Milf harem of Serpent King

"I’m interested," Jake said.

"When do we leave?"

Nailer’s smile widened into something genuinely pleased.

"Immediately. My ship is docked at the northern trade port. We can be underway within the hour if you’re ready to move."

"Your ship can reach the Bay of Baenil?" Jake asked.

"That’s sixty-nine miles."

"My ship can fly," Nailer said, and there was pride in her voice when she said it.

"Magic-driven propulsion, wind manipulation enchantments, the whole expensive package. We’ll cover sixty-nine miles in no time."

Jake looked at her for a moment, reassessing.

A flying ship was not common technology—the enchantments required were prohibitively expensive for most traders, which meant Nailer either had serious capital behind her or had earned enough from those ten-percent high-risk contracts to fund major upgrades.

"I need to inform my people I’m leaving," Jake said.

"Give me thirty minutes to handle that and collect my gear."

"Northern trade port," Nailer repeated.

"Dock seventeen. The ship’s name is Windrunner. Don’t be late."

She took the posting from the board with a smooth motion that suggested she’d done this many times before and headed toward the mission processing desk, leaving Jake standing at the mission board with a decision made and a new partnership formed in under five minutes.

He left the guild hall and made his way back to Raaya Villa as quickly as his still-recovering body would allow, ignoring the protests from his ribs when he moved too fast. Chelsea and Rosalinda were in the sitting room when he arrived, and both of them looked up with expressions that immediately registered that something had changed.

"I’m taking another mission," Jake said before either of them could ask.

"Pirate suppression in the Bay of Baenil. I’ll be gone for a few days, maybe a week depending on how long it takes to locate the target."

Chelsea set down the embroidery she’d been working on with very deliberate care.

"You’ve been conscious for four days," she said, her voice carrying that particular quality of forced calm that meant she was actively choosing not to raise it.

"You nearly died four days ago. And you’re taking another dangerous mission."

"I need the experience," Jake said.

"I’m not strong enough yet to compete with people who have been training for this their entire lives. Every mission complete, every fight I survive, closes that gap."

"Or kills you," Rosalinda said from her chair, her voice matter-of-fact.

"Which would also solve the competition problem, though not in the way you’re hoping."

Jake looked at his grandmother and saw the concern underneath her dry tone; saw Chelsea’s hands clenched in her lap; saw the fear they were both carrying and trying to manage in their different ways.

"I’ll be careful," he said.

"I’m partnering with an experienced captain who runs a flying ship. We’ll be in and out quickly."

"That’s what you said about the dungeon," Chelsea pointed out.

"This is different. I’m not going alone this time."

Chelsea stood and crossed to him, stopping close enough that he could see the fine lines around her eyes that had deepened over the past week, the weight she’d been carrying while he was unconscious and bleeding and possibly dying in a dungeon he’d insisted on entering solo.

"Come back," she said quietly.

"That’s all I’m asking. Whatever happens with the pirates, whatever fights you get into, however dangerous it becomes—come back."

"I will," Jake said and meant it.

He gathered his gear quickly—a sword, traveling clothes, the guild identification card, and a small amount of gold for incidentals—and left Raaya Villa heading north toward the trade port district. The port sat on Roakan’s northern edge, where the mountains gave way to flatter ground and the city’s walls opened to allow access to the trade roads and shipping facilities that connected the city to the wider world.

The flying ships were docked in a separate section from the conventional vessels, their berths equipped with specialized anchoring systems and launch platforms that could handle the unique requirements of magically propelled craft. Jake found Dock Seventeen easily enough, and Windrunner was impossible to miss even among the other flying ships.

She was beautiful in the way that well-maintained ships were beautiful, her hull painted in deep blues that caught the late afternoon light, her sails currently furled but visible as high-quality canvas marked with the glowing runes that indicated wind-manipulation enchantments.

She was smaller than the cargo haulers docked nearby but built for speed rather than capacity, her lines sleek and purposeful.

Nailer stood on the deck giving orders to a crew of perhaps six people who were moving through pre-flight preparations with practiced efficiency.

She saw Jake approaching and waved him aboard, gesturing toward the gangplank that connected the ship to the dock.

Jake climbed aboard and felt the deck shift slightly under his feet, the ship moving with the particular gentle sway that came from magical suspension rather than water buoyancy.

"Welcome to Windrunner," Nailer said, crossing to meet him.

"Stow your gear in the cabin below—there are bunks for passengers. We launch in ten minutes."

Jake did as instructed, finding the passenger cabin and claiming one of the empty bunks, securing his sword and pack in the storage compartment beneath it. When he returned to the deck, the crew had finished their preparations, and Nailer was standing at the ship’s wheel with the confidence of someone who had done this particular launch sequence hundreds of times.

"Cast off!" she called, and the crew moved to release the anchoring lines that held Windrunner to the dock.

The ship lifted.

It wasn’t dramatic or violent—just a smooth, steady rise as the propulsion enchantments activated and overcame gravity with the same casual authority that Nailer seemed to bring to everything she did.

The deck remained level beneath Jake’s feet as they climbed, the port falling away below them, Roakan spreading out in its terraced magnificence as they gained altitude.

Within two minutes they had cleared the city’s tallest towers and were moving north with gathering speed, the wind manipulation enchantments catching air and directing it around the ship in currents that pushed them forward faster than any conventional vessel could manage.

Jake stood at the rail and watched Roakan recede behind them; watched the mountains give way to rolling hills and forest; watched the world spread out below with the particular clarity that altitude provided.

Jake smiled despite himself, feeling the familiar anticipation building in his chest, the desire for combat that had been growing since the Ghoul King’s death, and the drive to test himself against increasingly dangerous opponents that Asurani had apparently built into him when she gave him this second life.

Windrunner cut through the air with smooth efficiency, and the Bay of Baenil waited somewhere ahead in the gathering dusk.