Ray turned the dagger over in his hands.
It was an excellent weapon, by all means. The blade was a sleek, beautiful thing, the metal seemingly something that had been born from starlit silver. It was perfect in both its length and weight. It was also deceptively sharp. Ray had barely brushed his finger along its rim and the dagger had drawn a thin line of blood.
If Ray were just observing the dagger as a weapon, he would be hard-pressed to find another of this caliber. Certainly, he had seen finer blades in his life but there was something about how this one fit lovingly in Ray's hand, as if it had been forged for just that purpose, made this one stand-alone.
The sheath that fitted it was just as fine as the blade. It matched the dagger's curved spine perfectly. It was coated with red fabric - a velvet which, if Ray was not mistaken, came from his great grandmother's reign - that remained both soft and vibrant despite the dagger's age.
Both the hilt and tip of the sheath were patterned with silver... No... That was white gold. How very deceptive of the dagger's creator. Regardless of the kind of metal, it curled into a garden of pale flowers, decorated by a variety of precious metals. Ruby, white jade, and a few glittering jewels that Ray was not able to recognize.
It was certainly a weapon befitting the late emperor of Alyra. Everything about it spoke of its high quality and immense value. It seemed that if there was such a thing as the Crimson Sheath in this world then this dagger would have to be it.
So why didn't Ray feel any different?
His fingers drummed along the dark wood of his desk. It was possible that the dagger took a few days to adapt to its new master, learning the lines of their power so that it could adequately bind their soul to this realm. However, given all Ray knew about demonic deals and anchors, he found this somewhat unlikely.
All of the books that Ray had read on the subject stated that the anchor was created the moment the deal was made. There was no time delay, no need to learn or to bind. It was just something that happened naturally.
Then again, Ray was no expert on demonic deals. There was disappointingly little information relating to demons and Ray, himself, had never made a deal that had activated an anchor. It frustrated him to no end as to why this was. Was his diluted blood preventing such an anchor from taking effect? Did his human flesh and partially human soul already count as an anchor? There was no logic to it.
And the dagger before him offered no answers.
There was a knock on Ray's door. His harsh answer was a bit too revealing of his frustrations but, thankfully, the captain of the ship was a none too clever man. Even if he was capable of realizing the dagger was the object of Ray's current frustrations he would not be able to use that information in any way to benefit himself.
"Your Majesty," the captain greeted. "We're almost ready to sail out. Given the success of your mission, am I correct to assume we will be taking the most direct course to Alyra?"
Ray's fingers ceased their movement.
What a fascinating idea. He didn't know why he was so fundamentally opposed to the idea that he had been successful. It just... didn't feel right. Ray still felt that same aching weakness that had always been there. He could still feel the slow decay of his bones and muscles. He could still feel himself dying when, by all rights, he ought to have been beyond such things.
His human eyes told him that he succeeded but his demonic instincts told him that he still had so far to go. Ray had not survived for this long with the eyes of a human.
"Fools should never dare assume things," Ray said, turning his head to look at the captain. "It reveals how little they know." The man attempted to hide his offense, but Ray had grown up in the Alyran court, surrounded by people much more proficient at it than this old man. "We will be stopping at Grekya."
The captain's brows furrowed. "Grekya, your Majesty?"
"Certainly you have heard of it?" Ray asked, lips quirking upwards in amusement.
"Of- of course," the captain said. "It is just that... what business could your Majesty possibly have in a place like... that?"
This was, perhaps, a fair question. Grekya's reputation was... less than amiable. Regardless, it was by far the most famous of the Island Kingdoms though, in terms of size, it was one of the smallest. This was because Grekya was near infamous for the sheer danger of the place. It was a kingdom-sized rat's nest, home to all of the worst types of people. Which, made it highly likely, that Ray would be able to find who he was looking for.
"If you are concerned about people turning your ship to scraps in the harbor, I can assure you that those rumors are greatly over-exaggerated," Ray said.
"That's not-"
"As for my business... I don't believe that is something you ought to be concerning yourself with either." Ray narrowed his eyes. "I am paying you to sail your ship whatever direction I point my finger, not to ask questions."
