It was late into the night when the Order of the Silver Egg dispatched their troops. They were the only armed force, although their total numbers reached up to a thousand. They were separated and squeezed into the jet-black cargo holds of three merchant ships as they sailed off. /In the jet black cargo holds/, The warm, transpired breath of crowded people and the taste of the sea filled the entire space. The constant sound of the ocean waves striking the hull /of the ship/ (This isn't necessary, as we already know they're on a ship.) filled the surroundings, along with the colliding sound of weapons pilled upon one another.
Judging from their actions, I'm assuming this bunch of soldiers are pretty crude. With this in mind, I've taken some liberty in adjusting their speech to follow suit. Of course, I'm reading all of this at face value, with no prior knowledge of the series.
“I feel like I'm going to turn into a salted herring.”
“By the time we reach shore, we'll be salted enough to eat.”
“Well since we're getting salted, having some cucumbers should make it tastier.”
The soldiers passed their time by making such stupid comments, their voices having lost all of its original vigor.
“The Logistic Support Unit wasn't deployed with us this time.”
“Then what will we do if the red wine runs out?”
“I hope this is the last time we're deployed by boat…." (Pluralizing the method of deployment isn't necessary.)
Normally when the Order of the Silver Egg embarks on an expedition, the Logistic Support Unit, who were responsible for the transporting of food, wine and entertainment goods, would accompany them. This time, however, they were not able to acquire a sufficient number of ships, and only the combat units were mobilized. Thus with the added seasickness issue among the soldiers, morale was at a low.
“Well since the army supervisor came, why were they not able to squeeze a few more oak barrels?”
“That can't be, right?”
“These fellows, clearly they are of different units from us, yet each one sounds more arrogant than the next.”
“Everyone’s gaze seems to be trying to judge our strength; it’s starting to annoy me.”
These supervisors were from their own respective kingdoms within the Principality Coalition, and were to ensure that their own forces, travelling by land had their portion of the spoils. As these people held statuses as knights, they wore their army standards and expensive armor, making the space in the ship’s cargo hold even narrower, much to the chagrin of the Order of the Silver Egg members.
“What's the big problem? Just have some patience and we’ll reach Princinopolis soon.” A young soldier said.
“Yes that is true, but we are going to recapture the grand cathedral from the sacred armed forces.”
“To the common people we are their saviors. They would be sure to prepare sumptuous food and wine — even some comfortable beds waiting for us!”
“That … is really difficult to say.”
Chris finally could not resist /himself from/ interrupting.
“What’s wrong, Chris? Do think that they would not do that for us?”
“Do these guys really know the condition that the Princinopolis region is in!”
The gaze of everyone in the room fell upon Chris, making him hesitate whether he should continue to open his mouth. Indeed, he had a very clear idea about the condition of the Princinopolis region. There were several large cities along the peripherals of the grand cathedral where the effect of the war had yet to spread. This was largely because the Holy Kingdom force has been exclusively attacking the Grand Cathedral.
“Those cities are still occupied by devout believers of the Palkai church; however I cannot confirm that they would welcome us as we pass through…. After all, in their fear, they may think that the Principality Coalition had forsaken the Grand Cathedral and retreated.”
“Then what's our plan? Wouldn’t it be counted as our loss already?”
“Now that does not make any sense. If the army truly was useless, then the commoners of Princinopolis should have gathered together to protect the cathedral!”
Well if they did not prepare any food and drink for us, then we would just have to loot it from them when we arrive…. A few soldiers among them threw out such a joke, causing everyone to laugh heartily. Chris heaved a sigh, bent his knees and squatted on the floor.
“Hmph. Chris, aren’t you being a bit too indifferent right now?” an old veteran said to Chris in a teasing tone.
“It's because that guy doesn’t drink any alcohol.”
“He doesn’t even gamble, nor does he care about gain achievements or how presentable he looks.”
As everyone was enclosed within the narrow confines of the cargo hold, they had nothing to pass time other than to gossip about one another; those who were by Chris’s side began talking about him.
“This guy has been a mercenary for ten years but I have no idea what he does for pleasure in his life to stay sane.”
“I’m sure even the brothel doesn’t interest him one bit.”
“That, that would….”
This topic of conversation caused Chris’s face to flush with embarrassment; however, being confined in the cargo hold meant that he had nowhere to run.
