SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant - Chapter 304

Chapter 304: Chapter 304: Conversation Beneath the Dark Skies
Trafalgar rested both forearms against the cold railing, leaning forward as the wind brushed past his face. Beneath the ship, the world stretched endlessly—smaller now, distant, as if it belonged to someone else.

Carac was gone. Not merely out of sight, but truly left behind, fading like a city swallowed by fog, its lights dissolving into memory rather than distance.

In its place, scattered lights dotted the land below. Small clusters marked isolated houses, faint and fragile. Farther away, larger constellations revealed towns and cities, their glow softened by altitude. Massive structures rose like silent monuments, their outlines barely visible through the haze. Other flying vessels drifted through the skies alongside them—sleek silhouettes cutting steady paths through the air—while bulky zeppelins moved slowly in the opposite direction, ferrying passengers toward Carac like luminous beetles crawling across the night.

It was… fascinating.

This was what he had imagined, once.

Back on Earth.

In the past, zeppelins had belonged to an older dream of the future—something humanity had envisioned before abandoning it for satellites and steel towers. Floating ships, airborne trade routes, skies alive with motion. Ideas confined to history books, fantasy novels, and games.

And now?

Now he was standing on one.

A flying ship straight out of the stories he used to read. Even though he had ridden it several times, he was still fascinated, although his face did not show it.

The landscape below darkened as the ship’s course carried them toward open waters. The lights thinned, then vanished altogether, replaced by the vast, endless surface of the sea far beneath them. Moonlight shimmered faintly across the waves, distorted by distance and motion.

Trafalgar exhaled slowly.

‘I really hope I don’t have to fight another Leviathan,’ he thought.

The memory surfaced unbidden, the sheer scale of it, the pressure of the deep, the way the ocean itself had seemed to resist his presence. He frowned faintly, then corrected himself.

‘…That one doesn’t count.’

It had been a hatchling. Curious. Reckless. And more importantly, it hadn’t known when to retreat. Luck had played a far greater role than skill.

His fingers moved on their own.

A faint pulse of mana answered his call, and the pendant materialized in his palm.

Leviathan Fang Pendant – Legendary Rank

The fang was smooth, faintly curved, its surface etched with subtle patterns that shimmered like waves frozen in motion. Legendary. Truly legendary.

For a moment, he simply stared at it.

Back then, he would have paid obscene amounts of money for something like this. Rolled endlessly. Chased percentages. Cursed his luck and tried again.

Now?

It had dropped into his hands through blood, danger, and circumstance.

No banners. No pity system. No rerolls. Just reality.

The corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

“Ironic.”

A soft sound reached him from behind.

Footsteps.

And beneath them, a familiar tok… tok… tok—wood against metal. He closed his fingers around the pendant and let it fade, the mana dispersing as quietly as it had appeared.

“Aubrelle,” he said, calmly.

The tapping stopped a short distance behind him.

Above the railing, a pale shape drifted closer. Pipin glided down from the open air, wings barely making a sound as he hovered near Trafalgar’s hands. His red eyes fixed themselves on where the pendant had been only moments ago.

Through those eyes, Aubrelle saw it.

The faint residual glow. The shape. The weight it carried.

“Beautiful pendant,” she said after a brief pause, genuine curiosity in her voice. “Where did you get it, Trafalgar?”

He turned to face her then, posture relaxed, the night wind tugging lightly at his coat.

“I killed a Leviathan on the way here,” he replied, as if stating something mundane. “That’s what it gave me.”

For a heartbeat, Aubrelle froze.

“A… Leviathan?” Her lips parted slightly, surprise breaking through her usual composure. “That’s an incredible feat.”

He tilted his head, mildly amused. “Is it? Haven’t you ever killed one?”

She let out a small, almost embarrassed sound. “No. I don’t think I’ve ever even fought a creature of that rank. They’re far stronger in core than I am.”

Trafalgar shrugged lightly. “It was a hatchling. Curious. And reckless.” There was no bravado in his voice.

“I see…” Aubrelle murmured. Then she smiled, soft but sincere. “Even so, that doesn’t take away from it. A Leviathan is still a Leviathan.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding, almost thoughtfully, “I once tried to form a contract with one. As a familiar.”

That caught his attention.

“You tried to make a Leviathan your familiar?” he asked, turning fully toward her now.

She nodded, a faint note of self-awareness in her smile. “Yes. Curious, isn’t it?”

The wind passed between them, carrying the faint scent of salt and open sky.

Intrigue settled quietly in Trafalgar’s mind.

Trafalgar studied her for a moment longer than necessary.

Then he spoke, tone genuinely curious. “You’re serious about that, aren’t you?”

