Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 123

Chapter 123: Tree of Advent!
With the acquisition of the “Bloody Sawtooth Greatsword,” Ryan felt no immediate pressure to forge a new weapon. Crafting a worthy blade was no trivial task, requiring not only time but also premium materials, which were currently beyond his reach.

He pondered the longevity of a weapon forged from the remains of a male fire dragon leader. Would it hold up against a [superior] monster? Could it even pierce their defenses? The uncertainty weighed on him. Ideally, he would prefer to use materials sourced from a [superior] monster itself, ensuring durability and efficacy.

Yet, the “Bloody Sawtooth Greatsword” wasn’t his primary choice for a weapon, not for regular use. Its power came at a steep cost: the relentless consumption of blood and energy. The blade was not simply conjured; it demanded a continuous drain, sapping one point of blood and energy every minute, even when idle. In the heat of battle, this consumption could escalate wildly. Ryan grimaced at the thought of his weapon vanishing mid-combat, what an ignominious predicament that would be!

Ryan was no stranger to the “blood battle method.” Both his [Black Eclipse Ring] and [Bloody Flintlock] operated on similar principles, requiring substantial personal sacrifices. Still, if there were an alternative, who would willingly deplete their own vitality?

Setting aside the blood-red sword, Ryan turned his attention to the massive, sheepskin-covered notebook beside him. He opened it, the cover nearly as tall as he was, and the first thing that caught his eye were the ominous, blood-soaked words: [The catastrophe has come!]

His expression sobered as he flipped through the Book. The pages revealed dire warnings and prophecies:

[Beneath the sprawling roots that span the world, the divine kingdoms above plummet one by one…]

[Some ‘spirits’ born from the ‘fruit’ wield the power to slay gods…]

[Their origins unknown, these ‘spirits’ resurrect after being slain… One god recounted how a ‘spirit’ he had killed reappeared before him after some time…]

[To truly vanquish a ‘spirit,’ its ‘core’ within the ‘Tree of Advent’ must be erased…]

[While gods and spirits clash fiercely, I chose not to join the fray. After five hundred years of waiting, the ‘Charming God of Benevolence’ will be reborn. With his essence and dual ‘root’ powers, I will ascend as the supreme deity and quell this farcical war!]

[All outsiders must be eradicated!]

The entries were predominantly obscured until Ryan reached the final page, where a clear line stood out:

[I failed… If beings of this world find their way here and read these notes, heed this warning.]

[Beware the Tree of Advent!]

Ryan lingered in the shadow of the massive tome, which stood as tall as a man, as he slowly closed its ancient, creaking cover. He took a deep, reverberating breath, his gaze lost in the distant realms of his thoughts.

From the yellowed pages left by the [King of Blood], Ryan had glimpsed secrets that unwound the fabric of a forgotten epoch, the twilight of the Age of Gods, a thousand years past. It was a revelation that tied the vanishing of that mystical era to the “spiritual man.”

“The ‘Tree of Advent’ could it be what is now known as the golden tree?” Ryan mused aloud, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room. “If so, the task of ‘awakening’ the [Relic·Embrace of Blood] presents challenges beyond measure.”

In a world governed by the omnipotent [Golden Law], the notion of vanquishing a “spiritual man” born of the golden tree seemed not just foolhardy but a dance with death itself.

“What a pity…” Ryan sighed, a note of lament in his tone.

He secured the “Giant Book” within his space ring with a deft motion and scoured the study once more. Despite his efforts, which included an attempt to sever a piece of the desk, unyieldingly hard and seemingly anchored to the very foundation of the Blood Moon Temple itself, he found nothing of use.

Disheartened, Ryan finally turned to leave, not before securing a metal box that contained the [Holy Relic·Embrace of Blood]. Such a container, capable of preserving holy relics immaculate through millennia, was no ordinary artifact.

Returning to the grand hall, he waited. Time stretched on until, at last, in the crystalline depths of the holy blood pool, Freni’s eyes fluttered open. A deep blue glow ignited within them, and a surge of formidable spiritual energy emanated from her, pressing down on Ryan with a weight he had seldom felt.

This was ‘spiritual pressure,’ a force only felt in the presence of a vast spiritual disparity. Ryan, with a spirituality rating of 4.8, realized that to experience such pressure, one’s spirituality would need to soar to at least 10.0. Freni, transformed by the holy blood, had clearly surpassed that threshold.

Freni, emerging from her reverie, adjusted the blue and white gradient witch hat atop her head with a delicate touch, ensuring it sat just right. She then glanced down at her long skirt, heavy with the waters of the pool, before her gaze found and held Ryan’s.

Their eyes met, a silent exchange charged with unspoken words, until Ryan, breaking the moment, turned away. “I’ll wait for you at the entrance of the hall,” he called over his shoulder.

Freni watched him go, a blush creeping up her neck as she hugged herself. Rising from the water, droplets cascaded from her form, sending ripples across the pool that blurred her reflection.

Once regrouped at the temple’s grand gateway, Freni posed a critical question, her voice tinged with uncertainty, “How do we leave now?”

Ryan’s response was a contemplative silence. Indeed, with the vortex gate vanished, the challenge of their escape loomed large.

Meanwhile Cecilia awoke with the fading echoes of a long, vivid dream still clinging to her consciousness.

In her dream, she had been a wild child of the forests, raised by wolves. Under the cloak of night, she moved like a shadow, chasing prey through the dense underbrush, her meals the raw, vital offerings of the hunt. This primal existence was all she knew until the age of eight.

That year, during a routine hunt, their pack crossed paths with a fearsome beast. It was a massacre. Her family of wolves was decimated, leaving her the sole survivor, wounded and alone in the wilderness.

As she lay there, hovering between life and death, a girl appeared, her age, but from another world entirely. Clothed in a dress as splendid as the night sky and a hat soft and inviting, the contrast between them couldn’t have been starker.

This girl faced the monster with a courage that belied her gentle appearance and slew the beast effortlessly. She then took Cecilia with her, away from the wilds that had been both cradle and crucible.

The girl taught Cecilia to speak the language of people, to read their signs, and to navigate their complex world. She even procured a master swordsman to train Cecilia and would, under the stars, read from a tome of tales in a voice as soft as velvet.

To Cecilia, this girl seemed capable of anything, until the day she found her sitting alone on the palace roof, her eyes pools of solitude and silent despair.

It was then Cecilia vowed silently to herself that she would protect this remarkable girl, no matter the cost.

As time flowed onward, both girls grew into their destinies. Cecilia excelled in the rigorous training of the Royal Knights, graduating at the top of her class and becoming the personal guard to her once-savior, now her charge.

She believed herself ready and able to protect her friend from any peril. But when calamity struck, sweeping them into chaos, Cecilia found herself running, defending, realizing bitterly her own limits amidst the turmoil.

She was not strong enough.

Her vision cleared, and there under the moonlight stood a figure that transcended the ordinary, a giant wolf, its fur tinged with indelible streaks of blood yet radiating an inherent purity.