Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 131

Chapter 131: Overthrow Tample!
As Ryan unleashed his maneuver, the [Defense Collision], Hansal’s eyes narrowed in shock, his pupils contracting to pinpoints. His mind raced through his arsenal of counterattacks, yet this tactic from Ryan was unforeseen, jarring his expectations completely.

“What is this? Some arcane, exclusive technique?” Hansal muttered under his breath, his tone laced with both curiosity and disbelief.

“How can a mere first-level knight wield a power that rivals the elite abilities of a third-level like myself?” he questioned aloud, his voice echoing slightly in the charged atmosphere.

The gears in Hansal’s mind churned furiously, but the urgency of the moment allowed no time for pondering. Ryan’s great sword was already arcing towards him, empowered by a perfect defensive parry that had somehow enabled Ryan to amass an explosive charge in mere seconds.

With Hansal’s arms occupied, hoisting the massive pale gold energy sword, he was utterly unprepared to defend. The air around them whistled ominously as Ryan executed a formidable horizontal slash, charged and relentless.

In a desperate response, Hansal’s energy sword shattered spectacularly, unleashing a torrent of spiritual energy that blasted outward. Yet, even this desperate defense did little to deter Ryan’s advance. Just as the spiritual shock wave burst forth, Ryan’s form ignited with a sinister, bloody glow, his next devastating technique, [Attack Collision], was ready.

Protected by a shimmering “blood film” formed from his own life force, Ryan seemed almost to absorb the spiritual shock wave, unaffected. His blade continued its deadly trajectory, aiming directly for Hansal’s vulnerable neck.

The collision resounded like thunder, smoke and debris swirling into a tumultuous cloud that obscured the fighters from view. Pale golden spiritual energy intertwined with the dust, casting eerie shadows and lights across the battlefield.

As the debris settled, a solitary figure emerged, standing defiantly. Ryan, his posture unyielded, rested the Great Sword Fierce Ice Flower on his shoulder, eyeing a fresh nick on the blade with a mix of irritation and resolve. Across the distance, Hansal staggered, thirty meters away, looking decidedly worse for wear.

The “Iris Knight” appeared haggard; his light golden armor sported a gaping rent, from which blood mixed with icy shards dripped steadily. His fingers clutched the wound as if trying to hold back the flow. A faint, cracked shield flickered around him, remnants of a last-second protective spell cast from his ring, now crumbling into nothingness, its sacrifice had given him the crucial moments needed to escape the full brunt of the attack, but at a dire cost.

Ryan, catching his breath, felt the drain from using two advanced sword skills back-to-back. His “blood and energy” reserves were severely depleted. He had played his hand, revealing his most potent abilities, yet Hansal still stood, albeit barely. A flicker of regret shadowed Ryan’s features, but it was swiftly replaced by a steely resolve.

Though he had wounded the formidable Iris Knight, the battle was far from over. Ryan adjusted his grip on his sword, readying himself for the next phase of this relentless duel. The air between them crackled with the promise of more clashes to come.

Hansal stared down at the gash on his shoulder, his face shadowed with disbelief and vexation. It was inconceivable, wounded by a mere first-level professional. Such a story would be met with skepticism and ridicule among his peers if it ever came to light. The reality of it, so stark and implausible, weighed heavily upon him.

As he watched Ryan, the ‘Son of Blood,’ gasping for air across from him, it was clear that the young knight had nearly depleted his reserves. Using some uncharted technique to withstand Hansal’s own [Sword of Brilliant Aura], Ryan was visibly spent, barely hanging on. The wound Hansal suffered was superficial at worst; no bones were broken, just his pride. He knew with certainty he could defeat Ryan if the battle dragged on.

Yet, what victory would that be? A third-level hero of his stature resorting to attrition to best a lower-tiered opponent, it was an ugly win, unworthy of his name. Deep down, Hansal acknowledged the bitter taste of defeat.

