Cultivating Anthro CEO RPG Hero Harem Reincarnation In Another World - Chapter 184

Ever since I was little, I have heard tales of giants.

It was the talk of sailors, washed ashore some days to restock and replenish their meats and ales, with beards to their knees and skins like sun-dried leather: hardened, hardy men who risked their mortal necks to brave the seas as their way of life; and yet, they spoke in hushed, reverent tones of “giants” who reigned in the realms beyond, and of Heraldesses: the two of which seemed to mysteriously coincide, as far as I could gather. Although, to what degree I could scarcely imagine…

Eventually, that would all change. I would come to reminisce about the “days before” as a time of innocence, to which I may never return. Since then, I have seen too much: I have stained my hands with blood that will never wash away, and I am no longer the same girl who existed within that place and time.

To think, it was a mere few months ago…

I was a server at the local tavern on the harbor who had just turned sixteen, and so far had never seen the world beyond the stretches of my cozy island home. So, it always fascinated me how these rough-looking men would frequently humble themselves with mention of prayers and sacrifices they’d made before setting out from their various ports of call, directed at these Heraldesses, as well as their seeming pet giants. All this to say, they did not count their successful voyages on the merit of their own abilities, but rather staking their successes on divine benevolence—more superstition than sinew. Behavior which struck me as being altogether strange, and contradictory. Mystifyingly barbaric. Wonderful. Which was precisely why I would always pause at what I was doing to listen to these seadogs gossip like crows, if I wasn’t overly busy.

On one particular day, I was stacking a tray full of drinks on the counter when I caught wind of a conversation between a boatswain and his mate in the back booth:

“Danae is the one, aye. I would mate her ’til she couldn’t walk.”

“Shh! You’re spouting blasphemy!”

“Blasphemy it might be, then!” The obviously drunk boatswain then boasted loudly. “Let her strike me down, and seize me straight to her heaving bosom!”

I jumped at the sound of a chair scraping across the floor.

“I will have no part in such talks!” I heard the mate respond with, before passing by me as he was storming toward the door, when all of a sudden I thought to do something extraordinary—

I reached forth, grabbing the man by his wrist.

He glanced at me, rightly startled.

“I—” spoke nervously, fearing I had just made a grave error, unable to draw upon an ounce of speech any further.

Fortunately for myself, the mate here in question was a youngish, handsome man without his fellows’ beards or grim confidence; whose fired expression quickly waned when he glimpsed my bashfulness.

“My, aren’t you a pretty thing to be floating about in a dirty old hovel like this.”

“Tell me…just now,” I struggled to verbalize, fumbling my lip under his interested gaze. “What is it that you and your mate were yelling about?”

“You were eavesdropping?” he said—to which I quickly nodded—then adding, “and you really don’t know?” To which I nodded again. At which point he wrinkled his brow at me, looking me over with a suspicious squint—like he was doubting my sincerity—but I held my gaze and my breath steady until he nodded, smiling, seemingly content that he was not being played for a fool.

“Ah, I suppose it makes sense for a lass, so young, living on this faraway shore, to not know about the Heraldesses.”

“The Heraldesses?” I moved toward him, recognizing the name but nothing of its implied substance, eager to hear more, as my usual shyness had all but melted away, at that point—such was my desire to learn the truth behind these mysterious whispers.

He opened his mouth with a proud look, to answer, but—

“The Heraldesses,” the boatswain said as he emerged, stumbling in from the back room, “they’re the four nicest pieces of ass gifted by God unto man!” He laughed.

“Eh?” I looked toward the man beside me, sensing before I saw that he was furious.

“Old man, you’re courting death by talking so crudely about the divine misses,” he said, pushing gently past me to hang over his crewmate with an intimidating air. “Danae especially would not tolerate such foulness!”

The boatswain struggled to stand up straight, putting on a tough face. “Oh, yeah? So you’ve been between her thighs before…?”

“S-stop,” I said, as the two then started pushing against each other.

“That’s enough from you, old man!”

“Look at you, little whelp: in a fit over some uptight little slut you’ve never even met before!” he yelled. “You’re a pathetic example of a man, pining for a pair of fruits you can’t have!”

The youngish sailor swung at his face.

Growling, he responded with a lunge: holding him down with a burly arm locked around his neck.

A fight was breaking out, I realized: around the time a crowd of other sailors swarmed around us, spitting and hollering, and beer bottles were starting to fly; not an uncommon occurrence around those parts, by any means, but all the same my frail heart was hard at thumping as I dove for cover beneath one of the rickety wooden tables.

“All of you salty, uncivilized rats had better SIT YOUR ASSES DOWN!” I heard Miss Mercia yell, the floorboards shaking with her footsteps as she came in from behind the bar counter to intervene.