“That guy is part of our Captain’s elite guard, doesn’t that mean he sleeps on the same bed as the three girls?”
“That right, so have you seen Meena’s naked body? Before the battle of Santcarillon, didn’t you all share the same tent?”
“He did, he did! He saw Meena’s naked body, and then he was violently thrown out!”
“Eh? Whe— when did such a thing happen?”
Someone saw it happen. Chris’s face turned bright red.
“So it was you!”
“That was an accident—!” (I assume the em dash was in the original text, so we'll leave it in along side the exclamation point. Part of the sense, feel, and flow of the author's writing and all that.)
“What colour is Meena’s pubic hair!” (Are we editing into American English as per BT general conventions, or does this project have its own? 'Color' vs 'colour')
“You fool! What you should be asking — Chris, does she have any pubic hair?”
As numerous round eyes, twinkling with light, began to enclose around Chris, he began to feel like his life was in danger. Suddenly the cargo hold’s door swung open, saving Chris from his predicament. 一名顶着钢丝般短发的男子提着油灯说: ¯\(ツ)/¯
“Chris, Her Highness Fran is looking for you.”
Gilbert, paying no heed to the rising heat in the hold or the soldier’s abnormally excited state of mind, simply stated his purpose. Chris frantically tried to escape through the door, and the cool seeping sea breeze blew directly through the staircase, relaxing his state of mind. (Is Gilbert not paying heed to Chris's state of mind, or that of the other soldiers in the room? If the latter, we would write "soldiers'.")
“What is this, out of all times he chooses to appear he purposely chose this moment.”
“Chris, don’t forget when you get back!”*
“Two silver coins on no pubic hair!”
With his back to the closed door of the cargo hold, Chris blocked out the restless noises from the soldiers. “Gilbert, thank you … I’ve finally been saved from that place….“
“I called you out not to save you,” said Gilbert as he pressed his brows together.
As they were on a ship, Gilbert was not wearing his armor, but he was still wearing all black attire. As Chris examined Gilbert’s body, he thought to himself that even without any of his military equipment, that body's physique is as though someone had casted it out of steel. (This is a tricky piece. I don't want to rewrite it without the source material, which I can't read.)
“Also, did I not tell you that you can just call me Gil?”
“Eh? Ah, err … but.…”
Chris was unable to reply as he felt uncomfortable to address the opposite party with such a nickname.
“I have said it before, this is not a nickname. On the battlefield, time wasted in calling someone’s full name would just increase their own exposure to danger. That is all.”
Even though he has heard the same argument numerous times, he was still hesitant to address Francesca in the same manner. However, Gilbert, who did not purse the topic, turned around and continued up the flight of stairs. Chris, in a flustered manner, chased to keep up after the oil lamp that was held in Gilbert’s hand.
“Hey, are we going to where Francesca is?”
Chris called out to Gilbert, who without breaking his stride, shot Chris a glance.
“… Then … would Minerva also be there?”
“What sort of question is this? There are not so many rooms in this ship that we can allow the girls one room each.”
That was true, but when Chris thought about meeting Minerva face to face, he /would feel very depressed/ began to feel disheartened.* (I assume that was what was intended.)
Ever since the Blade Ceremony (Check to see if this isn't a proper noun, until then….), he has not spoken a single word to Minerva. As they were busy preparing to be dispatched, Chris also did not have the time to think about the issue. Actually, during this period they bumped into each other several times; however, neither one would make the first move.
-I need to apologize to her.
-I unknowingly went to vent my senseless complaints to her…. This really…. (Did he accidentally vent? Or is he saying it was a mistake to vent to her?)
However at this moment, Chris suddenly recalled the images and voices of the dead. The encircling darkness and billowing of the ocean waves, the distinct sounds of the dead called out, sending shivers of fear down anyone who heard.
[Our lord is the ruler over the deceased and those on their deathbeds] – How are the dead able to talk to me?
–How is this possible?
–There was also the brand’s reaction…. Why on earth is this happening?
–What must I do to resolve this issue….
He plastered his palm upon his forehead without thinking. Despite the damp night sea breeze brushing past, Chris could not help but feel terrified as his forehead still managed to be burning hot.
–But, this is related to the brand, so I definitely must not let Minerva know.
–It is because of the brands upon my body that I must remain by Minerva’s side.
