Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 175

Chapter 175: Time For Another Travel!
 

On the other side of the redstone basin, Yellow Sand and her companions stood rooted to the spot, their expressions a mixture of astonishment and disbelief. Green Tide and Blue Mountain, who had been ready to flank the sides and guard against any surprise attacks, were particularly stunned. They had barely taken a few steps when the confrontation had come to an abrupt end.

From start to finish, the battle had lasted less than half a minute.

Excluding the time Ryan had taken to stride towards the basin, the actual combat had unfolded in mere seconds. It wasn’t just a victory; it was an outright obliteration. To see a third-order extreme monster dispatched so swiftly was unheard of, not just a battle, but a domination.

Despite Yellow Sand’s stoic façade, her mind was reeling just as much as the others’. Being on the cusp of advancing to the third level herself, she knew all too well the formidable strength a labyrinth master especially at seventh floor should possess, stronger even than the fearsome blood-patterned black-robed man they had encountered earlier. Yet, Ryan had dispatched this monster in even shorter time, which left her feeling disoriented.

It was almost as if the fight had been choreographed. Before the Lava Monitor could even fully deploy its attack, Ryan seemed to preemptively counter every move. Yellow Sand knew such a scenario was implausible; the labyrinth had been sealed for centuries, making any prior knowledge of this specific monster impossible for Ryan. The only explanation was that Ryan had an uncanny understanding of giant monster behaviors, allowing him to predict and counter movements based solely on minute initial gestures. His expertise suggested a past deeply intertwined with battling colossal creatures.

“What kind of past does this man have?” Yellow Sand pondered, a hint of awe threading through her curiosity.

She exhaled softly, trying to compose her emotions, and signaled to Cyan River and the others to regroup. They needed to move on.

As Cyan River responded to Yellow Sand ‘s call, snapping out of her daze, she couldn’t help but recall the incident with the black-robed man. Ryan had repelled that formidable adversary in much the same way. “Did he flee because he knew he couldn’t win against Ryan?” she wondered silently, her respect for Ryan deepening.

As the group converged at the center of the basin, Ryan was already busy with the remains of the Lava Monitor. Even if the materials weren’t as valuable to him as they once might have been, they would certainly fetch a good amount from the Royal Family of Saintos, considering the creature’s status as the master of the seventh floor. Such battle points were not to be scoffed at.

“Let’s go, we should head down to the eighth floor,” Yellow Sand finally broke the silence, her voice steady, masking the turmoil of thoughts and questions swirling within her.

Green Tide and Blue Mountain stood slightly behind Yellow Sand , their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and admiration as they gazed at Ryan. In the perilous world they navigated, strength was the ultimate currency of respect, and Ryan’s decisive victory over a third-order extreme beast like the Lava Monitor had unmistakably elevated his status in their eyes. In this harsh realm, recognizing and respecting power was not just about admiration, it was a crucial strategy for survival.

“Let’s go,” Ryan said, catching the shift in their expressions. He understood their awe and the potential for misunderstanding his capabilities, but chose not to clarify. While he was indeed capable of defeating formidable foes, he knew well that battles with other third-order extremes wouldn’t always be as straightforward.

His quick dispatch of the Lava Monitor had been due in large part to his specific expertise and tactical advantage against giant monsters, a niche skill that had served him exceptionally well.

With the Lava Monitor’s demise, the intense heat and volatile environment of the “lava zone” quickly dissipated, revealing the entrance to the next level of the underground maze, a spiraling staircase that descended into darkness.

As Ryan and his companions reached the bottom of the staircase and emerged into the new area, they were greeted not by the expected vast subterranean wilderness but by an expansive, palace-like space. Dominating this grand hall was an enormous stone door, hundreds of meters tall, intricately carved with elaborate patterns and reliefs that merged to form a menacing, colossal visage.

“Is this the eighth floor of the Dungeon Labyrinth?” Cyan River asked, her voice echoing slightly in the vast chamber.

“Yes,” Yellow Sand confirmed, consulting the map she carried. “This map depicts exactly this area. Our mission now is to defend this hundred-meter stone gate and ensure no one, especially ‘The Hanged Man,’ gets close.”

