The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 442: Deity of magic to the rescue

Finally, Jolthar spoke. "If I accept your help and you try to betray me or manipulate me in ways that go against my interests, I will have you sliced like a pig. I don’t care what divine backing you have or how powerful you are. I’ve fought deities before and survived. I’ll do it again if necessary."

Haryntha’s smile was genuine, showing what might have been respect.

"Fair enough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone who went against deities. And for what it’s worth, I have no intention of betraying you. My purpose is genuinely to help you succeed in this mission."

"Then I accept," Jolthar said, making the decision.

"You can guide me through the Dreadland Depths, help me locate and fight these duke-class creatures, and provide whatever expertise you’re offering. In return, I’ll trust that your assistance is genuine until proven otherwise."

"Agreed," Haryntha said, standing and extending her hand.

Jolthar took it, and they shook—a formal agreement between mortal and divine-touched, sealed with mutual understanding of the stakes involved.

"I should inform Milan," Jolthar said, moving toward the door.

"Before you do," Haryntha added, "you should know I’ve brought transportation. The journey to the Dreadland Depths would normally take over a week by conventional means. I have something faster."

*

An hour later, Jolthar stood in the courtyard of Milan’s villa alongside the two princes, looking at what Haryntha had brought for their journey.

Their jaws were on the ground, seeing the ship. It was the most advanced technology, and there are very few in this realm.

They looked at Haryntha, still wondering who she was. Jolthar hadn’t told him that she was the deity of magic as it would make him faint on the spot. Andrion didn’t mind who she was as she was lusting after her openly.

Meanwhile, the ship stood as a marvel in the front yard of Milan’s villa.

It was a ship—but not a water vessel. The craft was perhaps forty feet long, with a hull that resembled a sailing boat but made from materials that seemed to shift between wood, metal, and something else entirely depending on the angle of viewing. Sails of silvery fabric were furled against a central mast, and the entire structure floated approximately ten feet off the ground, held aloft by energies that created a faint humming sound.

A flying ship, an actual flying ship.

Andrion was staring at it with open-mouthed amazement.

"That’s... I’ve heard of these on paper, but I’ve never actually seen one. Sky vessels. They’re supposed to be lost technology from before the empire’s founding."

"Not lost," Haryntha said with a slight smile.

"Just rare. This particular vessel has been in my possession for quite some time. I’m lending it for the journey."

Milan looked at her with questioning eyes and still felt like Jolthar shouldn’t trust her.

Milan approached Jolthar, his expression serious despite the wonder of the vessel before them. "You’re really doing this. Going to the Dreadland Depths with someone you just met, on a flying ship, to hunt creatures that terrify experienced soldiers."

"Apparently so," Jolthar confirmed.

"You’re eccentric," Milan said, but there was affection beneath the exasperation.

"So I’ve been told," Jolthar replied.

He clasped Milan’s shoulder. "Keep working on your plans. Build your support. Position yourself for when the time comes to make your move for the throne. When I get back, we’ll talk about how I can help with that."

"When you get back," Milan echoed, making it clear he was choosing to believe in that possibility rather than the alternative.

Andrion stepped forward and pulled Jolthar into a brief embrace. "Don’t die out there. I’ve grown rather fond of having a friend who can turn into a dragon. That’s not something easily replaced."

"I’ll do my best," Jolthar promised.

Haryntha was already aboard the vessel, making preparations for departure. "We should leave soon. The sooner we arrive, the more time we have to complete the mission within the Emperor’s month deadline."

Jolthar nodded and climbed aboard the flying ship. The deck was surprisingly stable despite being suspended in air, and there was a small cabin below deck that presumably held supplies and sleeping quarters.

"Ready?" Haryntha asked from the helm.

"As I’ll ever be," Jolthar replied.

Haryntha placed her hands on the ship’s wheel, and energy began to flow through the vessel. The sails unfurled automatically, catching winds that existed in magical currents rather than natural air movement. The humming sound intensified, and the ship began to rise higher, gaining altitude smoothly.

From the courtyard, Milan and Andrion watched as the vessel climbed into the night sky, its silver sails gleaming in the moonlight. Within minutes, it was little more than a distant speck, heading east toward territories that most people only knew through nightmares and cautionary tales.

Inside the villa, servants watched through windows, whispering about the baron who had become a dragon and now flew away on an impossible ship toward an impossible mission.

And in various locations throughout the capital, those who had been watching Jolthar’s situation received word that he had departed for the Dreadland Depths.

Some celebrated, certain he would never return.

Others worried, hoping he would somehow survive. A few simply waited, curious to see how this particular game would resolve.

But aboard the flying ship, cutting through the night sky at speeds no conventional vessel could match, Jolthar stood on the deck and looked toward the eastern horizon.

*

The Imperial Private Courtyard

The Emperor’s personal courtyard was a place of tranquility designed to provide respite from the constant demands of ruling an empire.

Carefully manicured gardens surrounded a central pavilion where Emperor Thalric sat in comfortable robes, having shed the formal regalia of the throne room.

The evening air was pleasant, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers.

Empress Mandaqini moved with practiced grace, pouring tea from an exquisite porcelain set into matching cups. Her movements were precise and elegant, the result of decades of performing such rituals, but tension radiated from her despite the controlled exterior.

She placed a cup before her husband, then settled onto the cushioned seat beside him with the careful positioning of someone who knew exactly how to present herself to maximum advantage.