out? Can't we just stop at any city with a hexo-mancer or whatever?"

Krysaos looked up in thought... "I got cursed, once-- but I had this Witch I used to rail, so I got that taken care of, no problem."

Tycon assumed Krysaos was referring to the curse-breaking and not to the 'railing' of Witches. 

He sighed and shook his head, "We tried a normal ⌈Remove Curse⌋ ritual. It did not work."

Sol Invictus member Seldin Korr had... a peculiar supernatural effect in her fists that allowed her to interact with incorporeal entities, set free any individuals afflicted by possession, and on one occasion, even break curses. 

...Also, she landed a particularly vicious knee to the crotch that seemed quite out of place. It probably had something to do with Sorina's meddling. 

Thankfully, the process did not cost as much as a proper ritual. 

"So in order to rescue Lone, our third crew member, we gotta take the guy to Archangel," Krysaos nodded. "Got it."

"The swords," Tycon sighed. "The swords must eventually be taken to Whitehearth. Archangel is along the way... relatively."

"I'm assuming the curse is also one of those hand-holdy ones?" 

"...I'm sorry, what?" Tycon furrowed his brows. "The swords violently reject any wielder trying to move them so far away from Mister Lone's person, if that's what you were trying to imply." 

"So... we gotta take the guy to Archangel," Krysaos repeated, wearing his usual shite-eating grin. 

"The swords," Tycon corrected.

"--which are attached to the guy."

Tycon pursed his lips... "You do not like being wrong, do you, Captain?" 

Krysaos managed to grin even wider, "But I'm not."

...

⁆ Captain's Log, Second entry. Afternoon-ish. ⁅

Tycon made lunch. 

It was nothing short of amazing. 

He called it simple... just mushrooms and some pork steak, but it was so much more than that. 

The guy had some kind of... supernatural sense to sear the outside of the meat, LOCKING[1] the moistness and tenderness inside.

Then there were fire-roasted mushrooms-- you can't have those, usually, since most of the things are poisonous... but they were huge and juicy and all-around tasty. 

Also, the guy even had salt and spices! He was... it was... the best meal a half-starved guy on a deserted island could ever have. 

"You know," Krysaos spoke with his mouth full-- it was just so good, "Pretty good stuff... but should we really be eatin' like kings? Being on a deserted island, and all."

"We're not," Tycon responded simply. 

"Oh, no, we are," Krysaos argued. "Best meal I've had in my life!"

"Thank you," Tycon nodded with a subtle smirk. 

All people were weak to praise... and for once, Krysaos wasn't exaggerating about the food. 

"However," The guy continued... "We are on the coastline."

He flicked his wrist... a really weird and specific motion... and a rolled-up parchment appeared in his hand. 

Magic. 

"Neat trick," Krysaos nodded, impressed... "That uh... what I think it is?" 

He took the map and unrolled it... 

"We should be about here," Tycon pointed... "And Coughing Fish Bay is within two suns' travel... taking account of the fact that we'll be dragging Mister Lone's unconscious body along with us."

Krysaos whistled, "You must be a real good adventurer to have one of those."

"A map?" Tycon frowned, "They may be expensive, but they are somewhat necessary for adventuring."

"I mean... the infinity bag," Krysaos chuckled. 

Magic items that held things inside of them were both ridiculously rare and ludicrously expensive. It further cemented the fact that First Mate Tycon was probably as rich as an Archmage. 

"Ah, my spatial ring," Tycon lifted his hand, the simple iron band on his finger clear to see. "I must admit... that I am the leader of guild Sol Invictus. I pray that won't be an issue."

[1] Locking: This is incorrect. Searing removes moisture. The contrast of the seared outside and the well-cooked inside gives the sense of moisture being sealed. Sincerely, Tycon.