Pirate Phantom
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Chapter 128: Family
🕑 Added 2025-10-29 22:22:24 +0000 UTCA house in the Upper District was hardly an extravagant demand for a wealthy merchant.
In the Fractured, a single Gold could persuade even a god.
This was not sarcasm or jest. Ever since the sudden fall of the Sun Pantheon, the gods of the Fractured had chosen another path entirely. They no longer relied on the First Flame or any divine source. The true gods who refused to wait for death had taken up the mantle of administering domains themselves.
And money—yes, that too was a domain.
This was less a payment in advance and more a symbol of understanding between Harvett and Lady Maria. Compared to what Maria offered as partnership capital, an Upper District house was nothing of consequence.
Harvett knew perfectly well that if word of Lady Maria’s resources leaked among the merchants, those shrewd predators would swarm like hyenas to carrion. A single seat in the Noble Assembly meant the difference between a family’s endurance and its extinction.
Mutual interest. Nothing more.
Luminous Cathedral, Side Hall.
Lady Maria, dressed in sharply tailored men’s attire, drew glances like a flame draws moths. Several clerics rubbed their eyes, doubting what they saw. Who would have thought that the graceful, almost ethereal Maria would look so natural—and arrestingly handsome—in male garb?
“Pack your things. We’re moving to the new house.”
Upon returning to the cathedral, Maria found Felia at once and tugged her along to gather their belongings.
For these sisters, who had already lost nearly everything, there was little left to pack. A few plain dresses, a bit of jewelry, some daily necessities, and a purse of Gold Dragons. They were bound for the Upper District, and appearance mattered; to look too humble invited scorn.
That was the cold order of society.
To destroy someone was simple—just magnify what sets them apart and whisper it again and again through the crowd.
And of course, they would need to bring along Gehrman.
That half-drunken man had once again used Maria’s absence to sneak into the cathedral corridors, wine in hand, teasing the nuns with his reckless, suggestive banter. The self-proclaimed charmer knew how to push boundaries without quite crossing them.
No real impropriety ever occurred. Had he gone too far, the paladins would have hurled him out long ago. Gehrman was skilled at walking the razor’s edge, forever testing how close he could come.
“Moving, eh? Oh-ho!”
Hearing the news, Gehrman’s sleepy eyes snapped open. He gave a sharp whistle and swaggered after his beautiful apprentice.
He had no luggage to pack. After a brief word with the cathedral officials, the trio stepped out from that vast, solemn building layered in centuries of history. In the sunlight, the cathedral’s silver and gold stonework shone with blinding brilliance—a monument to the power of faith.
A new journey began.
Maria paused, gazing at one of the eleven pillars of the Radiant Church’s mortal power. A faint stirring moved through her heart. Perhaps the next time she saw this place, it would no longer stand—only ashes and charred ruin left behind.
“Let’s go.”
Her clear voice cut through the silence. It was less a reminder to others and more a whisper to herself. Even hunters who claimed to walk forever alone eventually had to part ways again and again.
The carriage ride was quiet.
Felia sat by the window, staring blankly. She had just grown used to cathedral life, and now they were moving again. The abrupt shift left her subdued, and even Gehrman’s constant teasing failed to draw much reaction.
After twenty minutes, the carriage stopped.
140 Flower Street.
A small two-story townhouse with ivy on the walls and a tidy front garden. Like every home on the street, it came with its own patch of flowers. It was early spring; buds were half-open, filling the air with a shy fragrance.
The moment Felia saw the garden, her gloom vanished. She dropped her luggage and ran forward like a bird freed from its cage.
“It’s so beautiful!”
She inhaled deeply, arms spread wide, basking in the soft scent of blooming petals.
Maria followed more slowly, picking up the bags her sister had tossed aside. A gust of wind nearly tore off her wide sunhat; she pressed it down with a sigh. She had planned to scold the girl, but seeing her so full of joy dissolved the thought.
It was a strange feeling.
By mortal years, Lady Maria was far older than she appeared—old enough to reflect that youth truly was a luxury. She smiled faintly, though no one saw it.
So this would be their new home.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Gehrman muttered, rubbing his chin. The shift in his tone made Maria tense at once. This man’s instincts were honed sharper than any blade.
“Something wrong?” she asked carefully. If a near-legendary hunter thought something was off, it could mean danger. In a world haunted by spirits and curses, it was never paranoia to be wary.
“Oh, something’s definitely wrong.”
Gehrman’s voice was serious now. He grabbed Maria’s shoulder.
“Look there. Who’s that in the garden?”
“Felia… she’s just a child. What’s the issue?”
“Exactly! That’s the problem!” Gehrman straightened, gesturing dramatically. “You’re a woman, I’m a man, and she’s a little girl. If we move in together like this, people will think we’re a family!”
His hand slid, not-so-accidentally, along her back.
Maria froze.
The sound of the slap cracked like a whip. His head snapped to the side under the force. Lady Maria lowered her hand, crimson nails glinting. Her eyes were cold, as though she were brushing away something filthy.
“Show some restraint, Gehrman.”
She left the luggage where it was and walked toward the house, her steps composed. Halfway up the path, she turned, her gaze fixed on him—the man with the red mark blooming on his cheek. Anger flared beneath her calm surface. It wasn’t the touch that angered her most, but the mockery beneath it. She had truly respected him—the man who once saved her life and her sanity.
“Because in my heart,” she said quietly, “you’ve already been my family for a long time.”
The courtyard fell silent. The spring breeze stirred the flowers, carrying a faint sweetness across the air. Gehrman stood still, his cheek burning, a trace of rueful amusement creeping into his eyes.
He could have said something crude or deflecting, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he exhaled, slow and heavy, watching Maria disappear into the doorway.
Felia’s laughter rang from the garden, chasing butterflies between the blossoms. The house behind her glowed in the afternoon light, small but alive—a fragile sanctuary built on the edge of a broken world.
For the first time in many years, Gehrman thought that maybe this quiet illusion of home was worth protecting.
And for Lady Maria, standing inside that modest house, the scent of sunlit wood and flowers wrapped around her like a memory she had once forgotten how to feel.
Home.
A word she had not dared to claim for herself in too long.
Here, perhaps, she could try again.
