Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Clash Of Blades!
By now, the pirates of the Black Rose were nowhere to be seen on the deck. Overcome with fear of a gruesome death, they had vanished from sight.

Captain Freni and First Mate Cecilia were ensnared within the ominous “Black Mist Hemisphere,” their fates uncertain as they confronted not only the pirates of the Skull but also the formidable pirates of the Black Rose. Outnumbered and outmatched in combat prowess, they were at a severe disadvantage.

The few survivors took refuge in the cabin, clinging to the slim hope of survival. Yet, their strategy was akin to that of an ostrich burying its head in the sand, inevitable discovery loomed close.

Otis Lucen, First Mate of the Skull, brandished a scimitar stained with fresh blood. His grin was malevolent as his eyes locked onto the nearby cabin on the deck. The Black Rose hosted only a handful of cabins on its deck, reserved exclusively for the ship’s highest-ranking members. The rest of the crew were consigned to the cramped, dimly lit quarters below, enduring a miasma of foul odors and harsh conditions.

Given that the deck cabins were typically occupied by the elite, Otis knew they likely contained valuables far surpassing those in the lower cabins. Though the reasons for Captain Salem “Roshan” attacking the Black Rose were unclear to Otis, he reveled in the thrill of battle and the prospect of plundering made victory all the sweeter.

As First Mate of the Skull, Otis enjoyed the privilege of first pick among the spoils. Although other pirates eyed the deck cabins greedily, none dared challenge his claim.

Surveying his surroundings, Otis brandished his scimitar and pointed it towards the cabins marked for the first and second mates. While he steered clear of the captain’s cabin, which was reserved as Captain Salem’s prize, he boldly claimed the first mate’s cabin, a status befitting his own.

And as for claiming the second mate’s cabin as well? Who would dare to object? With his choice made, the nearby pirates selected their own targets and began their forcible entries.

Blood still dripping from his blade, Otis approached the door of the second officer’s cabin. Conventionally, this cabin should have been the prize of the Skull’s second officer, but Otis had seen someone seek refuge there just moments earlier. A maniacal smile crept across his face; his only true pleasure was witnessing the despair etched on the faces of the doomed.

With a fierce kick, he broke down the door.

“Bang!”

The cabin reverberated with a loud crash as another powerful kick struck the wooden door. With a tortured groan, the door finally yielded, flinging shards of splintered wood across the room.

Otis entered with a ferocious grin, his eyes scanning the dim interior. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, you scurvy dog,” he taunted with venomous glee.

“Struggle, fight back, it’ll only make my victory sweeter,” he sneered into the shadowed corners of the cabin.

In response, a figure emerged mid-air, a blade slicing through the gloom with a flash of cold light.

“Clang!”

The sound of metal striking metal rang out sharply. Otis’s expression shifted as he staggered back three steps, startled by the unexpected force of the counterattack. His opponent’s weapon matched his own in strength.

Steadying himself, Otis eyed the young man now standing defiantly with a sword. The man had light blond, neatly cropped hair and features that were sharp and pronounced. Despite the callouses marking his hands, his skin seemed too smooth for a sea-hardened pirate, more akin to that of a nobleman perhaps unaccustomed to the harshness of pirate life.

“Looks like I’ve snagged a rather big fish indeed!” Otis jeered, revealing a grin marred by yellowed teeth.

With a burst of energy, Otis lunged forward, scimitar poised for a thrust.

The young man, Ryan, maintained his composure. From their initial clash, Ryan had gauged that Otis was a formidable adversary, lacking spiritual prowess yet physically his equal. Without a magical assessment, Ryan couldn’t determine Otis’s exact capabilities.

As Otis advanced, Ryan positioned his sword in “Fool’s Pose,” one of the four defensive stances known to swordsmen, with the blade angled toward the ground. He waited until the very last moment, then swiftly lifted his sword to intercept the scimitar.

Just as steel was about to meet steel again, Otis’s wicked smile broadened. He abruptly altered the trajectory of his attack, knocking Ryan’s blade aside. With a swift, brutal arc, Otis swung his scimitar toward Ryan’s now exposed side, his blade slicing through the air.

“Slash…”

In that critical moment, Ryan’s instincts kicked in, and he dodged swiftly to the side. Yet, Otis’s scimitar still managed to graze him, slicing through the fabric of his shirt and leaving a shallow gash across his chest. The wound was superficial, barely more than a scratch, but it was a stark reminder of the danger he faced.

Regaining his footing, Ryan eyed the pirate before him with a newfound intensity. “Impressive swordsmanship,” Otis muttered under his breath, acknowledging that his adversary was far from a novice.

“Very nimble, little mouse,” Otis remarked, his tone laced with both surprise and disdain as he observed Ryan sidestep death. He appeared nonchalant, even amused, by the young man’s agility.

With a grotesque gesture, Otis extended his tongue to taste the blood that now stained his blade, his eyes gleaming with a ferocious, bloodshot anticipation. “Boom! Boom! Boom!” he declared, each word punctuated by his advancing steps. He held his scimitar low and ready, its tip menacingly aimed at Ryan’s abdomen.

The sting of the wound sharpened Ryan’s focus, and instead of fear, a fierce determination took hold. He recalled his past encounters, like his initial battles against formidable foes where he was the underdog. Yet, he never backed down, and he wasn’t about to start now. “When we meet on a narrow road, the brave one wins,” he reminded himself, a mantra for the moments when retreat seemed the only option.

The notion of showing weakness or fear as a means to elicit mercy was foreign to Ryan. In his experience, one could only overcome a formidable enemy by being bolder, by fearing death less.

As Otis approached with a raised scimitar, aiming to deliver a lethal blow, Ryan prepared himself, knowing full well that any hesitation could prove fatal. He steadied his stance, ready to counter.

“Clang!”

Ryan swung his long sword downward, his muscles tensing as he prepared to fend off Otis’s attack. But a sly glint sparked in Otis’s eyes, betraying his next move. The scimitar that was poised to strike suddenly transformed into a direct, piercing thrust.

The abrupt change was so swift that a normal person would have been caught off guard. But Ryan, his eyes as calm as frozen lakes, neither retreated nor faltered. As the scimitar plunged into his abdomen with a sickening “pop,” excruciating pain surged through his body. Yet, Ryan seemed detached from the agony, his focus unbroken.

With an almost surreal calm, Ryan’s left hand, not occupied by his sword, clamped down on the scimitar’s blade. His flesh and hand constrained the weapon, anchoring it in place with a desperate grip, his blood freely flowing over the steel.

Otis’s face, expecting triumph, instead twisted with a hint of terror. He attempted to withdraw his scimitar, but Ryan’s iron grip, with flesh and bone melded to the blade, held firm. Otis pulled again, fruitlessly.

In that moment of struggle, Ryan’s own sword completed its deadly arc.

“Puff—!”

The sound of steel piercing flesh filled the cabin. Otis’s eyes widened, a mixture of shock and disbelief clouding his gaze as Ryan’s sword penetrated his throat.

“Crack!”

With a forceful twist, Ryan severed Otis’s head from his shoulders. Blood sprayed, painting the cabin ceiling a gruesome red.

“Clang…”

Otis’s grip loosened, his scimitar clattering to the floor as his headless body collapsed.

Exhausted and bleeding, Ryan sank to his knees, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. If he were to check his skills panel at that moment, he would see the “Getting Started” indicator beside his Storm Swordsmanship skill flashing rapidly, transforming into a new term, signifying his brutal, yet crucial, ascension in skill.