Aubrelle tilted her head slightly, the motion gentle, almost playful. “Do you want me to tell you?”

He leaned back against the railing again, folding his arms. The flying ship hummed steadily around them, wings slicing through the dark skies with practiced ease.

“We’ve got a long way ahead of us,” he said. “Plenty of time for stories.”

That was all the invitation she needed.

“Well… I was ten years old back then,” Aubrelle began. “By that time, I had already reached Pulse Rank. The third rank.”

She spoke without pride, stating it as simple fact.

“At that age, I attempted to form a contract with a baby Leviathan.”

Trafalgar listened closely, his attention fully on her now.

“As a Summoner,” she continued, “our class revolves around contracts. With creatures. With spirits. Sometimes beings born from concepts themselves.”

She paused briefly. “A contract isn’t forced. It’s an agreement. Both sides must accept it.”

That alone fascinated him.

He could feel it—this was knowledge he had never encountered before. Not from books. Not from battle. Something fundamental to this world, revealed casually beneath an open sky.

Aubrelle noticed.

Through Pipin’s eyes, she could see the way Trafalgar’s gaze sharpened, the slight tension in his posture as he absorbed every word. Interest. Real interest.

Without realizing it, she smiled as she spoke.

“My first contract wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “Despite reaching Pulse Rank early, forming a bond took me a long time.”

“Why?” Trafalgar asked quietly.

She raised her hand and extended her index finger. Pipin descended smoothly, landing there with a soft chirp.

“Pipin was my first familiar,” she said. “And yes… he’s never left my side since.”

“That much is obvious,” Trafalgar replied.

Her smile softened. “Before him, many familiars rejected me.”

He frowned slightly. “Rejected you?”

She nodded once.

“They were afraid of me.”

The words lingered between them, heavier than expected.

For a moment, Trafalgar didn’t know how to respond. Fear didn’t fit her. Not the Aubrelle he knew—the gentle, kind senior who helped others without hesitation.

So he shifted the conversation carefully.

“…Do you have any other familiars?” he asked.

Aubrelle shifted her stance slightly, turning her body so she faced the open sky rather than Trafalgar. “I do,” she said gently.

Her mana stirred.

It wasn’t violent or overwhelming. It flowed outward in a calm, controlled pulse, like a breath exhaled into the air. The space beside her shimmered, and from it leapt a creature of pure radiance.

A luminous stag landed gracefully on the deck.

Its antlers were formed of solid light, branching upward like living constellations. Each step it took left faint traces of golden glow that faded seconds later, hooves shining as if kissed by sunlight itself. White fur pulsed softly, light coursing through its body in a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.

For a moment, the world seemed quieter.

Trafalgar froze.

‘…Holy shit,’ he thought.

The image struck something deep in him, an echo from another life. Books. Films. Stories from Earth. A silver stag made of light, running through forbidden forests and ancient magic.

‘Harry Potter,’ his mind supplied instantly.

He forced himself to keep his expression neutral.

But inside, he was completely taken.

Back then, he loved stories like this. Games. Series. Worlds filled with wonder. Here, in this world, he hadn’t had the luxury to indulge in any of that. He read history. Strategy. War. Survival manuals disguised as books.

And yet—

This reminded him of what he had once loved.

Aubrelle felt it.

Through Pipin’s eyes, she saw the way his breath hitched ever so slightly. The way his focus locked onto the stag. The admiration he tried—and failed—to fully hide.

She smiled, then gently withdrew her mana.

The stag dissolved into light, fading like morning mist.

“And the third?” she said, already calling it forth.

The deck trembled faintly.

What emerged next was massive.

A colossal turtle formed beside them, nearly five meters in length, its body dense and immovable. Its shell was layered like living stone, etched with ancient patterns that radiated stability and defense. Trafalgar could tell instantly—his attacks would barely scratch it.

A living fortress.

Aubrelle watched him carefully.

“…You liked them,” she said.

He didn’t deny it. “Very much.”

She let out a small, pleased hum as the turtle vanished as well.

“Familiars have rarities too,” she added casually. “Just like items. Like skills.”

His brow lifted. “I figured.”

She raised a finger to her lips. “But what rarities they are…” A playful pause. “…That’s a secret.”

The moment lingered.

Then Trafalgar’s expression shifted.

The lightness drained from his posture, replaced by something firmer. More grounded. He turned fully toward her, the wind tugging at his coat.

“You said you’d tell me what happened,” he said quietly. “About the battle.”

The air between them changed.

Aubrelle adjusted her grip on her cane and turned to face him, her expression changing, the warmth fading from it like light at dusk.

“…Shall I start from the beginning?”