"I... apologize, your Majesty. I was out of line." The captain looked loath to say this.
"Yes, you were."
The captain made something of a mocking bow and then took his leave, likely to bark orders at the boys he kept as his crew. Ray would be the first to admit he knew very little of the Island Kingdoms and their culture and he knew even less about the specifics of Jihn, but from what he'd determined, Jihn called their orphans and the generally unskilled, unintelligent, and unimportant, Sea Children.
The captain was apparently one of these Sea Children and after years of scraping by, he'd finally made enough to buy his own ship. Now, the poor, sentimental fool, largely employed other Sea Children. They were grossly incompetent but most of them couldn't read and, should they talk, they wouldn't be believed.
These were essential traits for Ray's missions.
Ray left his cabin - fixing his cloak around his shoulders before he did so - and went to observe the clever crew the captain had put together. It was mostly composed of young men and, as such, had all of the follies of young men.
"Why were you so late, Landon?" one of the boys crooned at another, who was holding a crate of supplies. "Did you find a whore willing to make you breakfast?"
"Yeah," the other boy snapped. "Your mother had me pack the leftovers for you."
The boys around them howled with laughter despite Ray finding it highly unlikely that either boy had a mother. There was no logic to a joke like that but perhaps it was simple crassness that made it funny. Ray frowned slightly. He had never been able to comprehend what his peers found to be amusing.
Thankfully, there also seemed to be more than a few young women among the crew as well. They were as well-muscled as their male cohorts but Ray appreciated the way they rolled their eyes rather than joined in with the boys' laughter. Turning away, Ray decided that he would inform the captain that only the women would be allowed inside of his cabin from this point on.
He could practically see his stepmother's spitting rage if she heard of this command.
It was no secret that Ray kept a primarily female company. Not that Ray kept much company at all. Simply, when it was required, he preferred women. As such, a vast majority of his servants and advisors were female. His stepmother, of course, believed he was fucking them. It had originally been amusing but at some point, it had crossed the line into unbearablity.
Ray stepped onto the deck, the sharp smell of salt and the brightness of the sun assaulting his senses. He skimmed the ship for the captain and found him beside the wheel, directing the flow of people. Before Ray could make his way over to the captain, someone intercepted him.
"Hey! You!"
Ray snapped his head in the direction of the voice. Despite all that he had gone through, he had never been addressed with this level of disrespect before. The boy who had been yapping at him like a small dog stopped short.
"Can I help you?" Ray asked with far more politeness - icy though it was - than this mongrel deserved.
"Give me back my dagger," the boy said.
Ray blinked, a small frown working its way into his lips as he studied the boy's face. Belatedly, he realized that it was, in fact, a familiar one. It was more often than Ray cared to admit that people he had assumed were dead had returned to bother him again, but he truly had not expected that the prior owner of the Crimson Sheath would make another appearance in Ray's life.
However, this outcome shouldn't have been all that surprising. Ray hadn't killed the boy. He hadn't even checked to see if the boy was dead or just unconscious. He had been too overwhelmed by the anticlimactic retrieval of the Crimson Sheath to bother with it. It also made sense the boy was a sailor, given the constant movement of the Crimson Sheath.
"Apologies, but I believe you have mistaken me for someone else," Ray said, turning from the boy.
"I have not," the boy said.
Foolish child. He ought to just be happy that Ray spared his life. Ray briefly considered righting last night's mistake. He had left the Crimson Sheath within his cabin but he had more than a few other daggers on his person. It would be painfully easy. The boy was leaving himself wide open, as though he did not consider the possibility of attack at all.
However, considering they had yet to leave the harbor - and Ray would vastly prefer to not have to make a scene at all - Ray decided that he ought to just ignore the boy.
"You have," Ray said, turning away.
Which was when the boy had the audacity to grab him. "I have not," the boy repeated and then, with a vicious smile, added, "Ray."
At first, Ray did not recognize the last word out of the boy's mouth. Or, rather, he did, but it had no apparent meaning to him. Then, with slow, dawning horror, he realized that it was his name, translated into Koyitian. This boy knew his name. A combination of terror and outrage clawed at the vulnerable part of Ray's throat. He needed to kill this boy.
Now.