Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 169

Chapter 169: Ryan’s Relentless Attacks!
The man in the blood-patterned black robe proved himself a formidable adversary. Despite being overwhelmed by Yellow Sand’s relentless assault, he tenaciously held his ground. His resilience was a testament to his strength, arguably pushing the upper limits of the third level. However, the relentless pressure from Yellow Sand indicated that the skirmish would likely tip in her favor shortly.

At the inverted cross altar, the remaining black-robed figures witnessed the unfolding chaos and reacted with swift decisiveness. They abandoned their ritual, converging quickly on the battlefield. One among them, enraged by the earlier cowardice shown by their fleeing comrade, seized him with a merciless grip. The traitor’s screams were short-lived; his body desiccated rapidly, crumbling into black ash within moments.

With renewed ferocity, these five charged towards the fray. The leader, adorned in a blood-patterned robe similar to the first, broke from the group to confront Yellow Sand directly. The others rushed toward Ryan and his allies.

Only seconds had ticked by since the battle’s onset, hardly enough for Green Tide, Cyan River, and Blue Mountain to secure any advantage over their opponents. Green Tide and Blue Mountain, in particular, found themselves hard-pressed, their melee skills mismatched against the black-robed men’s peculiar spiritual tactics. Blue Mountain, struggling the most, was visibly faltering.

Cyan River, though agile and seasoned, inflicted several wounds on her opponent, yet none were decisive. The effectiveness of her shadow concealment dwindled as the black-robed man seemed almost to anticipate her movements, dragging the fight on without a clear end in sight.

As the situation grew dire with the arrival of four more black-robed adversaries, the tide seemed set to turn against them completely. Not even Yellow Sand prowess appeared sufficient against such odds, and despair began to claw at the edges of resolve among team. Doubts crept in was their mission doomed to fail?

But then, just as the new wave of enemies prepared to join the fray, something halted them. A moment of hesitation flickered through the black-robed ranks as a formidable force intervened.

A black and yellow sword plunged into the earth before them, its impact sending a reverberating shockwave through the ground. The four attackers staggered back, overwhelmed by the sudden assault.

From the dust, a figure in armor stepped forward, his hand firmly gripping the sword’s hilt. With a voice resolute and commanding, he declared, “Your opponent is me.”

This unexpected ally, emerging just as hope seemed lost, rekindled the spirits of thd team. Here was a new variable, a powerful presence that could shift the balance of this precarious conflict.

The air crackled with tension as the shockwave from the unseen battle whipped the dark cloaks of the four ominous figures standing amidst the swirling dust and debris. Their robes fluttered violently, the sound harsh against the eerie silence that followed the tumult.

Their gazes fixed intently on the silhouette emerging from the settling haze. The figure was methodically lifting a massive sword from the earth, its blade catching the faint light and throwing glints across the smoke-filled battleground. The sight caused an involuntary shudder among two of the robed watchers, recognition and fear dilating their pupils instantly. It was now clear why their compatriot had fled rather than face this formidable adversary. Had they not been shaken by the brutal demise of their peer moments earlier, they too might have turned on their heels in desperate retreat.

“…It’s you?!” croaked the hoarse voice of the lead figure, his words tinged with disbelief and terror. He was the first of their order who had previously been repelled by this warrior named Ryan.

The air thickened with a palpable dread among the group, intensified by the earlier retreat of their associate. This masked swordsman clad in purple, despite bearing the spiritual force surpassing a novice yet not quite reaching the higher echelons, wielded a power that was unnervingly formidable.

Confusion knit the brows of the pair as they observed the swordsman. His prowess suggested a ranking far above their own, yet something was amiss. Their musing, however, was abruptly cut short. The situation demanded action, not pondering.

Ryan, well-versed in the arts of the [Storm Sword Skills], no longer required elaborate stances or prolonged preparations. The greatsword, now fully drawn, gleamed with a flowing aura of white spiritual energy, signaling the culmination of his power build-up.

In a swift, fluid motion, he hoisted the sword. As it ascended, it unleashed a towering wave of sword energy, two meters of lethal force slicing through the air at a velocity surpassing even the swiftest arrow.

