The Bustling Market of Purple Rose Harbor

Disguised as the noble Count Dracula, Pipe Captain strolled leisurely through the market with Greenland and Purames. Curiosity about this new world—and future plans—drove him to absorb everyday knowledge. He’d resolved to protect these characters he’d created, to be a capable leader who watched over them like a guardian. Of course, that meant taking things seriously.

Though magic skewed this world’s development, modern conveniences existed alongside medieval trappings: lantern-like magic lights, iceboxes preserving food, crystal boxes storing moving images like ancient recorders.

Sadly, Pipe found no complete maps or sea charts. Oceans were too vast; claiming more territory meant weaker defenses. Nations with sprawling waters had fallen when enemies bypassed unguarded coasts. Unlike land, the sea offered few natural barriers—no walls could be built atop waves.

He bought unfamiliar or promising scrolls, asking detailed questions about their use. Magic wasn’t omnipotent, he realized. Daily-life scrolls were prohibitively expensive: a common family lived a year on two gold coins, yet a simple Healing Scroll curing most diseases cost five.

That’s why doctors still existed—to serve those who couldn’t afford scrolls.

Restoration Scrolls could regrow severed limbs. *So that assassin Alpha might already be healed.* Pipe tucked one away. Greenland stepped forward, handing coins to the grinning shopkeeper.

Short-range teleportation scrolls existed too—the very tool Alpha had used to escape him. But their range was disappointing: only 1,500 meters. Adventurers bought them for emergencies—escaping deep-sea perils or trapped ruins.

"Purames, Greenland... take these. Carry one at all times."

"Understood..."

"Yes... my lord. Should we prepare some for Faglas, Silver Lock, and Golden Key too?"

"Of course. And Lil V, Hill Rock, Del Sira... That’s all for now."

"Yes, sir."

Unburdened by fatigue, Pipe questioned everything with bright enthusiasm. Behind him, Greenland and Purames glowed with quiet bliss.

This felt like a lovers’ outing. Walking beside the Captain in a human market—though his noble disguise forbade hand-holding or kisses—was enough. *If only that annoying rival wasn’t here...* Unseen by Pipe, the two shot venomous glares at each other.

Onlookers stared. Pipe, as the strikingly handsome "Count Dracula," radiated aristocratic chill. Purames, veiled in noblewoman’s finery, couldn’t hide her Siren’s allure or fiery curves. Greenland drew envious stares with the sniper rifle on his back—a finely crafted magic weapon—and his enchanted armor. *How could such a slender frame withstand warrior blows?*

"Isn’t that Viscount Dracula? Who are those two behind him—not his usual guards?"

Mary spotted "Dracula" browsing books with Purames and Greenland. She leapt from her carriage and hurried over.

"Viscount Dracula~! What a surprise to meet you here!"

"Hm? Miss Mary... quite coincidental. What brings you here?"

"N-nothing! I mean—yes!"

She’d almost said "nothing," but this chance was too precious to waste. Yet she had no idea how to talk to men. She’d scorned past suitors, learning nothing of courtship. But Viscount Dracula was different... *What do I do?*

"...Are you unwell, Miss Mary?"

"Eh? Ah! N-no! I... I... I wanted to invite you to see... the docks! Today’s newly arrived warships! Would the Viscount be interested?"

*Warships...* Pipe recalled the harbor’s patrol ships—small 30-meter galleys with oars for close combat. But those were coastal guards, not true navy vessels. He’d longed to see real warships. Were they stronger than his *Resurrection Goddess*? Especially regarding magic cannons... Scarface claimed they resembled his Fire God Cannons. *What power did they truly hold?*

Mary waited, head bowed, cursing herself inwardly. She’d only meant to greet a visiting admiral for her father—how had she blurted this invitation to the Viscount? He seemed like a scholar, not a soldier. Though he’d eliminated those assassins... *Maybe he’d understand military matters?*

"Certainly. I wish to know who protects this nation. My trade interests demand it. Lead the way, if you please."

"Yes!"

Mary dashed ahead, then doubled back.

"My carriage awaits, Viscount."

"Very well. Purames, Greenland—return to the manor."

"...As you command, Master."

"Yes..."

Watching Pipe ride away with Mary, Greenland and Purames spat on the ground in unison. *That bitch ruined our time with the Captain! She must die—*

Their eyes met, nodding fiercely—then shaking heads. Mary was the daughter of the admiral, a key ally in the Captain’s plans. Killing her would shatter his strategy... and his trust. Punishment meant little, but his *dislike*? Unbearable. *Wait until he’s done using them. Then feed her to the sea—or to Lil V.*

Resigned, they trudged back to Dracula Manor.

