Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Mysterious Weapon
Washing the Decks with Tumultuous Waves…

The ocean roared with the ferocity of tempests, waves crashing against the hulls of the dueling pirate ships like mighty tidal surges. Amidst this watery chaos, the [Black Rose] braved the storm, its decks awash with the salt of the sea.

Perched precariously on the bow deck, “Roshan” Salem’s corpulent features quivered with unmistakable terror. His jowly face, usually so composed in the face of danger, now twitched erratically as a thought nagged at him, had his intimate knowledge of certain dark secrets prompted that gentleman to concoct this deadly predicament?

However, after a moment of panic, a semblance of calm reclaimed “Roshan” Salem. He rationalized that if the mastermind truly wished to dispose of him, there would have been no need for the weapon now in his possession. The sudden appearance of the two professional must be an unforeseen mishap, an anomaly not even the sprawling network of the mastermind could have anticipated.

Clink of Steel on Steel…

A chilling metallic sound sliced through the storm’s howl as a sword was drawn. Narrowing his eyes, “Roshan” watched Cecilia, a knight cloaked in valor, vault over the bulwark. Each step she took toward him radiated an ethereal white glow, her presence almost otherworldly amidst the spray of the sea.

Ding of Swift clashs…

In a heartbeat, Cecilia closed the gap of over ten meters. Her blade, swift and lethal as a striking serpent, aimed unerringly for “Roshan” Salem’s eyes. The portly pirate, caught off guard by the speed and ferocity of the attack, was too slow to react adequately.

At the eleventh hour, with a desperate roar, “Roshan” unleashed a powerful burst of energy. The air around him vibrated visibly, halting Cecilia’s thrust mid-strike. Seizing this fleeting chance, he lurched sideways in an ungainly dodge.

But Cecilia’s blade was relentless. Pausing only for a split second, it resumed its deadly dance, piercing “Roshan’s” left arm with unyielding precision. As he recoiled in shock, Freni, positioned strategically on the opposite flank, extended her delicate yet deadly finger toward his chest. A sinister dark blue aura encapsulated her fingertip, a harbinger of doom poised to strike.

Stab—

The unfolding melee promised no respite for “Roshan” Salem, as he found himself ensnared in a perilous ballet of blades and sorcery upon the storm-ravaged decks of the [Black Rose].

Despite “Roshan” Salem’s frantic efforts to evade, a grim and bloody perforation marred his chest, a wound as round as an index finger, grotesquely transparent from front to back. More harrowing still was the eerie dark blue sheen that clung to the edges of the injury, the corruptive spiritual essence eating away at his flesh like a relentless acid.

Miraculously, in the thick of his desperate maneuvering, he had managed to narrowly avoid a direct strike to his heart.

Caught in the lethal crossfire of Freni and Cecilia, this notorious pirate, who once ruled the coastal waters with an iron fist and carried a bounty of 18,000 pounds, found himself grievously wounded after just one clash.

From a distance, on the ship’s deck, Ryan observed the fray with a grave countenance. The prowess displayed by “Roshan” Salem, his speed, strength, and almost supernatural abilities, including his sonic bursts, was beyond any ordinary human’s reach. Ryan knew well that even with his enhanced physical condition, facing “Roshan” head-on would be suicidal. Only a “traveling clone,” if he had one, might stand a chance.

The abilities exhibited by Cecilia and Freni left Ryan even more astounded. Cecilia’s stabbing technique was a blur, a flash of silver that speared through “Roshan” without a hint of hesitation, her body enveloped in a ghostly pale glow that heightened her agility to breathtaking levels.

Freni’s power was a spectacle of terror. She wielded dark blue energy that functioned akin to a laser weapon, precise and devastatingly potent.

“Is this the true might of the profession?” Ryan pondered in awe. The raw display of strength shattered any remnants of pride about his own recent advancements, replacing it with a resolute commitment to strategic patience.

…

Back on the bow deck, “Roshan” Salem’s expression was one of savage defiance.

He could endure the throbbing pain of the wound on his left arm, but the near-fatal energy beam that had coursed through his chest, narrowly missing his heart, had robbed him of nearly half his vitality.

As the female knight, Cecilia, retracted her bayonet for another strike, her blade gleaming menacingly as it aimed for his brow, “Roshan” understood the grim reality: there was no escape.

With a hardened glare, he crushed a dark, enigmatic cross clasped in his grip, ready to unleash whatever desperate measure it concealed.

This was the “mysterious weapon” bestowed upon him by his master before embarking on the covert operation. “Roshan” Salem had harbored deep reservations about deploying it, well aware that its use would exact a severe toll, one that might leave him victorious yet vastly diminished.

Yet, in the dire straits he found himself, contemplation of consequences seemed redundant.

A dense black mist unfurled suddenly, enveloping everything in its path. Freni and Cecilia, caught completely unawares by the rapidly spreading fog, had no time to shield themselves and were swiftly engulfed.

The ominous fog quickly mushroomed into a hemispherical shroud that spanned over ten meters across the deck, cloaking friend and foe alike in its dark embrace.

“What?!” Ryan exclaimed, his visage contorting with dismay as he witnessed the unexpected twist from his vantage point.

This spectral display rekindled the faltering spirits of the [Skull] pirates who, seeing their leader’s disadvantage turned by the mist, sneered menacingly and surged forward, weapons brandished, towards the beleaguered crew of the [Black Rose]. The tides of battle shifted dramatically, skewing towards a brutal one-sidedness.

Without a moment to spare, Ryan ducked into the safety of his cabin, his mind racing but with little time to ponder the nature of the black mist. In the shadowed corner of the room, he gripped his long sword, his eyes glinting with a cold resolve.

Uncertain of how long the “Black Mist Hemisphere” would persist, and whether Freni and Cecilia could withstand its suffocating embrace, Ryan knew there was only one course of action available to him: wait.

Wait for the melee to conclude, wait to see who would emerge as the victor.

Should Freni and Cecilia fall, his only recourse would be a desperate flight on his solitary raft, a bleak prospect, but the only sliver of hope remaining.

Until then, his sole companion and defender was the sword clasped firmly in his hands.

Screams, footsteps, crashing waves, and the ghastly sound of flesh being rend, all these cacophonies melded into a symphony that paradoxically soothed Ryan’s nerves incrementally.

His previous encounter with the formidable Beach Crab in the “Travelling Place” had steeped him well in the chaos of combat. Although this familiarity did little to dampen his resolve, it ignited a spark of eagerness within him to test his mettle once more.

Against seasoned professionals, Ryan knew he stood little chance; however, facing ordinary pirates was another story, here, he harbored no fear.

His gaze was riveted on the hatch, his muscles tensed for immediate action should an enemy dare to intrude. In this heightened state of alertness, his senses sharpened, distilling the ambient noise down to just the telltale sounds of footsteps, allowing him to gauge the proximity of potential threats.

…

“Too weak, too weak!”

“You trash, let’s all die, hahaha!”

Otis Lussen, the formidable first mate of the “Skull,” reveled in the chaos, his laughter echoing macabrely as he withdrew his scimitar from a fallen adversary. Blood sprayed, misting the air and drenching him in a gruesome shower. Far from seeking cover, Otis stood there, soaked in the blood mist, his face twisted in a grotesque smile of deranged exhilaration.

Though not a professional in the strictest sense, Otis’s formidable physique and masterful scimitar skills placed him just a tier below the elite. His reputation was a grim testament to his prowess: no pirate from the Black Rose had survived more than three strikes from his blade. In mere minutes, he had dispatched five unfortunate souls, each falling before his relentless assault, underscoring the lethal efficiency of this fearsome pirate.