Night had already fallen by the time the Leviathan's body was fully secured. Large mana lamps illuminated the deck of Alfred's vessel, casting long, shifting shadows over the massive corpse as the crew worked without pause. Humans and lycans moved in practiced coordination, specialized blades and tools cutting through flesh and scales hardened like steel.

The materials harvested from a Leviathan were always valuable. Its scales were commonly used to craft high-grade armor, resistant to extreme pressure, while its teeth were prized for forging exceptionally sharp weapons. There was no debate regarding the spoils—the item belonged to Trafalgar. He had been the one to deal directly with the beast. No one questioned that.

They worked quickly. Trafalgar watched in silence as humans and lycans dismantled the Leviathan with near-mechanical efficiency. There was something almost mesmerizing about the process. Still, a different kind of curiosity surfaced in his mind.

He approached one of the lycans. A cat-man—human in shape, but with white ears and a matching tail—was in the middle of skinning a thick section along the creature's side.

"A question," Trafalgar said.

The lycan startled, set his tool aside, and immediately looked up.

"Lord Trafalgar du Morgain. How may I assist you? Are you curious about the process… or the materials?"

"It's not related to this," Trafalgar replied calmly. "I wanted your opinion on the war between the families. The lycan house… and the great elven family. I was curious what someone of your race thinks."

The lycan blinked, visibly surprised, then nodded slowly.

"I see… that can be a delicate topic for some. But I can give you my opinion. As you know, I work under Lord Alfred. I was also with you during the visit to the Zar'khael mine. I'm just a worker, detached from those matters." He paused briefly. "What I mean is—I don't particularly care. I live far from my people. Neutral cities are home to many races. Velkaris is a good example. I have no issues with other races."

"I see," Trafalgar said. "I was looking for some insight. I appreciate the answer. Still, there has been tension between elves and lycans in Velkaris. Justice had to intervene to prevent incidents."

"That's true," the lycan agreed. "But there are always exceptions."

Trafalgar glanced around the deck.

"By the way… don't you think this is enough already? You've been working for hours. It's already night, and you're still extracting materials."

The lycan shook his head, unfazed.

"We don't mind. It's our job, after all. And the materials belong to you. You hunted the beast. Since Boss Alfred is employed by your father, that makes you our superior as well."

Trafalgar nodded once and stepped aside, allowing the lycan to return to his work.

It was true. Every piece of material taken from the Leviathan was his. And it would be worth a great deal.

Trafalgar moved away from the working crew, the sounds of metal and blades fading into the background as he reached the outer rail of the ship. The Leviathan's remains were still being processed behind him, but his thoughts had already shifted elsewhere.

All of it would be his.

The scales, the teeth, the core remnants—once refined and sold, they would be worth a considerable sum. Not that this had been the most dangerous thing he had done since arriving in this world, but money was still necessary. Even now.

He already possessed a personal territory. Euclid was no longer just a name on a map; it had become a functioning domain, reinforced by a Gate and steadily developing under his authority. The territory had begun to generate income of its own. Still, Trafalgar knew better than to treat that as disposable wealth. Most of what he received in taxes ended up being reinvested—defensive structures, infrastructure, long-term stability.

If something ever happened, he wanted Euclid to be able to endure without him.

The ship had returned to the air hours ago. From this height, the ground was no longer visible—only layers of dark clouds drifting far below, illuminated occasionally by distant mana currents. Technically, there would be no more stops until they reached the neutral city. That meant time. Time he could afford to spend training.

Assuming nothing attacked them.

It had happened before. Flying monsters were not uncommon at this altitude, and the memory lingered just enough to keep his senses sharp. Still, for now, the sky was quiet.

Trafalgar sat on the rail, letting his legs hang freely over the open air. There was no hesitation in the motion. No fear. Falling from this height was not a concern—he was not careless enough to let that happen.

The night wind brushed past him, cool and steady. Above, the sky stretched endlessly, stars faint behind thin layers of cloud. Below, there was nothing but darkness.

A rare moment of stillness.

For the next few days, at least, the path forward was clear. Train. Refine. Prepare.

The neutral city was waiting.

Trafalgar lifted his left hand, the night wind brushing against his fingers as his gaze settled on the mark etched into his skin.

The tattoo.

It curled along his forearm in an unfinished spiral, a serpentine shape without an end, its lines darker and more defined than before. Every time he came into contact with something tied to the Primordials, it seemed to expand—slowly, as if claiming more space with each encounter.