At this time I felt deflated, being no longer able to question more about the giants or the Heraldesses…

My curiosity was piqued, and so I grew obsessed in the hours that followed: trying to piece together every tidbit and grain on the elusive subject I had gathered thus far; a fruitless effort, in retrospect, as the kinds of things I was hearing would need to be seen to be understood, in any case.

And indeed, did I desire to see; only that it might fulfill my wonder at just what kind of fantastical world of magic and mystery resided just beyond these familiar shores.

Exteriorly, my contemplations aside, it was an average day: my existence being of an easy, carefree sort: abiding by an unshifting schedule of working at the tavern from morning till noon; after which, I would go out diving, beneath the crystal clear waters of the bay past the line of palm and coconut trees, to dig up oysters and clams from along the silty bottom that I might cook the meat from later and—if I were lucky—find a pearl I could trade to a merchant.

Most young women of my village were spared such work, typically reserved for men; but then again, most had living relatives to care for them.

As for myself…I was mostly alone. I spent the larger bulk of my existence in solitude, and quite preferred it that way. Albeit, I likely would not have survived this long if not for the sympathies of Miss Mercia, who had considered both my parents as close friends…before they were taken by the great storm—an integral driving force behind my push for independence, above all, so as not to become a burden.

My diligence, though noble in its pursuit, had created a stone faced hermit of me: one who only toils, and does so alone, without care or need for company, hardened in both heart and mind as a result. Or, at least, so I had thought…

A lot was weighing on my mind that afternoon, that I remember clearly: a certain point when I had swam up from the seabed, following a disappointing dive: how I leaned back against a rocky outcropping that extended from the shore—catching my breath in great, heaving sighs—as, all at once, I was bombarded by all the raw emotions of my past I’d thought I had buried and forgotten about long ago.

Mother…father…

Neither of their bodies were ever recovered: swept away, like the hundreds of other unfortunate souls that were claimed in the storm. The fact that I, alone, had survived—found shivering, clinging to a tree for dear life—was viewed as a miracle.

I should have died, but I hadn’t.

Why, though? But for the grace of these so-called Heraldesses?

Inside, I was hurting. Always had been.

Tears were welling in my eyes that stung of sea salt, wincing from the uncompromising glare of the sun.

All things considered, I had led a decent life despite its fair share of hardships. Nevertheless, I was so taken by these feelings that had cropped up inside of me—mere suggestions of secretive misery, evolving into second guesses and doubt—my childish heart swelling with a newly discovered hunger for adventure…

It was then, I heard a low whistle.

Alarmed, I turned quickly toward its source—revealed to be the young shipmate I’d approached in the tavern, just earlier! Now sporting a fresh black eye, for all his prior troubles.

“Well then, small lass”—he chuckled—”I be out of a job, now, for trying to answer your dim question.’

I gasped, realizing my chest was on display to this stranger—hence the prior whistle—feeling my cheeks blush as I promptly concealed myself beneath the waves.

“W-well…” I then said, emboldened by my offense at being stealthed upon: “I never willed you to react so extremely!”

“Hah! True enough,” he said, as he sat down with a grunt on the wall of rock beside me, dangling his feet into the water. “I just couldn’t help myself—a man’s gotta stand up for what he believes in, and I owe the Heraldesses my life, I do. Probably several times over, at this rate.”

“These Heraldesses…give mercy to those who ask?” I suggested.

“Aye. If one gives prayer and sacrifice.”

“Might they show a wretched soul mercy, regardless?” I further added, building slowly toward the true intent of my interrogation. “Perhaps even solely out of the goodness of their hearts?”

He shrugged. “Who am I to say? I am but a fired deckhand. Although…”

He leaned toward me, holding me gently by my chin and stroking his thumb by my cheek as I faced him with bated breath, becoming mesmerized by the shimmering blue eyes peering out from his face crested with elegant blonde curls.

“For an island girl,” he continued, in a smirking tone, “you speak most eloquently.”

My nerves were electric at his touch.

I wanted to act naturally; to say that I was taught well. To describe how Miss Mercia, as well as my parents before her, both were determined advocates of my education: hiring on no shortage of tutors since just after I had learned to walk, regarding all manner of subjects. However, as one so cloistered and underexposed as myself, my lips failed to produce anything beyond a string of nonsensical utterances in the face of such terrifying tension.

As I had said before, this lad was really quite handsome; but then, to be touched by him so delicately, whilst we were sitting apart so closely with my naked self only narrowly hidden underwater…

My poor little heart could not withstand it!

“Elias is my name,” he said. “What is yours then, small lass?”

I swallowed nervously, gathering myself.

“Tipha,” I gave to him in reply.

The winds of change were upon me.