It was another beautiful early summer morning.

The dense foliage in the forest gave way to sparse trees and small shrubs, with warm winds blowing from the south. In the distance, you could see columns of white smoke coming from a coastal city, down by the distant sea.

Gerald was still quite far away, currently going downhill, when he could already see the stone and wooden houses as well as a few sails of various fishing boats further down at the harbor.

The roofs were covered with straw or red clay roof shingles, giving the place a cozy rural feeling.

The area around the city was covered by green fields growing grain, while the gray wall served as a divide between nature and the safety of a bustling town.

Only a few people were outside, working in the fields or chopping down wood from the nearby forest, while the air was still cool enough for them to work in the sun.

As Gerald came closer to the city, he came to see the plaque above the main gate which said [Port Dera] in big bold letters.

"Port Dera?" He took out his map and checked his position. As it turned out, he was way off from where he thought he would be. He was at least a few hundred kilometers west of where he was going. That was one of the downsides of traveling on the ground. It was easy to lose your way when you weren't constantly checking.

"Oh well, let's see what I can find here. Maybe they have a ship that can take me over to the other side," he said to himself cheerfully.

He made his way through the city after paying a fee at the gates and examined the tightly-built stone buildings and roads that snaked through the city. It reminded him of some old European coastal towns back on Earth. They were just a bit dirtier and smelled of fish.

Lots and lots of dead, rotting fish.

Except for the smell, the little port town didn't seem to suffer from anything else. They had food aplenty from the critters and fish of the sea, and trade was good from merchants of spices and silk.

The port town was not rich, but neither was it poor and as it seemed, it was spared from recent monster attacks. It made one think…

Why was it that the capital was under siege by millions of beasts, whereas the villages and towns on the periphery seemed to have suffered less? If anything they should have been hit the strongest and hardest.

Or was there something else at play? The Giant was the leader, and even if it was slightly influenced by the Blood Sun Viper sect, it was after all, still its own master. Nobody could control it, so...

"But they didn't need to!" Gerald suddenly came to a realization.

The Giant was so strong, surely it would understand someone was trying to use it, and yet…

What was the one thing you could only find in a rare few places that would interest a wounded Giant that has slept for the last 10.000 years?

A Spirit Lake!

It did not use magic, because its Soul was damaged! That's what he had learned from the King, had he not? Gerald smirked grimly.

If the Giant's Soul was too damaged to even use rudimentary magic, then taking over a Spirit Lake was a matter of life and death. It was a simple motivation for survival.

Gerald could only shake his head in dismay. How great it would have been if he could eat a Soul of that size. Even if it was damaged, the gains would surely be massive! But alas… The Giant detonated himself and ruined his dreams, even attempting to take him down with him.

He arrived at the harbor where a few fishing boats and merchants' vessels were anchored at the docks.

Fishermen were examining their nets, stretching them out on the wooden stands, and stitching them together where the thin strings were torn.

A few merchant vessels were being unloaded of crates and sacks with various goods, like exotic wines, clothes, spices, and perfumes. The workers did their job diligently, carrying the heavy load of cargo on their backs, their toned muscles glistening in the morning sun.

Port Dera was bustling with life, but Gerald had no time to stop and admire the work of men, for he was on a mission.

But he wasn't in a hurry and his throat was dry, so he made his way to a place where one could get good gossip and wine. [Was in a poetic mod here.]

"A mug of your finest," he loudly announced, attracting the gazes of many around. "I'm looking for a ship to cross me the sea," he said. "And money is no problem, for the little ol' me."

A golden coin was tossed on the counter, stimulating loud, and interesting banter.

The master of the tavern picked it up, gave it a bite, and smiled back. A mug and a bottle soon came his way, and Gerald drank from it, to the customers' dismay.

"That's a bottle of burning Dragon Spit-Howler, and he's chugging it down akin to cool, clear spring water!" someone exclaimed, in horror and awe, feeling ashamed. He looked down at his pitiful beer and ordered an ale.

"A ship, say ye? Nay, for you, here one not be." The master of tavern shook his bald head, happy and loud, and offered Gerald to sell nother round. The beer ran in barrels and was drank in pints, early was morning and many were drunk.

Searching in vain, Gerald made his way around, leaving puking the sailors, and workers behind.

Alcohol burning was his stomach within, leaving his body as fast as it got in. Soon his mind was again clear like a spring, allowing his poetry to turn back his thinking clean.

"Uff, that stuff really burns your mind," Gerald held his head, still feeling the spinning effects of whatever that Dragon drink was.

He asked around a few more times, but in the end, he gave up, realizing nobody was willing to take him across the sea. The ships here weren't made to cross the turbulent waters, nor were they equipped with guards or soldiers to fend off a monster attack.

He had no choice but to make his way east and find the Jade Islands' merchants.