Chapter 1 Port City
On September 1, Year 7993 of the Bowell Calendar, Fowls finally left the sick bed he was in and walked outside the room with help from his maid, Swaydi.
The knife wound had almost healed, but his chest still ached.
When the knife pierced his lung and blood vessels, making him bleed profusely, he had trouble breathing, high fevers, and toxins left in the wound. The fact that Fowls recovered even amazed the soul healer, Herder, who called it a miracle.
Other than dressing the wound, Herder could only marvel. The herders were the lowest among the sacred class; they believed but received no holy feedback yet. They couldn't do any magical craft and could only manage to apply first aid.
After leaving the entrance of his house, Fowls saw his small yard of about sixty or seventy square feet. On the left was a thriving vegetable garden and on the right was a robust grape orchard with a small cellar. A curving footpath and fountain was nestled in-between.
Looking back at his house, he could see the three-story structure. Each floor wasn't big, nor was it small. There were thirty or so rooms, and green ivy covered the outside walls.
The whole space was not elaborate, but was full of life and it made one want to linger.
All of which showed Fowls to have a good life, or that maybe he was even a member of the noble class.
The house was no castle, and quite low end among mansions, but still something beyond ordinary people’s possession.
More critically, there was a rainbow-hued pond and the bustling grape orchard.
If one wasn't a member of nobility, they wouldn't need to make wine to look elegant. Winemaking took tools, manpower, materials, and time, it was not something regular people could afford.
Even regular nobility couldn't sustain a magic fountain made of . . . the craft of permanence.
The power of Magic, the power of the holy, was always an extraordinary existence and rarer than having a pedigree.
Fowls breathed in the fresh scent of the vegetable garden, fountain, and grapes along with the slightly bitter sea air, instantly dissipating the lethargy from his recuperation of two weeks.
The feeling of refreshment was something no technology could match. Even the kind of air made from dozens of processes, imbued with fragrance, and made in a top air filtration system did not compare.
Those creations always seemed full of artifice. How could they rival the splendor of nature?
Fowls looked up, fully immersing himself in the fortunate wind.
In the distant sky, a few white seabirds frolicked; everything was peaceful and serene.
A bell began to toll loudly, the sound reverberating through the whole port; it was as if it knew Fowls had come outside and was coordinating with his movement.
The bell was from the water clock inside the Earendur Garden plaza, a much larger though similarly-structured building.
Space froze and time stayed still. No one at this moment knew what kind of changes this man, who was listening to the bell tolling, would bring to this space off the ocean, or rather, this entire planetary system . . .
When the bell began tolling, Swaydi started praying toward the direction of the sound. This was the daily prayer in this port city, when people asked for blessings from the sea god Osean to keep Earendur safe and sound and the fishermen lucky.
Halfway through her prayer, Swaydi’s cheeks reddened.
She came from an ordinary fishing family, and while her looks were not stunning, they were refreshing. She was a natural beauty, just like the air in this city. It may not be the best air for humans, compared to magic-created air, but it was more alive.
The way she prayed with her eyes closed, her naive face glowing with faith . . . made her look holy and untouchable, and even her full bosom seemed firmer than ever.
It was indeed very firm. Fowls rubbed her chest a few times, then appreciated his maid’s shivering body, blushing face, and quickened breathing.
Swaydi never opened her eyes during his touches. It was only when the prayer ended that she opened her blue eyes, which seemed to accuse her employer of harassing her during a sacred moment.
Before her words came, Fowls, whose elbow still rested on her chest, began coughing so violently he had to bend at the waist. “Ow, I breathed too hard!”
In theory, Fowls’ injury was in his lungs, so any hard breathing would trigger coughing, and it could be used for an excuse to act out of sorts.
This young woman wouldn’t be aware of her boss’s internal machinations; she hurried to support him. “The Herder said without magical craft healing you, you shouldn’t breath hard for three months or exercise for one year. Please return inside . . .”
The kind young woman had forgotten all about the earlier violation.
Hah, magical craft? The Soul Healer Lowenbeding was able to heal a lot of people, and his students were very strong healers, too. There were no better healers on the land. However, they charged fees to heal.
Healing his lung injury and reducing pain had cost some money over the last year, which was not exorbitant, but not a tiny amount either. It was the same as the so-called “starter fund”, which was quite a coincidence.
Fowls’ face was stormy as he stood away from Swaydi. If the young woman saw him, she would never believe this stony and contorted face belonged to this sincere and kind employer of hers.
If he didn’t have a good reputation, the sexual harassment wouldn’t have been so easily appeased.
He pretended to cough as he felt up her hand. “It’s all right. I am used to the coughing now.”
Swaydi pulled back her hand as her cheeks turned pinker. She mused that her boss had become very salacious after surviving the injury.
But his serious face didn’t make him seem creepy.
The young woman couldn’t figure out Fowls’ motivation, so she comforted him. “It’s cooler now, and being outside so much isn’t good, so let’s go back–”
A commotion outside the yard interrupted her words.
“What happened?” Fowls looked toward the source of trouble.
“It’s . . . Mr. Hilton?” Swaydi seemed to know something.
“Hilton?” Fowls remembered. He was the old housekeeper here and had always been in charge of taking care of him.
After they moved to this mansion, Hilton had taken care of Fowls, too; however, two weeks ago, after a theft, his cheap father was so angry that he threw Hilton out of the house after a beating.
The beating was not light, and Fowls dimly remembered how Hilton had been dragged out of the yard and thrown out. Being elderly, he couldn’t have healed for another few months.
Him? Fowls’ eyebrows raised in surprise.
Swaydi shyly nodded. “After Mr. Hilton was tossed out of the house, your father was still so angry that he had Mr. Hilton tied to the tree in front of the house, with only a little water and food. It’s been thirteen days now.”
It was early Fall, and the weather wasn’t terrible, and their Babi tree never had any bugs. So Hilton wasn’t free and he had food and water, so maybe that was how he had managed to survive this long.
Fowls kept thinking. When he saw how Swaydi watched him, he realized the young woman was asking for mercy for Mr. Hilton.
He didn’t think his father was wrong here. Hilton had failed as a guard, and given how he could have colluded with the burglar, punishing him for this many days wasn’t too much.
Fowls wouldn’t show his opinion on his face. He leaned back against the grape trellis and waved to his maid. “Go check it out. He’s been tied up for thirteen days. See why he’s getting loud now.”
Swaydi left to investigate. Fowls leaned over and tried to hear what he could. It was quite noisy. It seemed as if many people had gathered. During the prayer bell, everyone had been quiet and now the sounds started.
She returned quickly, her expression mixed. “Mr. Hilton . . . he seems to have gone crazy. He’s shouting out there and a lot of people are watching.”
“Crazy?” Fowls was first confused, but then nodded. “Might as well. Crazy is a luxury sometimes.”
Swaydi’s face was passive. She couldn’t relate to the deeper meaning in his words.
Fowls didn’t expect her to understand. He was ranting anyway, only wanting her to think and not to notice Hilton. He didn’t want to let Hilton off the hook.
While she was still puzzled, Fowls used her help to return to the house. More loud noises came from the yard.
He only took half a step before an old and crazy voice came into his ear, stopping him. “Hhha. I get it, I get it. The universe’s rules are different! They’re different at the most basic level, the string lines are different, the quark is different, and I’ll bet even the Planck Constant is different, too . . .”
“The most basic level of the atom is not stable, so no matter how we travel, when we cross the universe’s limits, every atom of the spaceship would disintegrate, cave-in, or fracture. It won’t exist anymore!”