The air grew thick for a few seconds.
Frank, puzzled, inquired, "Yes, did you call me?"
"No, I didn't," Bairon explained, "Mr. Dave here was prompting me to guess who his father might be, and I thought perhaps it's you. Even if one is a first-class passenger, one shouldn't occupy the captain's seat, unless, of course, they're the captain's son."
Dave snapped, "By what right do you say this is the captain's seat? I'm a guest, I naturally get to pick first!"
Bairon gently tapped the table with his finger, smiling, "Frank, would you care to explain?"
Frank rubbed his nose, "Young Master Padorn, that seat is indeed mine. The sea is not like land; ships constantly face significant risks. To ensure the captain can respond immediately in a crisis, the seat with the best vantage point is reserved for him."
The seat next to Miss Anna offers the perfect view of the dining area outside and even the entire forward deck. It's rightfully the captain's spot.
"I've been sitting there ever since I boarded at Aule Harbor!" Dave retorted.
Bairon countered, "That just shows how indulgent Frank has been to you."
Anna couldn't contain her laughter anymore.
"I think you're asking for trouble!" Dave's face contorted with rage.
Margaret merely smiled. The previous night, William had boasted about Bairon at a family dinner, narrating the tale of how Bairon had fiercely slain the Dark Magus Lawrence in a duel.
If there was anyone on board capable of killing Bairon, Margaret felt, it would only be the vast sea.
"Everyone, stay calm! Let's keep our cool!" Frank quickly stepped between Dave and Bairon.
Just then, a voice laced with amusement rang out, "Who's losing their temper at this hour? Let me guess, it's our dear little Dave, isn't it?"
Hearing the voice, Frank sighed in relief.
"Stephen, mind your own business!" Dave's face twisted further in annoyance.
A tall man, stooping to clear the door frame, entered the dining room, a grin playing on his lips.
He had curly, tousled golden hair, a gaunt face, stood well over 8 feet tall, and had a prominent nose.
Due to his immense height, he had to bend down to enter the dining room.
"Aha, no wonder little Dave is so fired up, we have new guests. Hello, everyone, I'm Stephen King," he introduced, extracting two business cards from his pocket.
One card was handed to Bairon and the other to Margaret.
Bairon took the card and gave it a quick glance. "San Sorus's Secret Tales Magazine, Special Contributor, Stephen King." The card's material and the printed font seemed rather rough, making one question the authenticity of this identity.
Stephen, with a look of keen interest, remarked, "Mr. Dave, you seemed quite animated earlier. Anything worth noting?"
Dave replied defensively, "What's it to you?"
"I'm thinking of featuring a story in the Secret Tales Magazine about a certain Upper Council member's son and his adventures on a return journey. Such a sensational story would surely boost our sales!" Stephen exclaimed with excitement.
"No, there's nothing!" Dave quickly interjected.
"What a pity, then." Stephen chuckled, taking a seat next to Bairon.
Frank seized the opportunity and sat to the right of Anna, reclaiming his rightful spot.
"Master Padorn, would you like to dine here or should we have a sailor serve you in your cabin?" Stephen asked with a smirk.
"I am, of course, dining here. I paid 50 gold coins and expect full service!" Dave settled into the only remaining chair, shooting a murderous glance at Bairon.
Bairon simply rolled his eyes.
"Say, Frank," Stephen began, rubbing his hands together, "I just got you out of a sticky situation. Don't you think you owe me something in return?"
"I already upgraded you to first-class for free, and you eat three times more than the average sailor!" Frank retorted, trying to contain his anger.
"Well, okay, but I must say, you're rather stingy." Stephen sighed, "I'm thinking of publishing today's story in the magazine titled 'The Miserly Captain of the White Gull.'"
Frank's lips twitched involuntarily.
"Captain, should we announce the commencement of the banquet?" The sailor who had earlier invited Bairon approached.
"Yes, we'll begin shortly," Frank inhaled deeply, addressing the guests with an apologetic tone, "Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that today's lunch won't last very long."
"Why?" Evelyn inquired with curiosity.
"Because in a short while, we'll be sailing into a region with huge waves. The ship will experience turbulence, and it's not a suitable environment for our distinguished guests to dine in," Frank explained patiently.
Compared to the irksome Dave and Stephen, Frank felt that the first-class guests from Sailport displayed more decency and sophistication.
Of course, that might be a temporary observation.