"So that's how it is…" he murmured.

He flexed his fingers once, watching how the mark shifted subtly with the movement.

'Or at least, that's what I think. If this thing is going to stay with me for the rest of my life, it might as well keep getting better-looking.' A faint exhale escaped him. 'Badass wouldn't hurt.'

Lowering his hand, Trafalgar focused his thoughts.

The item he had received after slaying the Leviathan answered immediately.

Mana gathered in his palm, condensing into a tangible form. A pendant materialized—dark cord, reinforced clasp, and at its center, a polished Leviathan fang, curved and sharp even after refinement. The surface carried a faint oceanic sheen, as if it still remembered the depths it had been taken from.

Leviathan Fang Pendant – Legendary Rank

— Greatly increases underwater endurance (breathing, pressure resistance, stamina)

— +20% physical damage while submerged

— Passive: Ocean-Born Resilience (reduces movement penalties underwater)

Trafalgar studied the effects one by one.

Useful. Extremely so.

If he ever found himself facing House Myrrhvale, this alone would grant him a decisive advantage. Free movement underwater was not a luxury—it was control. Most fighters lost speed, awareness, and stamina beneath the surface. This erased that weakness almost entirely.

'Ocean-Born Resilience…' His eyes narrowed slightly. 'That's the real value.'

He glanced briefly at his arm again.

'If that Leviathan had been an adult, I wouldn't have tried something that reckless.'

A pause. 'Caelum probably knew that.'

Still, the result mattered. He had defeated an enemy above his Core Rank. Not many could claim that—and fewer still without paying a heavy price. With inferior items or skills, it would have ended very differently.

'This is my first Legendary item,' he noted. 'Not bad.'

Then, almost immediately, another thought followed.

Utility items. He needed more of them. Things like the coat he had purchased earlier. The torch. Something to store water. A proper sleeping bag. The list was mundane, almost laughably so—but survival often came down to those details.

'I'm thinking in worst-case scenarios again,' he admitted to himself. A quiet breath. 'Better safe than sorry.'

The pendant dissolved into light, slipping back into his inventory.

The mark on his arm remained.

Trafalgar leaned back against the rail, his gaze drifting toward the dark horizon. Somewhere beyond the clouds, borders were shifting, alliances hardening, and families preparing to tear each other apart.

'So… I wonder how the war is going.'

It wasn't an idle thought. Being sent out like this—away from the academy, away from familiar ground—was dangerous, but it also meant access. Information. Perspective.

'It's not a bad idea for Valttair to send me like this. Risky, sure… but I get to see how things are really moving.'

Footsteps sounded behind him.

He didn't turn.

"You did very well today, Young Master."

Caelum's voice was as calm as ever when he stopped a short distance away. His golden-yellow eyes reflected the light of the mana lamps, hair neatly slicked back, gloves and tailored suit immaculate as always.

Trafalgar let out a short breath. "I told you I had the balls for it. Just had to prove it."

Caelum nodded slightly. "I'm glad you did."

There was a brief pause before Caelum spoke again.

"What would you like to do with the materials?"

"Oh, right." Trafalgar tilted his head. "I have a contact in Mariven Port. His name is Augusto."

Caelum's eyes narrowed a fraction. "The same one you negotiated the mythril deal with?"

Trafalgar raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You know about that? That's rare—I don't remember mentioning it."

Caelum's expression didn't change. "I am aware."

"Yeah, that's him," Trafalgar said. "He's a lycan. Send the materials to him. I'll leave the negotiations to you."

"I will handle it later," Caelum replied. "My clones cannot operate more than a few thousand kilometers away from my main body."

Trafalgar blinked once. "That's something I didn't know."

"You never asked, Young Master."

"…Fair."

He shifted his posture slightly against the rail. "Alright. Then that's settled."

Caelum inclined his head. "Alfred informed me that we will not be landing until we reach the neutral city."

"Just as I expected," Trafalgar replied. "In that case, I'll spend the time meditating. And I want you to help me with sparring."

Caelum didn't hesitate. "Of course."

Trafalgar looked out into the endless night once more.

'There's still a lot I can copy from you with Sword Insight.'

Behind him, Caelum remained standing, silent and watchful, as Trafalgar sat with his feet hanging over the open sky. The ship continued forward through the darkness, cutting a steady path toward the neutral city ahead.

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