Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 149

Chapter 149: Successful Rescue!
In the tense, confined space of the alley, Black-robed man No. 3 fought to quell the surge of fear that threatened to overwhelm him. His thoughts raced, a desperate flurry of calculations and strategies that lasted only a fleeting moment.

Then, the clash came.

“Crack!”

The sound, sharp and definitive, echoed off the walls, a stark harbinger of destruction. As the black-robed man No. 3’s eyes contracted to pinpoints, his black vortex shield disintegrated upon contact with Ryan’s imposing black and yellow greatsword. The blade cleaved through the air with unstoppable force, tearing through fabric, skin, and bone, bisecting the man with a clean, decisive strike.

There was no hesitation in its path, a swift and brutal punctuation to his fate.

In the split second before his end, Black-robed man No. 3’s gaze locked onto Ryan, his lips parting in a silent, menacing curse, “If you kill me, you won’t have an easy life either.”

As Ryan’s sword completed its lethal arc, Black-robed man No. 2 launched his own attack, his palm, radiating dark spiritual energy, nearly grazing Ryan’s back.

From a distance, Black-robed man No. 1 watched with a mixture of relief and disbelief. The raw power of the middle-aged swordsman had shattered his expectations; even Black-robed man No. 3, only marginally less formidable than himself, had fallen to a single, swift stroke. The rudimentary appearance of Ryan’s sword belied its devastating effectiveness, surely a rare and formidable weapon.

Yet, as certain as the outcome seemed with the impending strike of the “Heart-Eating Seal,” an unexpected shift occurred.

A vibrant, blazing red aura suddenly enveloped Ryan, the life force pulsating with intense vigor. Just as Black-robed man No. 2’s hand moved to deliver the fatal blow, the red light flared, emitting a shockwave of force that repelled the dark spiritual attack, disrupting it completely. His hand recoiled as if struck by an invisible barrier, and he stumbled backward, unbalanced and bewildered.

“What happened?!” confusion marred his features, but his astonishment left no room for answers as Ryan’s sword light once again dominated the scene.

The grim chorus of rending flesh and the splatter of blood filled the alley as Ryan executed a swift, decisive counter. Standing protectively beside Cyan River, who remained slumped against the wall, he planted his sword into the ground, his gaze steady on the visibly shaken Black-robed man No. 1.

On the ground, the dark mud surged ominously, reforming the bodies of Black-robed men No. 2 and No. 3. Their reconstituted forms, however, bore the marks of their desperate gambit to cheat death, arms now gaunt, gray, and withered, a stark testament to the severe toll extracted by their dark arts.

“Oh, he’s not dead?” Ryan’s voice cut through the lingering echoes of battle, his tone laden with both challenge and a trace of incredulity, as he prepared for whatever might come next.

Ryan’s eyes gleamed with intrigue.

He was certain that his last two strikes had obliterated their brains and hearts, yet the black-robed figures stood defiantly before him, their vitality unyielding. Such an extraordinary regenerative ability challenged the very definition of “human.”

The trio, gripped by a palpable fear of Ryan’s prowess, hesitated, caught in a tense limbo of fight or flight.

An awkward silence hung over the alley, soon shattered by the surge of a “deep silver stream of light” piercing through the distance, heralding the approach of several spectral figures. The Libra Knights, drawn by the tumult, were closing in rapidly.

Realizing their precarious situation, the eyes of the black-robed figures darkened. Below them, a viscous swamp of black mud formed, swallowing them up as they prepared their escape.

Black-robed man No. 1, foregoing any final threats, fixed a penetrating gaze on Ryan, memorizing every facet of his adversary.

“Want to just leave like this?” Ryan’s chuckle broke through the tension, his voice carrying a mocking edge. He took a deliberate step forward, and the ground beneath him erupted.

“Boom!”

The alley’s stones fractured under the explosive force of his leap. Ryan soared in an arcing trajectory, his sword a blur as it descended towards the vanishing figures.

“Boom–!”