As the echo of hurried footsteps approached, a tense urgency fell upon the scene. Ryan’s expression shifted to one of alarm, realizing the gravity of his predicament. With Hansal, the formidable ‘Iris Knight,’ blocking his path, and possibly more Libra Knights on their way, the situation looked dire.

Ryan’s heart plummeted at the thought. However, to his surprise, Hansal’s reaction to the footsteps was not what he expected. The knight’s brow furrowed, and he issued a gruff command, tinged with an unexpected hint of solidarity. “If you don’t want to be captured by the Libra Holy Church, follow me.” Without waiting for a response, Hansal turned and strode toward the north city gate.

In that moment, Ryan’s mind raced. His adversary’s actions and the trajectory of that earlier, deliberately skewed energy sword strike, none of it pointed to a man in league with the Libra Holy Church or harboring any lethal intent toward him.

Considering this, Ryan made a swift decision to follow Hansal. He was uncertain what the Libra Holy Church’s plans were for him, but his “trace” had been locked. Returning to his friends, Freni and Cecilia, would be tantamount to leading wolves to their den. The Libra Holy Church, with its ranks filled with high-level professionals, was a formidable force, one he could not confront head-on, especially not with his friends at risk.

Choosing the lesser of two evils, Ryan opted to trust Hansal for the time being. The knight had intercepted him, but his actions so far betrayed no lethal intentions. Perhaps in this unexpected ally, Ryan would find the means to navigate the perilous plots surrounding him.

As the sound of distant footsteps grew louder behind him, Ryan hastened his pace, catching up to Hansal just as they breached the north city gate. There, before a gently swirling vortex of spiritual energy, stood Hansal. With a commanding nod, he simply said, “Follow me,” before stepping into the swirling gateway.

Ryan hesitated, the sounds of pursuit echoing closer. With a grimace of resolve, he plunged into the vortex after Hansal.

In an instant, the world around him twisted, and then the gate collapsed into nothingness, leaving behind only their footprints on the ground as evidence of their passage.

Outside the city, a dark silver light streaked toward the gate’s remains. A figure clad in black armor touched the empty air where the vortex had stood, his eyes closed as if sensing remnants of the vanished energy. Soon, several Libra Knights emerged, hurrying to his side and bowing deeply. “Mr. Third Judge…” they greeted, respect evident in their voices.

The man, adorned in dark silver armor with the light golden scales of Libra etched below three distinct marks on his chest, opened his eyes slowly. “A one-time use of a rare teleportation artifact, cleverly designed to evade tracking and obscure the ‘Holy Eye,'” he mused aloud. “It seems Santos is increasingly infested with intriguing ‘little mice’…”

Meanwhile, Ryan’s senses snapped back as his surroundings stabilized. He found himself in a dimly lit underground hall, the walls adorned with brass sconces holding flickering orange red candles. Their light cast eerie shadows over a long, dark metal table and six chairs arranged neatly around it.

Hansal, the “Iris Knight,” proceeded to a chair marked with the number “4” and took his seat. Occupied chairs bore the numbers “1”, “5”, and “6”, each harboring figures whose presence felt as formidable as Hansal’s, if not more so. The spiritual energies emanating from chairs “5” and “6” suggested their occupants were third-level hero professionals as well, albeit slightly less imposing than Hansal. Chair “6” was filled by a robust figure, his stature rivaling that of Hansal, while “5” seemed to be occupied by a more slender form, possibly a female knight.

Ryan’s gaze finally rested on the mysterious figure seated at the head of the table, marked as “No. 1”. The figure, shrouded and masked, exuded an aura of authority and enigma.

“Who are you?” Ryan asked, his voice cutting through the quiet flicker of the candlelight.

A response came, not loud but resonating with a magnetic, gentle timbre, “Son of Blood, Ryan Layland.”

“Welcome to the Overturned Hall,” the voice continued, as the shadows danced subtly around the edges of the room, cloaking the gathering in both mystery and anticipation.