Realm Lord
Chapter 162: Calm Before

Chapter 162: Calm Before

The first pale rays of dawn crept through the small porthole of their cramped cabin, casting long shadows across the metal walls as Arthur and Aziel stirred from their unusually peaceful slumber. Despite the fact that they were now mere hours away from what was considered the most dangerous place on the entire planet, both young men felt an inexplicable sense of rejuvenation coursing through their bodies.

Arthur was the first to fully wake, his dark eyes opening to stare at the ceiling of the lower bunk for several long moments. The familiar creaking of the ship’s hull and the distant sound of waves against metal had become a comforting backdrop over their journey, but today those sounds carried an ominous undertone that hadn’t been there before. With a heavy sigh, he rolled out of bed and positioned himself on the edge of the bottom bunk, his bare feet touching the cold metal floor.

He sat there in contemplative silence, his gaze fixed on the riveted steel beneath his feet as his mind wandered through the implications of what lay ahead. The refreshing feeling that had accompanied his awakening felt almost surreal, like a cruel joke played by fate itself. How could he feel so physically renewed when everything inside him knew that today would mark the beginning of something terrible?

Above him, Aziel stirred on the top bunk, the mattress springs creaking softly as he shifted position. After a few minutes of quiet movement, he too rolled off his narrow bed, landing with a soft thud on the cabin floor. Without a word, he moved to the small circular window in their room, pressing his face close to the thick glass.

The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the porthole, its surface deceptively calm in the early morning light. Somewhere beyond that horizon lay District 3. Aziel’s reflection stared back at him from the glass, and for a moment, he barely recognized the serious expression that had replaced his usual easy smile.

"Today’s the day," Aziel said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air between them like a death sentence, final and irreversible.

Arthur remained silent for a long moment, his hands clasped together as he continued to stare at the floor. The weight of those simple words seemed to press down on his shoulders like a physical burden. When he finally responded, it was with a single, solemn nod of his head.

"...Yep," he said, the word carrying far more meaning than its brevity suggested.

They remained in their respective positions for what felt like an eternity, each lost in their own thoughts as the reality of their situation settled around them like a heavy blanket. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was the silence of two people who understood each other so well that words often became unnecessary.

Eventually, Aziel broke the quiet contemplation, though his voice remained subdued. "We’ll be at Port Nova shortly. I heard it’s huge—it’s the only port they were able to keep standing, so it’s going to be housing all the volunteers from ships from the other districts for a little bit." He paused, his breath fogging the glass of the porthole. "It’s gonna be pretty packed."

Arthur’s response was minimal, another simple nod followed by an even quieter "Yeah" that seemed to get lost in the ambient noise of the ship’s engines.

Port Nova represented more than just their destination—it was the last bastion of civilization before the true horror began. Arthur had heard the stories, read the reports that hadn’t been heavily censored by the government. The port had originally been a major shipping hub for the region, but when District 3 fell, Port Nova had been hastily converted into a military staging ground.

The small strongholds that dotted District 3 were like islands of safety in an ocean of chaos, built and maintained by a combination of government forces and the more powerful guilds. These outposts served as supply lines, communication hubs, and most importantly, evacuation points for any civilians.

Port Nova stood as the largest and most important of these strongholds, serving as District 3’s last salvation. The massive port facilities worked around the clock, constantly shipping terrified civilians out to safety while now simultaneously bringing in wave after wave of volunteers.

The irony wasn’t lost on either of them—they were traveling in the opposite direction of safety, sailing toward danger while others fled from it. Every ship that passed them going the other way carried refugees with haunted eyes and stories that would give grown men nightmares.

As the morning progressed, Arthur and Aziel began the mechanical process of packing their belongings. Their gear was minimal by necessity—everything they owned had to fit into military-standard duffel bags that could be carried over long distances. Weapons, rations, medical supplies, and a few personal items.

Arthur carefully folded his spare clothes. The ritual of packing gave his hands something to do while his mind continued to race. Every item that went into his bag felt significant, as if he were preparing for a journey from which he might not return. Because, he realized with crystal clarity, that was exactly what he was doing.

Aziel’s packing was similarly subdued, lacking his usual casual efficiency. He held each item for a moment longer than necessary, as if memorizing the weight and feel of ordinary objects that might soon become precious memories. A photograph of his family, a small pendant that had belonged to his grandmother, these small treasures felt more valuable than any amount of money or equipment.

Soon, they made their way to the upper decks of the ship, where most of the other passengers had begun to gather. The contrast between the current atmosphere and the mood from just a few days earlier was stark and unmistakable. Gone were the nervous conversations and excited speculation about what lay ahead. Instead, a heavy silence had settled over the assembled volunteers, broken only by the occasional whispered conversation or the sound of someone adjusting their gear.

Arthur and Aziel were no exception to this general mood shift. They had barely spoken to each other the day before, and this morning had produced only a handful of words between them. It wasn’t that they were avoiding conversation—rather, it felt as though they had moved beyond the need for words.

They positioned themselves near the ship’s railing, looking out over the vast expanse of water that separated them from their destination. The ocean stretched to the horizon in all directions, its surface painted in shades of blue and gray that seemed to shift and change with each passing moment.

Arthur wouldn’t describe what he was feeling as nervousness, exactly. Both he and Aziel had known exactly what they were signing up for before they stepped foot on this ship. They had prepared for this. They understood the risks, had weighed the potential consequences, and had made their choice with full knowledge of what it might cost them.

But despite his preparation, Arthur found himself unable to shake the terrible feeling that had been growing in his chest for the past several days. It was like a constant weight pressing down on his heart, a darkness that seemed to grow stronger with each passing hour. The irony was almost laughable—he had never slept better in his life, his dreams filled with peaceful imagery and restful darkness, yet he couldn’t escape the horrible gut feeling that everything was about to explode in his face.

This entire journey felt like the calm before the storm, a deceptive period of peace that would soon give way to unimaginable chaos. Arthur found himself studying his own reflection in the dark water below, wondering if the person staring back at him would even exist by the time he stood on this same deck for the return journey. Would there be a return journey? Would he be the same person?

The thought struck him with unexpected force: the person he was at this very moment, looking out over the sea from the edge of this boat, and the person he would be when this was all over—they would be completely different people. The experiences that awaited him in District 3 would fundamentally change who he was, reshape his understanding of the world and his place in it.

This wasn’t going to be like the Rose Field. This wasn’t going to be like the Ever-Changing Castle. This was something entirely different, something that transcended the normal boundaries of what humans were meant to face.

Arthur’s hands tightened on the ship’s railing as the full weight of realization settled over him. This wasn’t just another dive into the realms or something. This wasn’t even just about survival or testing their abilities against unknown threats.

This was war.

The word echoed in his mind with the finality of a funeral bell, carrying with it all the implications that he had been trying to avoid confronting. War meant that everything they had learned, everything they had trained for, everything they thought they knew about themselves and their capabilities would be tested in ways they couldn’t possibly imagine.

War meant that some of the people standing on this deck right now, people who were laughing nervously or checking their equipment one last time, would never see home again. War meant that the lucky ones would be the ones who died quickly, before they had time to truly understand what they were facing.