The impact shattered the paving, sending a shockwave that tore through the alley, hurling debris and an arm into the air. Amidst the settling dust, Ryan surveyed the void left by his adversaries, his expression hardening.

The severed limb, once cast aside, melted into black mud and vanished without a trace, as did all remnants of blood and conflict from the scene.

“So weird…”

Ryan squinted thoughtfully, then glanced towards the advancing “deep silver light.” With no desire to entangle himself with the Libra Holy Church as the “Day of Plenty Stars” loomed, he quickly returned to Cyan River’s side. Hoisting her onto his back, he made a swift retreat from the area.

By the time the deep silver light of the Libra Knights reached the alley, it was deserted, the aftermath of the battle the only evidence of what had transpired.

The young leader of the knights, clad in dark silver armor adorned with a light gold “Libra” symbol, surveyed the chaotic scene with a scowl.

Seconds later, his fellow knights arrived, breathless. “My Lord, the Third Judge, the Holy Eye cannot detect any traces of the combatants. They seem to be using powerful interference artifacts.”

The Third Judge inhaled sharply, his features smoothing into a mask of cold resolve. “It’s like this again.”

“Very few artifacts can elude the Holy Eye. These must be the same individuals from last night’s disturbance at the city gate.”

His voice hardened with the promise of retribution. “Don’t let me catch you, otherwise…”

In the shadow-draped chamber, the flickering candle cast a dim glow, its light barely touching the edges of the room.

Cyan River stirred from what felt like an eternity of dreams to her. In her nightmare, she was ensnared in a relentless quagmire, a bottomless pit that mocked every desperate struggle she made. The more furiously she fought, the deeper and faster she sank into its dark embrace. When she finally surrendered, succumbing to despair and awaiting the cold grasp of death, a sudden burst of brilliant sword light cleaved through the consuming darkness. The heavy mire that entrapped her was violently torn asunder, and from behind this fierce luminescence, a strong, warm hand reached out, grasping her limp, despairing hand with a promise of salvation.

As the oppressive darkness receded, Cyan River’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze settling on the rough wooden beams overhead.

“Where am I?” she murmured, pushing herself upright. Confusion clouded her vision, her mind foggy as if emerging from a deep slumber. Memories surged forth, the ambush by the man in the black robe, the crippling effect of the “Heart-Eating Seal” coursing through her veins, and the last image seared into her mind before darkness claimed her: the sword light, fierce and defiant.

Instinctively, Cyan River’s hand darted to her waist for her dagger, but she paused, a realization dawning upon her. She was supposed to be weakened, her spirit drained by the “Heart-Eating Seal,” yet her body felt strangely rejuvenated, her spiritual essence not only intact but brimming with vitality.

Would her captor, cloaked in shadow, have tended to her wounds out of benevolence?

The thought was laughable.

“So, you’re awake?” A voice broke through her thoughts, low and familiar.

Startled, Cyan River turned towards the source. Leaning against the wall, a masked man with a formidable broadsword strapped to his back regarded her intently.

“…Purple Wind?” Her voice was a whisper, a mix of disbelief and relief washing over her as she recognized the man. Her body relaxed, nearly collapsing from the sudden release of tension, but she steadied herself with her arms, avoiding a graceless fall.

“Thanks,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but sincere.

As she gazed at Purple Wind, pieces began to fall into place. The brilliant sword light that had pierced her darkness, it was his doing, his rescue. But how? Just yesterday, Purple Wind had struggled against Green Tide, barely landing a blow. How could he have bested the three black-robed adversaries that had overwhelmed her?

But pondering such questions now seemed futile.

“You’re welcome. As a member of the organization, it’s my duty to assist where I can. Though, there are rules about compensation,” Purple Wind voice was deep, his tone serious yet unfamiliar.

“Of course,” Cyan River nodded, her mind turning to the terms of their accord. “The information about the underground maze I mentioned in my plea for help will be part of my payment.”

“But before we discuss that, Purple Wind,” she hesitated, her gaze locking with his, “where are the three men in black robes?”