She detailed their strategy: “The Hanged Man may attack at any time. To stay energized, we’ll take shifts guarding this gate for the next half day until our mission is complete.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and approached the massive stone door together. The door itself bore the marks of ages, with its surroundings adorned with murals that seemed to tell ancient stories. Time, however, had worn these images down to indistinct shadows of their former glory.

“Purple Wind, since you’ve just defeated the Labyrinth master on the seventh floor, I’ll take the first watch. Cyan River will join me. You, Green Tide, and Blue Mountain can rest. After three hours, it’ll be your turn to guard,” Yellow Sand said, setting the plan in motion.

There was no disagreement. They had been navigating the treacherous depths of the Saint Phile underground Labyrinth for over ten hours, facing numerous battles along the way. Despite their enhanced abilities and heroic titles, they were, after all, only human, susceptible to fatigue and the wear of continuous combat. Rest was not just a necessity; it was a strategic part of their survival in the maze.

In the dimly lit corridors of the underground maze, the air hung heavy with the weariness of prolonged combat. Ryan, Green Tide, and Blue Mountain, as melee fighters, felt the toll of their exhaustive physical exertions more acutely. They knew the gravity of their next confrontation; the mysterious “Hanged Man” loomed as an ominous threat, having displayed his prowess by subsuming formidable foes like the black-robed man with eerie ease.

Ryan acknowledged Yellow Sand ‘s prudent strategy with a nod. Despite his resilience and undiminished spirit, he recognized the folly of underestimating the fatigue that crept upon them, especially at this witching hour; somewhere between midnight and the early murk of 1 AM. It was also the time when the effects of the [Unnamed Ship Sculpture] reset, a detail not lost on him amid the prevailing tension.

The “Hanged Man” posed a daunting challenge, one that overshadowed their expedition with a suffocating sense of dread. While the group had an emergency teleportation trick up their sleeve, the reality was that teleportation required precious seconds they might not have if caught off-guard. A delay could mean the difference between life and a futile escape attempt with a lifeless body.

With some time to spare and Yellow Sand ‘s vigilant watch, Ryan deemed it safe enough for a brief respite. Even in rest, he remained tethered to his senses, ready to snap back should any imminent danger arise.

Under the watchful eyes of his companions, Ryan approached the stone gate and, with a flourish, extracted a small bamboo raft from his space ring. Laying it down as his makeshift bed, he stretched out with a calm ease that belied the grim setting.

The others exchanged puzzled looks but held their peace. In the realm where the extraordinary was the norm, Ryan’s choice of a bamboo raft for rest was hardly the strangest quirk they had encountered.

Green Tide and Blue Mountain settled nearby, taking their turns to rest, while Yellow Sand and Cyan River positioned themselves as sentinels before the massive gate, their eyes sharp and senses alert.

Ryan, now lying on the bamboo raft, closed his eyes gently. The travel of [Unnamed Ship Sculpture] required an “attachment” — hence the bamboo rafts in his ring, which were compact and easy to deploy.

“Travel, start,” he murmured, drifting into the realm facilitated by his unique artifact.

…

Meanwhile, high above the sprawling cityscape of Santos City, in the royal palace, Princess Ariel, often called the Water drop Princess; stood by a window in her study. Positioned at a vantage point second only to the palace’s towers, she had a clear view over the city, parts of which lay in ruins under the evening gloom.

Beside her, a black kitten perched on the windowsill, its eyes glinting with an inscrutable light as it too surveyed the scene below.

“Everything is on the right track,” she whispered softly to herself, lifting a hand and staring at her empty palm, as if visualizing the unseen forces at play, her regal figure draped in a flowing gown, her gaze as deep and fathomless as the ocean.

“Do you regret it?” the black cat asked, its voice unexpectedly clear and resonant in the quiet room.

“Of course not,” replied Princess Water Drop, her voice soft but firm. “I just… feel a bit ashamed.”

“When you act without absolute certainty, you leave too much to chance. Had you taken more time, made more preparations, perhaps everything would have turned out better.”

Her gaze drifted toward the distant silhouette of the underground maze, her eyes seeming to pierce through the layers of earth and stone to the drama unfolding on the eighth floor. “I’m counting on you… Sons of the Overthrow…”