Reacting on instinct, the nearest robed figure ceased his contemplation and threw up his hands. Dark spiritual energy surged, coalescing into a vortex-shaped shield just as the sword energy neared. Simultaneously, his ally transformed into a shadowy blur, merging with the earth to reappear beneath Ryan in a stealthy subterranean assault.

Their companions, witnessing the coordinated defense and attack, steeled themselves against the overwhelming odds. Memories of their fallen brother’s fate flashed before their eyes, fueling a grim resolve. With synchronized precision, they conjured an orb of dense, swirling darkness, its cold energy pulsing ominously between their hands.

The clash was imminent. As the spiritual shield braced to intercept the slashing energy, their prepared counterstrike hovered, ready to be unleashed the moment the barrier waned.

Experience had taught them well. Ryan’s physical might was unmatched, a fact painfully evident from past encounters where mere spiritual defenses had crumbled under his raw power. Yet, in matters of spiritual force, he showed a relative vulnerability, a weakness they aimed to exploit with their imminent onslaught.

The stage was set, strategies drawn. The next moments would determine if their dark arts could withstand the storm of Ryan’s relentless fury.

In the fleeting blink of an eye, a whirlwind of thoughts surged through his mind, overwhelmed by the impending clash of forces. The next instant, the air crackled with violent energy as the sword’s force collided with the dark vortex shield, a confrontation destined to be monumental.

Unexpectedly, the sword energy, unyielding and fierce, barely paused upon contact. It tore through the black vortex shield as if it were mere vapor, dissipating the dark energy with a brute force that left the defenders utterly astounded. The shield, once thought formidable, fragmented into oblivion under the relentless assault of the glowing blade.

The man behind the shattered shield barely had time to register the catastrophic failure of his defense. In a terrifying flash, the sword swept forward, severing his head in a grotesque spray of blood and bone. The lethal energy did not stop there; it continued its relentless path, gouging a deep trench into the earth, extending over twenty meters before it finally ceased its rampage.

The catastrophic aftermath of the sword strike halted the spiritual preparations of the remaining black-robed figures. Black-robed man No. 2, caught in the path of the devastating force, watched in shock as his arm was cleanly sliced off by the residual energy, vanishing before he could even flinch. The pain hit him an instant later, a raw, searing agony that ripped a guttural cry from his throat.

Miraculously, as the black mud surged at the stump, his arm began to reform. The limb restored, albeit weakly, draining much of his color and leaving him gasping in shock and relief.

Simultaneously, the unfortunate black-robed man No. 3, whose head had been so brutally removed, experienced a gruesome regeneration. Dark mud oozed and pulsated, reassembling his head atop his shoulders. Yet the newly formed head bore the marks of the ordeal, with sunken features and a ghostly pallor that spoke of his severe weakening.

Just one strike had reduced the trio to a state of disarray and desperation. Even black-robed man No. 1, who had escaped physical harm, found his hands trembling uncontrollably, his mind reeling in confusion and fear.

“How could this be?” he thought, staggered by the disparity between this encounter and the last. “Yesterday, the shield had held, what monstrous strength has he gained in merely a day?”

While confusion and chaos reigned among his comrades, black-robed man No. 4 emerged from his subterranean attack, oblivious to the carnage above. His hand was poised to strike, dark energy coalescing into a sinister “Heart-Eating Seal,” a technique designed to corrode spiritual defenses and devour the vitality of its victim.

As his palm hovered mere inches from Ryan, he could almost taste victory. The purple-masked adversary seemed momentarily vulnerable, slowed perhaps by the immense release of energy. Anticipation lit up his eyes, envisioning the seal connecting and sealing their triumph.

Black-robed man No. 1 watched from afar, his heart still pounding with shock and confusion from the unfolding chaos. As he observed his fellow initiate No. 4 inch closer to their adversary, a sense of despair washed over him. This scenario was hauntingly familiar; they had tried such tactics before, only to face dire consequences…

The attack was mere centimeters from success when the scene dramatically shifted. The purple-masked figure, initially only partially turned, now faced his attacker fully. Under the mask, his eyes ignited with a chilling red glow, piercing straight through to the core of black-robed man No. 4. It was in that moment, facing those daunting eyes, that No. 4’s confidence shattered, his body freezing in primal fear. To him, it felt like standing helpless before a colossal predator, his instincts screaming at him to play dead, a futile attempt at camouflage from an inevitable fate.