Restart:Untalented Man

On the warship of Ryntum, the soldiers brought the captured top officers of Barlia onto the warship with a firm grip.

The prisoners were treated harshly, their hands tightly bound and their movements restricted.

Descending into the lower deck of the ship, a wave of unease washed over the captives as they entered the dimly lit and cramped space. Their noses were tickled with the scent of saltwater and dampness, while the flickering lanterns cast eerie shadows on the cold, rusted metal bars of the cells.

The soldiers showed little concern for their prisoners' comfort as they shoved them into the cramped and suffocating cells.

Thud—

As the prisoners were thrust into the cells with callous indifference, their bodies collided with the unforgiving walls. Their pain reverberating through their weary limbs.

The impact sent a chilling reminder of their powerlessness and the disoriented prisoners struggled to regain their composure amidst the dimly lit confinement.

Victor's eyes darted around, founding himself confined in spaces barely large enough to stretch his legs with the hard floors beneath him offering no respite.

The air within was stale and thick with humidity. Moreover, the occasional drip of water from the ceiling added to the oppressive atmosphere.

"This is where all of you will stay for a few days. Food will be given only once a day so be sure to not eat everything at once," informed the soldier.

Clang—

And with that, he slammed the heavy metal doors shut. The sound of metal against metal reverberated through the lower deck as the prisoners were locked in their cells, their fate sealed within the confines of the ship.

The expressions on their faces told a tale of anger, frustration, and resignation as they came to terms with the grim reality of their situation.

"Where is Torksey Island?" Sarika asked, her voice laced with genuine curiosity.

She overheard a conversation between Admiral Stromrider and Commander Levi on the dock of the port earlier.

Victor, looking slightly perplexed, turned to her and replied, "If I'm not mistaken, it's a tiny island located near the entrance of the gulf."

Sarika furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of their impending destination. "But why would they bring us there?" she pondered aloud.

Victor shrugged, his expression mirroring her confusion. "How could I know?" he replied with a hint of frustration. "Even I can't wrap my mind around it. What could a tiny farming island possibly have to offer?"

As their conversation lingered in the dimly lit lower deck, the distant sound of shouting reached their ears. It was a series of sharp and urgent calls, signalling the imminent departure of the warships from the bustling port of Napuna.

The prisoners exchanged uncertain glances, their suspense growing as they realized their journey was about to commence.

On the deck above, the massive warship slowly began to pull away from the dock, its iron hull creaking in protest against the gentle sway of the water. The ship's towering masts loomed against the backdrop of the port, casting long shadows over the bustling activity below. The soldiers on board scrambled to secure the sails and adjust the rigging.

As the warship drifted farther from the shore, the sounds of the bustling city faded into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the hull.

The once vivid view of Napuna began to shrink, the buildings and structures becoming miniature replicas of their former selves.

....

"Are we not even there yet?" Sarika's voice carried a tinge of weariness, reflecting the toll of their prolonged journey in the dim and claustrophobic cells. The constant darkness had taken its toll on her spirit, eroding the flicker of hope that had initially burned within her.

Victor, who had been sitting beside her, sighed deeply. "No, Sarika," he replied with a hint of resignation. "Even I feel like an eternity since we set sail. I don't think the journey to Torksey Island is supposed to be three days long."

Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against the cold, damp wall of her cell. 

Time had become an elusive concept, slipping through their fingers as the days and nights blended together into an endless cycle of monotony.

In this sea-bound prison, the only way she could keep track of time was the meagre meals that were sent down to them once a day. Though the meals lacked flavour and variety, she cherished these moments as they provided a fleeting sense of normalcy for her.

Slowly, she closed her eyes, intending to sleep for the nth time. That's the only way she could make herself feel like time move faster. I think you should take a look at

But as she began to drift into the realm of dreams, the distant sound of commotion disrupted her peaceful retreat. Footsteps echoed from the upper deck of the ship.

Their presence drew closer, breaking the monotony of the ship's silence.

"Sarika, I think we have arrived at our destination," Victor whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. His words pierced through the gloom, awakening Sarika from her half-slumber.

She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light that filtered into her cell.

Before she could respond, the distant footsteps grew louder, approaching their direction with purpose. The sound sent a jolt of anxiety through her veins, her heart pounding in her chest.

What awaited them beyond the confines of their cells?

The footsteps halted abruptly outside their cell, and the clinking of keys signalled the unlocking of their prison.

The door creaked open, revealing a group of armed guards, their expressions were stoic and their eyes filled with a cold detachment.

"Stand up, prisoners! We have arrived at your destination." commanded one of the soldiers.

The prisoners complied with the command. One by one, they get up from the hard floor, walking toward the exit of the confined cell in a chained state.

As they were dragged up to the upper deck, a rush of cool breeze greeted their senses, carrying the salty scent of the sea. The refreshing air filled their lungs, providing a brief respite from the stale atmosphere of their cell.

Blinking against the sudden brightness, their eyes adjusted to the daylight before looking at their surrounding. 

"What the—" Sarika exclaimed. She found herself standing on the deck of the ship which was docked at the port. Aside from that, it was a vast expanse of ocean that stretched endlessly in every direction.

The armed guards maintained their firm grip on the prisoners, ensuring they had no opportunity to escape.

Amid the uncertainty, a figure approached them. Dressed in a formal naval uniform with distinct insignias, the man carried an air of authority.

It was Admiral Kellan Stormrider, the admiral of the first fleet. The man who had overseen their journey to this enigmatic destination.

"Welcome to Torksey Island," the admiral announced with an air of formality. "As prisoners of war, this is where you will live from now on until your rulers agree to redeem you. Now, without further ado, let me escort you to your new private cells."

Guards flanked them on all sides, their rifles held firmly as they prodded the prisoners forward. The sound of their boots echoed through the air, creating an ominous rhythm.

As they stepped onto the dock, Sarika's keen eyes surveyed her surroundings. What she saw left her breathless with trepidation. Torksey Island was far from a simple farming island.

It stood as a fortress, encircled by towering walls that stretched high into the sky. The walls, built from weathered stone and reinforced with iron, created an impenetrable barrier that effectively isolated the island from the outside world.

Guard towers adorned the perimeter, positioned strategically at regular intervals to provide maximum surveillance and defence. Each of them was armed with vigilant sentinels who monitored every movement within the prison's confines.

Inside the walls, the prison buildings towered above the prisoners. Their several stories stretch towards the bleak sky. The structures, constructed from sturdy grey stone, concrete and steel emanated a sense of cold austerity.

The lack of vibrant colours only accentuated the sombre atmosphere that permeated the prison. Windows punctuated the facade of the buildings, but their glass was obscured by metal bars, denying any glimpse of the outside world. The windows were small and sparse, allowing only slivers of dim light to filter into the interior, adding to the overall gloominess of the environment.

Each building was marked with a number, indicating its designation within the prison complex. These numbers, painted in faded black on the walls, served as a constant reminder of the prisoners' confined existence.

"Damn! This looks so depressing," Sarika muttered. "Let's hope the food here is at least decent," she said.

For the first time, she started to regret coming to this war campaign.

If this was in the north, her safety and treatment would be top-notch even if she was captured by the enemy.

However, here, she receives none of that despite they know she is of noble birth. 

The rest of them agreed and subconsciously nodded their head. The monotonous greyness of this island caused a feeling of desolation to settle upon them.