Fortunately, at this moment, Allen had already emptied every last coin from his purse.
"Miss Jaina!" Paval's voice tore through the air, hoarse with panic. "Are you alright, miss?!"
They rushed in with weapons raised—and then saw the scene before them—
Their princess was being held tightly in the arms of a dark mage.
Paval's face instantly darkened like the bottom of a pot.
Before he could even speak, Allen had already let go of Jaina.
He turned around, facing the rushing guards and sailors, and struck first: "You useless lot!"
His voice was filled with anger as he pointed at the corpses of the naga scattered across the ground: "Are you all just freeloaders?! How are you supposed to protect your lady like this?!"
...
The torrential rain finally subsided.
Though it was already past midnight, the entire ship was still bustling with activity.
Sailors climbed the masts to repair sails torn apart by lightning, craftsmen hammered away at the damaged hull, and buckets of seawater were hauled up to wash away the bloodstains and scorch marks left on the deck.
These people who lived their lives at sea seemed almost accustomed to being attacked by naga.
Other warships and escort vessels had also sent people over to assist.
It was said that the fleet had been sailing smoothly when, after a strange storm, the flagship had suddenly vanished from everyone's sight.
All the crew across the fleet had been roused from sleep—everyone had been terrified.
Fortunately, they had ultimately found the flagship again.
Fortunately, the young lady was safe.
At this moment, Jaina had been settled in another intact cabin.
It wasn't as spacious as the captain's quarters, but it was still comfortable enough.
Outside the door, Paval stood guard with a squad of personal guards, all of them tense, as if facing a great enemy.
Inside the room, Jaina sat at the edge of the bed, clutching a bag tightly in both hands.
It was an ordinary leather coin pouch, damp with rainwater and stained with a bit of mud, its opening loosely tied.
Her mind was in complete chaos.
Allen Prestor… back then, he hadn't said a single word. After the lightning died down, he had only lowered his head to glance at her, leaving behind a look she couldn't understand, then released her, tossed this pouch into her arms, and turned away.
He just… left.
What did he mean by that?
There had seemed to be a trace of tenderness in his gaze.
Was he… worried about me?
Jaina buried her face into the pouch. That unfamiliar scent lingered at the tip of her nose, mixed with rain, gunpowder, and something indescribable… something that belonged to him.
Her heart began to race again.
She recalled that figure descending from the sky, the white robe fluttering, those eyes glowing blue.
She remembered the moment she crashed into his arms—his chest had been so warm, so solid. The thunder outside had been deafening, yet she hadn't felt afraid at all.
And his face.
That face so close to hers.
"Ahhh—" Jaina let out a small cry, burying her burning face into the pillow, kicking her legs in the air.
Why did he save me?
Why did he leave behind a pouch?
What… does he mean?
Meanwhile, Allen was in his own cabin, idly playing with his new toy.
[Tidal Charm]
[Trinket — Uncommon Quality]
[Use: Stuns the target for 3 seconds]
He had looted it from that naga who called himself Prince Nazjak. Truly a fine item.
He had politely asked around, but neither Morgan nor Stella could see anything particularly special about the charm, and both declined it.
So Allen accepted it without hesitation and "picked up" another piece of equipment.
Well, it wasn't really picking up.
He had killed the monster himself—personal loot was perfectly reasonable.
He took out another coin pouch from his chest and carefully placed the Tidal Charm inside.
This pouch was far more exquisite—deep green velvet, with intricate silver-thread embroidery around the opening, and a silver leaf emblem in the center.
This was the pouch Vereesa had thrown to him.
The one that had been given life and flown wildly around the ship earlier had been his own. He had simply transferred all his coins into his own pouch—and the thing had come alive, dragging him halfway across the ship.
What a waste. That one had cost him 2 silver and 50 copper.
Fortunately, he still had the one Vereesa gave him, or he'd have nowhere to store his money.
Allen tossed the pouch lightly, the heavy weight in his hand giving him a deep sense of reassurance.
Then, he suddenly drifted off in thought.
He wondered… where Vereesa had gotten to by now.
...
The next day, the sky cleared.
Sunlight shimmered across the sea, and a few seagulls circled between the masts, letting out crisp cries.
However, the deck of the flagship was covered in scorch marks, and several masts had been broken.
The fleet had no choice but to change course and head toward the nearest port—Menethil Harbor.
It was a bustling port city. White houses climbed up the mountainside in layers, stretching all the way to the summit. A tall lighthouse stood prominently by the harbor, and ships constantly came and went across the sea.
But for a Kul Tiras fleet to enter port, it was no simple matter.
Three main warships, along with more than a dozen escort vessels—such an armed fleet suddenly appearing in territorial waters was enough to put any port on edge.
Captain Dylan stood at the bow, holding a large flag—the emblem of Kul Tiras. He waved it, sending a standard flag signal: "Fleet of the Kingdom of Kul Tiras, escorting the daughter of House Proudmoore to Dalaran. Requesting entry for rest and resupply."
At the watchtower, a sentry observed for a long moment through a spyglass before hurrying down to report.
Soon after, the harbor bell rang.
It was the signal granting permission to dock.
Captain Dylan let out a breath of relief and turned to the helmsman. "Enter the harbor."
The ships slowly sailed into port.
Allen leaned against the railing on the deck, gazing at the distant horizon, where a tiny black dot seemed to be swaying.
Perhaps it was another vessel heading to Menethil Harbor for repairs.
During this time, an unexpected person approached Allen—Paval, Jaina's personal guard.
The stern-faced man stood there, head lowered, as if he had something to say but didn't know how to begin.
"Paval?" Allen looked a bit surprised. "What is it?"
Paval raised his head, took a deep breath—
Then bowed deeply.
"Mr. Prestor. I've come to apologize to you."
Allen froze for a moment.
"Earlier… on the ship, I misunderstood you." Paval straightened, his face full of remorse. "I thought you were… no, I presumptuously assumed you were not a good person. Without any real understanding, I harbored hostility toward you because of what you said."
He paused, his voice growing even more sincere: "If not for you last night, the young lady would likely have… You saved her life, yet I didn't even say a word of thanks. I…"
He bowed again.
"I am truly sorry."
Allen looked at him, unsure what to say for a moment.
Then he smiled.
"It's fine," he said, reaching out to pat Paval on the shoulder. "I'm not that petty."
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