Frank stealthily glanced at Bairon.
Lady Margaret's earlier reference to "Your Excellency" had not escaped his ears.
On the Röntgen Continent, those who bore the title "Your Excellency" at such a young age were likely to belong to that special group – the magus.
Cold sweat began to form on Frank's back.
While Dark Magus were fearsome, to the common folk, even more terrifying were the official magus registered under the Magus Guild.
This group of magic users, under the shadow of a Magus Tower, would be restrained by the Magus Guild.
However, once outside of the Tower's influence, they behaved like wild beasts out of their cage, whimsically playing with lesser beings.
The White Gull had hosted numerous Battle Magus in the past.
From Frank's personal experience, serving them was even more exhausting than attending to young Master Padorn.
He should remind Master Padorn at some point: if he got thrown into the sea by a magus, that was his own problem.
The White Gull didn't want to get involved... Frank thought to himself.
Plates of fresh fruit salad and tender, spiced beef were being served at the table.
As it was Bairon and his companions' first time dining aboard the ship, it was customary for the White Gull to serve them a delicious fish soup from the sea.
"Esteemed guests, please savor this," Frank began with a smile, "This is a creation of our chef, made with fresh ingredients handpicked from Sailport. Since we only had a two-hour window to shop, the selection was limited. If you'd like to indulge in such delicacies again, you'll have to wait until we reach Sail Town in three days."
"Why did we only dock for two hours this time?" Dave questioned, a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice.
Frank replied, "Someone paid a good amount of gold coins for us to set sail early. Master Padorn, you were also eager to get back to San Sorus, weren't you?"
"Some country bumpkin trying to play rich, huh? If they really had the means, they'd summon a flying Spellbeast to carry us directly to San Sorus!" Dave scoffed, picking up a cherry.
After taking a bite and finding the taste disagreeable, he carelessly discarded the half-eaten fruit onto the floor.
The sailors aboard glared at him.
On any ship, the cargo weight was limited.
In such confines, the storage of food was naturally restricted.
As a result, sailors sailing the vast oceans despised the wastage of food.
"I spent my own gold coins. I'll eat how I please. Got a problem with that?" Dave sneered, "A bunch of lowly folks. Probably never even tasted cherries, have you?"
With that, he teasingly lifted an apple slice, dangling it mid-air as if taunting a pet, much to the chagrin of the attending sailors.
Dave then erupted into boisterous laughter.
"Alright, lads," Frank interjected, seeing the tension escalate, "You're not needed here for now. Head outside, have something to eat, and get ready. We'll be facing rough seas soon."
He gestured the infuriated sailors out of the dining room.
Deprived of his 'playthings,' Dave sullenly ceased his antics.
However, as Dave was about to discard the apple, Stephen's gaze remained intently fixed on him.
"What are you looking at?" Dave questioned defensively.
"I'm capturing the moment with my eyes," Stephen replied calmly, "I plan to write about this scene in the magazine."
Gritting his teeth, Dave stuffed the apple into his mouth, chewing it aggressively.
"Dear guests," Frank observed, noticing that Bairon and the others had hardly touched their food and remarked with an apologetic tone, "Is the ship's cuisine not to your liking?"
Among the four, Margaret and Anna dined in a ladylike manner, consuming their meals with delicate bites.
Evelyn, forever donning the Elf Queen's mask, would slightly lift it only to sip her soup, fed to her with a spoon.
Bairon, on the other hand, hadn't touched his plate.
"We've only just boarded the ship and don't have much of an appetite. We hope we aren't wasting the ship's provisions," Margaret responded apologetically.
"Not at all, madam," Frank replied reassuringly, "If you don't mind, we'll distribute the remaining food to the less fortunate in the lower decks. They would be most grateful."
Upon hearing this, Evelyn quietly placed her soup spoon down.
"It's alright," Bairon whispered softly, "Eat as much as you like."
"I deeply apologize, miss, I did not mean to interrupt your meal," Frank responded with a hint of trepidation.
Stephen, ever the playful one, chimed in, "Frank, you should address her as 'Her Majesty, the Elf Queen'."
A flicker of surprise flashed in Bairon's eyes.
Besides the small stall vendor, Evelyn was the second, and now Stephen the third, to believe in the authenticity of the Elf Queen mask.
Frank, with a light-hearted chuckle, responded, "What a coincidence! Today's entertainment focuses on the legends of the Elf Queen."