Chapter 286: The Ship Adrift
Kellar focused his vision onto the glowing golden interface as it unfolded the breakdown of his rewards:
[Main Quest (A+) & Special Event Rewards]
Skill Points: +250
Specialized Personnel:
1x Road Design Expert
1x Rune Expert
1x Master Chef
1x Navigation Expert
1x Master Enologist
1x Maps & Cartography Expert
1x Alchemist Expert
1x A+ Rank General
Military Forces:
50x Heavy Knights (with full plate armor, weapons, and mounts)
50x Expert Artillerymen
Reading through the full roster, Kellar froze in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat. Previously, the system had only granted him a single specialized individual: Garik, his master blacksmith, who had proven to be the cornerstone in bringing every modern invention and weapon design to life. Yet now, the system was handing him a specialized battalion and a complete military staff. What manner of reward was this?
He was beginning to process how to integrate such a specialized group when a cry echoed from the watchtowers along the riverbank:
"ENEMIES...!! ENEMIES UPON THE RIVER!!"
Kellar dismissed the interface and snapped his gaze toward the waterway. Approaching from the distance rose the silhouette of a vessel—a timber behemoth nearly matching the scale of a modern warship from his previous world. Yet the vessel drifted out of control: its sails hung in tattered shreds, its hull bore heavy battle scars, and it barely remained afloat as the current pushed it forward.
Along the bank, dozens of tribal warriors were already raising their rifles, chambering rounds and aiming with precision as they braced in battle formation.
"Hold your fire! Lower your weapons!" shouted Kellar at the top of his lungs, sprinting toward the shore. "They are our allies! The Great Bear God has revealed a vision to me! They are a needy people who suffered a misfortune and require our grace. Quick, bring food, water, and healers!"
Unable to steer, the ship crashed with a splintering crunch against the rocky crag near the shore. The force of the surge and current began pulling the structure backward, threatening to capsize it or drag it downriver.
"Launch the harpoons!" bellowed Grok, reacting on instinct.
The tribal warriors acted with coordination: utilizing the heavy harpoons normally reserved for hunting aquatic beasts in the lake, they drove iron spikes into the ship’s timbers and secured the ropes around the shoreline’s ancient trees, anchoring the vessel before the river current could carry it away.
Once the mooring lines were secured, Kellar leaped onto the deck of the vessel, followed by Grok, a squad of riflemen with chambered rounds, and the team of tribal healers.
The scene upon treading the oak planks was harrowing. The main deck was slicked with dried blood, littered with scorched sail scraps and claw marks that gouged through the hull from side to side. Dozens of sun-bronzed men and women in tattered mariner attire lay sprawling, emaciated, dehydrated, and agonizing from combat wounds.
"Deploy the healers!" commanded Kellar, cutting through the debris. "Apply bandages, ointments, and set up the intravenous saline solutions I acquired from the shop! Distribute water and warm broth to those who are conscious! No one dies on this ship today!"
The tribal healers moved with efficiency. They mounted intravenous saline bags onto makeshift stands to rehydrate the most injured while cleansing lacerations with medicinal ointments and securing fractured limbs with clean bandages. Within minutes, an evacuation was underway: they transported all those who were unconscious to the village infirmary, which soon became packed with wounded survivors.
From the shadows of the aft castle, a tall man with a thick beard and a battered captain’s tunic stumbled forward, clutching a notched saber before collapsing onto his knees before Kellar.
"Who... who are you...?" articulated the captain in a raspy voice, his eyes sunken from exhaustion. "Is this the domain of the Great Shaman of the Forest...?"
"You are safe," replied Kellar, kneeling to offer him a canteen of fresh water. "I am Kellar. You have arrived at the lands of the Overlord tribe."
The sailor drank greedily, tears of relief tracing lines through the soot upon his face.
"May the sea gods bless you..." whispered the man, catching his breath. "I am Captain Drake... We fled from the eastern archipelagos. A pirate fleet allied with abyssal beasts annihilated our port and pursued us for weeks... We believed we would perish along this river."
Kellar surveyed the vessel’s structure, gauging the military and commercial potential of such a gift of fate.
"The Bear God guides the needy into my territory," declared Kellar in a firm tone, projecting authority. "Rest and recover your strength. From this day forth, beneath my banner, no one shall touch you again."
Upon uttering those words, Captain Drake’s remaining strength gave way. His eyelids fluttered shut and his limp body collapsed forward, caught mid-air by Grok’s arms.
Grok hoisted the exhausted mariner over his shoulders with ease while watching the healers adjust the remaining intravenous saline lines and secure the stretchers. Keeping his gaze on the man’s weathered face, the commander tilted his head toward Kellar and asked with curiosity:
"Great Shaman... how did they know who you were? How did they know this was the domain of the Shaman of the Forest?"
Kellar surveyed the silhouette of the vessel anchored along the riverbanks, forming a smirk filled with conviction.
"The Bear God has guided them to us, Grok," answered Kellar in a calm tone. "From this day forth, these people shall be our brothers and sisters. Especially their captain... He shall become the new general of our naval military, the future admiral of our armed fleet."
Grok nodded with a gleam of respect in his eyes and marched toward the village alongside the escort, ensuring every survivor was transported with care to the infirmary.
Just as the healers finished evacuating the last of the wounded, Thorin rushed forward, wiping sweat from his brow with a troubled expression.
"Great Shaman! What shall we do with this ship?" asked Thorin, gesturing toward the timber structure. "It appears to be sinking!"
Kellar locked his gaze onto the hull and noticed the waterline creeping upward at an rate: the ship was tilting on its side and giving way to multiple breaches, slowly sinking into the river current.
"Rally everyone from the village," commanded Kellar, raising his hand to channel his mental energy into the sky. "I shall call Little Green... We need to empty the ship and secure it with every bit of manpower we have. Let us find a way to haul it onto the shore; if this ship’s keel is not destroyed, perhaps we can still save it!"