The sea breeze had become violent, and as it did so it messed up Chris’s hair. As they reached the deck of the ship, Chris followed Gilbert down a flight of steps. It was at this moment he suddenly heard a voice come out from one of cabin rooms:
“Oh no, they’ve arrived. Meena, you just have to accept your fate then.”
“What do you mean accept my fate? It is all because you went to call them to come!”
“Eek! Lady Fran, I … I was not able to restrain her fast enough —“
Chris’s whole body stiffened as he overhead the conversation. However Gilbert, without a slightest care for Chris’s reaction, opened the door to reveal Paola and Minerva entangled with one another on the bed, with Francesca sitting on a chair to one side, observing the scuffle. At this moment, all three of them shifted their line of sight in unison to the doorway.
“You.…”
"What are you —" Before he could finish his sentence, Chris was grabbed by Gilbert and flung into the room. With the interior of the room being very narrow, Chris nearly knocked into Minerva as he entered.
“Let, let go of me!”
As Minerva twisted her body she was able to shake off Paola, who was restraining her from behind. As though to flee from Chris’s line of sight, she ran to the other bed in the corner of the room, huddling up there.*
“Good. Since Chris is now here, we shall take our leave.” Francesca took Paola’s arm and pulled her up off the ground. While Gilbert, as though he never planned to enter from the very beginning, stood outside door.
“… Eh, eh?”
Chris looked blankly back and forth between Francesca and Minerva.
“If I did not do this, would you and Minerva ever start talking to each other again?” asked Francesca.
“Well I never said that I wanted to talk with Chris!”
Minerva’s face flushed red, but Francesca merely waved her hand as the door closed. With the door closed, Chris and Minerva were the only two people left in the room….
<Insert>
“Ah, um.…”
Minerva aimed a glanced at Chris, then with an annoyed expression sat on the bedside. “It … it wasn’t me who was looking for you, I wasn’t even planning on talking to you —“
“Then why did you not flee after you cast off Paola? If you really did not want to see him, how could Paola alone stop you from escaping?”
From outside the door, Francesca’s delighted voice could be heard. In a flash, Minerva’s whole face blush a deep shade of red as she grabbed for a chair and threw it towards the door.
“Fine, we shall leave this awkward little girl alone. We will go to find the army supervisors to discuss the new troop deployment style for our armed forces.”
Three sets of footsteps slowly faded off into the distance. Truly, the disturbance earlier on had given Chris quite a fright. Taking a deep breath, he took a sit on one of the beds, timidly inclining his head over his shoulders to take a peek at Minerva.
Minerva sat on the other side of the bed, her back facing Chris. She was not wearing her trademark robe which had sleeves like wings; her white shoulders were laid bare before Chris’s gaze, making him turn his head back and stare at his own knees in flustered confusion. With their backs facing each other, a period of silence like a distinct perfume drifted between Chris and Minerva.
—I should apologize to her, and then clearly explain….
Chris held his breath, steeling his resolve as he turned his body around. It was at that exact same moment that Minerva turned around as well. As their gazes met, they hurriedly turned back in surprise, facing their original direction.
—Wha— what am I doing! How could I be surprised by that?
Chris clenched his fists tightly over his thighs, however he could not squeeze out the courage to turn his once more, so with his back facing Minerva he said:
“… That, that thing, I said —“
“That time —“
This time, both their voices overlapped with one another.
“… Eh—”
Suddenly a sound broke out from Chris’s throat, making him swallow back down what he wanted to say, and Minerva also went silent at the same time. He could clearly hear the sound of Minerva timidly swinging her legs back and forth.
(Breaking the preceding section up as such improves readability and helps make each action distinct.)
“… Minerva, I’m sorry.” At this moment he finally was able to squeeze out a stiff voice as he spoke to Minerva: “I, I still haven’t figured out what the best thing to say is, that's why I haven't said anything each time we met.” (Totally running with the assumption train now.)
“Why, why are you apologizing!”
Minerva cried out, as she grabbed Chris’s arm, making him turn his head in surprise. Looking at Minerva’s thoroughly red face, for a moment he had forgotten how to form words.
“… Be— because that time I didn’t tell you anything, that is why you were angry.…”
“I was not angry; it was because it did not make my words clear.”
(Last two lines are a little iffy. Unless of course they refer to a particular even that I am ignorant of.)