Mary’s carriage, an older model from her admiral father’s household, felt quaint compared to Dracula’s luxury coach. Pipe sat by the window, legs crossed in perfect noble posture, gaze drifting over passing streets. He felt no interest in Mary. They’d met a few times but never spoken deeply—acquaintances at best. He’d respond politely if she spoke, but initiate nothing. She was merely an admiral’s daughter.

*Why won’t he talk to me?* Mary agonized. *He only agreed out of pity... Does he hate me? No—he’s always aloof. Unless...*

Her spiraling thoughts nearly overwhelmed her before the carriage halted at the harbor.

"Miss Mary, we’ve arrived. Are you unwell? I can escort you home; the ships can wait."

"Eh? Oh! No... just a little stuffy. Let’s go!"

Mary scrambled out first, heart fluttering. *He cared enough to ask!*

Docked soldiers stood in crisp formation. On the horizon, a dozen ships emerged from the sea haze—tiny dots swelling into clear silhouettes.

"Their speed... impressive."

"You noticed too, Viscount? Their magic paddlewheels propel them without wind or oars. With this tailwind, they’re even swifter."

"I see..."

"But those wheels guzzle alchemically refined oil. Each fleet carries only two large oil-powered ships. Smaller support vessels use hand-cranked paddles—they absorb ambient elemental energy to move."

*So oil-powered propulsion and hand-cranked generators... Who invented these?* Books claimed gods gifted such knowledge to humans. *But how did the gods know? Could they... could they be transmigrators like me?* It fit. Human inventions evolved slowly over centuries—but these "divine" blueprints appeared fully formed. *I must investigate this.*

"That’s... the White Dragon Fleet! Duke Keane himself commands it?!"

Mary pointed at the deep blue banner fluttering above the lead ship—a white dragon embroidered with golden tassels. Her voice trembled with awe as she recounted tales of the legendary "Dragon’s Heir," the naval commander Duke Keane. Though she’d never seen him, her admiration burned bright.

Now, the chance to witness him in person was thrilling beyond words...

"Son of the Dragon... Keane Franren Heiltesimlem..."

Count Dracula burned with curiosity. What kind of man was this legendary admiral, the mightiest commander in the Imperial Navy?

The warship anchored offshore. A smaller galley rowed toward the harbor. Mary led Dracula to the pier, standing where the vessel would dock.

The galley glided to a perfect stop. Its precise deceleration and mastery over currents halted it mere inches from the pier—a testament to the helmsman’s seasoned skill and flawless seamanship.

The gangplank lowered. Figures descended slowly. Soldiers on the pier snapped to attention under their officers’ commands.

At the forefront stood a young officer who looked no older than twenty. A cascade of golden wavy hair was tied into a ponytail behind his head. His wide-brimmed tricorn hat boasted lavish white and crimson feather adornments, its badge shaped like a dragon’s head. Neat rows of medals gleamed on the right breast of his immaculate navy coat. A distinctive tricolor sash—white flanked by two black stripes—draped from his left shoulder to the third button. A short, opulent cape embroidered with gold thread and tasseled edges rested on his shoulders. Crisp white trousers tucked into metal-capped military boots. At his waist hung an ornate rapier, two artfully crafted flintlock pistols, and a leather pouch.

His gentle smile made him seem more poet than soldier. As he stepped off the gangplank, he alone commanded every gaze—not just for his bearing, but for his startling, almost ethereal beauty. Behind him, officers in similar uniforms (minus cape and medals) formed a line, utterly eclipsed by his presence.

"Good day, Miss Mary Gale Bandemin."

Duke Kein approached Mary with effortless grace. He slowly removed his black leather gloves, revealing slender, porcelain-pale hands. Gently, he lifted Mary’s hand—frozen in awe—and kissed the back of it before lowering it with tender care. "My name is Keane... Keane Franren Heiltesimlem. By His Majesty’s trust, I hold the title of Duke and serve as Admiral of the Navy. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Might I ask your name, sir?"

"Dracula... Dracula Joe Shuya. Count of Wallachia Kingdom, First-Class Viscount of the Holy Varnishel Empire... at your service, Your Grace."

Dracula began to bow, but Kein stopped him.

"Count Dracula... I’ll address you as such. No formalities needed. I know of your deeds. Your valor in eradicating the vile Dark Blade organization earned His Majesty’s highest praise. In truth, I came here primarily for you—to bestow upon you the honorary title of Count."

Keane Franren Heiltesimlem extended a firm hand. Dracula Joe Shuya met it with his usual icy composure.

Their eyes locked—a silent first clash of wills. Duke Kein broke the gaze first, smiling as he released Dracula’s hand. *What an intriguing man. Nothing like those repulsive nobles. His thoughts are unreadable... utterly inscrutable. He possesses every trait of a natural-born commander. Recruiting him into the military won’t be easy... but that’s where the fun lies. The greater the challenge, the sweeter the game.* Kein’s smile deepened.