After spending days listening to Miss DeLuna complain passionately about the color blue, we finally arrived at Leviathan Fort.
As expected, something absurd happened immediately.
“Uncle Kael” truly exists.
And unfortunately for my remaining sense of normalcy—
He is indeed High Admiral Kael Dravenholt.
Commander of The Black Leviathan Fleet.
Leviathan Fort itself appeared long before we reached the harbor.
Dark stone walls.
Massive artillery towers.
Rows of warships anchored with such rigid precision they resembled blades stored inside a ceremonial display.
Everything about the fort radiated military authority.
Cold.
Efficient.
Violently expensive.
Even the harbor silence felt disciplined.
No drunken shouting.
No wandering dockworkers.
Every movement carried purpose.
The moment our vessel entered official range, two Black Leviathan escort ships immediately approached from opposite sides.
Not aggressively.
Confidently.
The sort of confidence only possible when one already knows nobody nearby could realistically resist them.
When High Admiral Kael Dravenholt finally appeared personally at the docks, my first thought was that he resembled a Dragonkin.
Only after several seconds did I realize he was entirely human.
Just…
Extremely large.
The man is enormous.
Towering.
Built like a siege weapon given military rank.
Everything about him felt intimidating.
The scar across his face.
The cold eyes.
The perfectly maintained uniform.
Even the way soldiers around him stood slightly straighter whenever he moved nearby.
This is the sort of man kingdoms write military songs about after surviving wars against him.
Then he saw Miss DeLuna.
And immediately smiled.
Not politely.
Genuinely.
His entire expression softened so quickly it felt physically surreal.
A moment later, he simply lifted Miss DeLuna onto his back and carried her into the fort while continuing conversation normally.
Miss DeLuna herself reacted as though this was entirely standard behavior.
At one point she even pointed at ships while talking excitedly about fishing.
Fishing.
I nearly laughed from sheer psychological exhaustion.
The entire scene resembled watching some legendary troll being peacefully controlled by its favorite village child.
Meanwhile dozens of elite soldiers stood nearby pretending this situation was completely ordinary.
Fleetmaster Aldric appeared spiritually damaged.
Which honestly improved my mood slightly.
After Miss DeLuna explained our intended destination, High Admiral Kael understood the situation almost immediately.
He later spoke privately with Aldric for some time.
The conversation remained calm.
Professional.
Yet afterward Aldric looked simultaneously honored and deeply afraid.
According to him, High Admiral Kael personally apologized for being unable to permit civilian passage through the restricted western waters.
However—
He also declared he would personally escort Miss DeLuna and myself the remainder of the journey using the Black Leviathan Fleet directly.
Apparently he additionally thanked Aldric for safely transporting Miss DeLuna this far.
Aldric later informed me this sentence alone was worth enough political leverage to intimidate lesser merchants for the rest of his life.
I do not believe he was joking.
As for my own interaction with High Admiral Kael—
He treated me courteously.
Formally.
The kind of precise military politeness that somehow feels more threatening than hostility.
At one point he nodded once toward me and said:
“House Roderick has my gratitude.”
I nearly thanked him for allowing me to continue existing.
I am currently writing this entry aboard one of the Black Leviathan Fleet’s royal warships.
Even now, I struggle to process this properly.
The vessel itself feels less like a ship and more like a moving fortress.
Every sailor aboard moves with frightening discipline.
Every corridor remains silent.
Every cannon along the deck looks capable of sinking cities.
For the first time in my life, I understand what true naval supremacy actually feels like.
This is not merely a fleet designed to survive Leviathans.
This is a fleet designed to convince Leviathans not to try.
At this stage, I no longer know what qualifies as normal around Miss DeLuna anymore.
Or perhaps more accurately—
I am beginning to suspect Miss DeLuna’s definition of “normal” may simply not apply to the rest of humanity.
At the moment, she is currently outside on the deck fishing together with her uncle.
She invited me casually several minutes ago.
I declined.
For now, I believe remaining inside this room writing is the safer option for my mental stability.
Though admittedly, I am still uncertain whether this journal truly reduces stress…
Or merely organizes it into paragraphs.
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