The train rolled to a stop at the station, steam billowing out from the fuel chamber up front in thick, rolling clouds.
Passengers streamed off with bags of every size, the platform loud with noise and motion.
Somewhere in the middle of it, Chase walked the streets of a city with a distinctly medieval feel, a bundle slung over one shoulder, taking in a place he’d never once set foot in before.
This was Asroba, a port city in the Kingdom of Fiore, not far from Hargeon.
Mountains walled it in on two sides, the sea on the third, which kept it fairly isolated from the rest of the kingdom.
On Makarov’s suggestion, Chase, who really just wanted to get out and stretch his legs, had picked an S-Class commission with a moderate difficulty rating.
Asroba was where it had sent him.
He found an empty bench, sat down, and pulled the commission form out of his pocket, a bright red S stamped across the top.
S-Class Mission: suppress the pirates terrorizing the high seas.
The details were grim.
For months now, a group of pirates had appeared out of nowhere in the waters off Asroba, tearing through passing ships without mercy.
Hundreds already dead.
The commission called for the pirates to be captured alive, brutal as they were.
Fee: Nine hundred ninety million Jewels.
Client: Marshall White.
Location: an abandoned lighthouse on Asroba’s southern coast.
A note at the bottom warned that capturing pirates alive was extremely dangerous, and urged extreme caution.
According to Master, every mage who’s taken this commission has vanished without a trace.
Nobody’s ever come back.
Not even a body’s turned up.
That’s the whole reason it got bumped up to S-Class.
Anything can happen out on the water, sure, but every single one of them disappearing?
That’s stretching it.
Setting aside how vicious these pirates are supposed to be, wouldn’t at least some ships sail out, never run into them at all, and just come back empty-handed?
This was the contradiction Chase had spent the entire train ride turning over.
Obviously the missing mages ran into the pirates.
That much isn’t in question.
But bandits stick to towns, fixed mountain hideouts, something with a location.
Pirates have the whole ocean to work with.
So how are they finding the specific mages who take this specific commission, every single time?
It’s not like they’ve got some kind of magic radar that pings every mage dumb enough to sign up.
…Getting off track.
Chase cleared his throat, pulled himself together, and headed off toward the far end of the street.
First things first: he needed to actually meet the client.
The “abandoned lighthouse” listed as the location wasn’t hard to track down in Asroba.
Chase stopped a few locals along the way, asked around, and had solid directions within minutes.
The lighthouse sat on Asroba’s southern coast, reachable by following the town’s granite main road straight out through a stretch of tropical jungle.
Chase stood on the overgrown ground below it and looked up at a lighthouse with mottled, weathered walls rising off a desolate cliff.
What was left of the original white paint had mostly flaked away, and the iron ladder running up its side had corroded into a patchwork of gray, salt-eaten spots, as if it were still trying to tell the story of better days.
The sea wind howled past, cutting through the iron railings at the base of the tower with a low, mournful sound.
“It really is abandoned.” Chase took one more look around, then walked forward without hesitating.
He couldn’t help wondering why someone capable of putting up nine hundred ninety million in commission money would be living somewhere this run-down.
Chase pushed open the rusty iron door at the base of the lighthouse, already hanging ajar, and a few shafts of sunlight slanted down through the narrow windows, catching on floor tiles cracked through with weeds.
In the middle of the light, beside an old chaise, a thin man sat alone at a plain wooden table, drinking tea.
“Hello.
Are you Mr.
Marshall White?” Chase asked.
The thin man set down his teacup at the sound, looked Chase over from several meters away, and asked, puzzled, “Young man, can I help you with something?” “Here’s the thing: I’m a mage from Fairy Tail.
Did you file this commission?” Chase pointed to the guild crest branded on his right arm and held out the form.
“That’s right!
Wonderful!
I never expected the guild that took this on would be the most famous one in all of Fiore!” At the word Fairy Tail, the man’s blank expression broke completely.
He jogged over, grabbed Chase’s hand, and said, urgent, “Please, you absolutely have to help me catch those damned pirates!” “I understand you’re eager, but don’t worry, that’s exactly why I’m here.” Chase gently extracted his hand from the man’s grip.
Up close, the thin man looked younger than Chase had first thought, probably still in his thirties, dressed in a plain shirt.
His face was gaunt, with a scar cutting across half his right cheek, up near the eye.
“I’m sorry.
I got carried away.” Marshall looked embarrassed, waved Chase over to the table, and personally poured him a cup of hot tea.
Once Chase had confirmed the details on the form matched and verified the client’s identity, he got straight to it.
“I’ve read through the commission.
Could you tell me more about these pirates?
Any distinguishing features?” This is the important part.
It’d be a real embarrassment to go through all this trouble and catch the wrong pirates entirely.
“I’ll never forget those pirates, not if I burn to ash.
Their flag was some kind of demon claw.
Their captain’s face was covered in scars, and he wore a tall black hat, with a necklace made of skulls hanging around his neck.” At the mention of the pirates, Marshall’s gentle manner dropped away entirely, replaced by a hard, furious stare that his scar only made more unsettling.
“Anything else?
The ship itself, what the crew wore, what kind of magic they used?” Chase noted the shift in Marshall’s mood and took a small sip of his tea.
Bitter.
Astringent.
Nothing at all like Mira’s.
“I’m sorry, I can tell you about their appearance and their clothes well enough, but as for magic…” Marshall looked apologetic.
“The only thing I ever saw was the captain using something that spat out flame.” “Okay.
Got it.” Chase nodded.
Once he had the basics, he looked across the table at Marshall and asked, low and serious, “Can I ask why you filed this commission personally?” Logically, suppressing pirates should fall to the Kingdom of Fiore’s naval forces, or get handed off to some guild alliance effort.
And this guy doesn’t exactly look like someone with money to burn on charitable pest control.
Not that Chase was worried about actually getting paid.
For an S-Class commission like this one, a review board vetted the client’s finances well ahead of time, made sure they could actually cover the fee before the job ever got posted.
At the question, whatever composure Marshall had left cracked entirely.
His fist came down hard on the table, and his eyes went bloodshot.
“They…
those damned animals murdered my wife.
My daughters.
I want to tear them apart myself.
Cut them into pieces and feed every last scrap to the fish.” “So I only have one request: bring them to me alive!” “Every mage before you failed.
Failed…” Marshall grabbed Chase’s arm as he spoke, voice cracking into a plea.
“Mr.
Chase, you’re a mage from the famous Fairy Tail, please, you have to help me!” “You’re my last hope!” This time, Chase didn’t pull away from the man in front of him, wild-eyed as he looked.
Instead, he raised a hand and rested it gently on Marshall’s shoulder, expression serious.
“Don’t worry.
Fairy Tail isn’t like those other guilds.” Overwhelmed, Marshall broke down entirely.
“Thank you.
Thank you…” “One last question.
How do I actually find these pirates?” Chase asked.
“All I know is they stick close to the trade routes.
If you’ve got no better lead, I’d suggest booking passage on an Asroba merchant ship.” Marshall wiped at his eyes, voice heavy.
“That’s what every mage before you did.
I never once got to see them come back, though.” Chase’s brow furrowed at that, just for a second, before he smoothed his expression back out.
“Understood.
That’s the plan, then.
Thank you, Mr.
Marshall.”