Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 233

Chapter 233: A Warning!
 

Ryan’s entrance into the tavern went unnoticed. He maneuvered his way to a corner seat at the bar, a spot where he could observe without drawing attention and signaled to the bartender. “I’ll have whatever you recommend, both food and drink.”

The bartender nodded, disappearing briefly before returning with a plate of honey-glazed steak and a frothy glass of malt beer. Ryan carved a piece of the steak, savoring the sweet and savory flavors, though he couldn’t help but think it paled in comparison to the exotic monster meats he was accustomed to. The beer, however, intrigued him with its complex layers of flavor.

As he ate, Ryan tuned into the conversations around him. A group of raucous pirates nearby were particularly loud, their words weaving through the din of the tavern.

“Did you catch the duel at sword arena three today? A new challenger, a woman, no less; took down the reigning champ in under three moves. Her strength’s unbelievable…”

“Yeah, I heard. And have you seen her? Even with that mask, her form… she’s got to be stunning,” one pirate chuckled, nudging his companion.

“They say after today, the others might as well forget about that stage. She’s bound to be the one heading to the finals in three days. Only the stage master gets that shot.”

Ryan absorbed every word, piecing together the dynamics of the Sky Sword Competition. It seemed each sword stage had a master, and only these masters advanced to the final rounds. The number of stages, however, remained unclear to him.

Lost in thought, Ryan was jolted back to reality as the tavern lights dimmed, drawing a wave of cheers from the patrons. Their excitement was palpable, a stark contrast to the subdued lighting.

“Ohhhh!”

“Finally! I’ve been waiting all week for this!”

“It’s about time.”

“Come on, come on!”

The shouts hinted at something extraordinary, and Ryan’s curiosity peaked. The presence of so many armed professionals in a seemingly ordinary tavern on the outer rim suddenly made sense, there was more to this place than met the eye.

Just then, a soothing male voice reached Ryan’s ears. “The tavern has pulled out all the stops tonight. That’s the ‘Spirit Shadow Performance Troupe’, they recreate historical moments with remarkable accuracy. Tonight, they’re depicting the legendary duel of the Sky Sword Dojo’s leader. Quite the spectacle.”

Turning toward the source, Ryan’s gaze met that of the black-haired swordsman from earlier, now sitting casually in a shadowed corner, toasting him with a raised glass.

Was this meeting mere coincidence, or something more?

Before Ryan could ponder further, the lights snapped back on, drawing everyone’s attention to the center of the room. A man in a sleek black tuxedo stood there, his fingers dancing through the air. As he moved, trails of spiritual light wove together to form a stunning visual tableau.

The spirit shadow performance had begun, and the crowd watched in rapt attention as the air filled with scenes of epic battles and legendary feats, a vivid retelling of history through magic and light.

In the dimly lit room, the air was thick with anticipation as ethereal particles of light, resembling spiritual essences, danced and intertwined under the skilled guidance of unseen hands. They spun and twisted, gradually forming a mesmerizing tableau on the ancient scroll that lay unfurled before the hushed audience.

As the room darkened further, the mystical illumination from the scroll revealed its secrets. Depicted was a stark, windswept cliff overlooking an endless ocean. Atop the cliff sat a solitary figure, a silhouette against the vast sea, with a sword of the purest green resting across his knees, its blade gleaming with an inner light.

The figure seemed lost in contemplation, eyes fixed on the horizon, as if waiting for a sign or a challenger to appear.

With the passage of time, the serenity of the scene was shattered. The heavens above darkened ominously, giving birth to roiling clouds from which thunderous dragons roared to life. The sea below mirrored this tumult, as waves grew wild and merciless, crashing against the cliff with a fury that sent sprays of water skyrocketing.

Then, in a sudden flash of purple lightning that split the sky, the darkness momentarily receded, revealing a monstrous entity rising from the depths. This creature was a behemoth, a nightmare drawn from the abyss, its form so eldritch and terrifying that even the hardiest souls in the tavern gasped, their bodies going cold with dread.

“What monstrosity is this?” whispered a newcomer, his voice barely carrying over the growing din.

On the scroll, the answer appeared as if woven by an invisible scribe: Irusil, the Deep-sea Diver, Follower of Poseidon.

With the naming of the beast, the seas turned even more tumultuous, the water darkening to an almost impenetrable black. The storm escalated, and thunder split the ears of all who watched, as the painted figure on the cliff seemed overwhelmed by despair.

As the full horror of the Deep-sea Diver was unveiled, towering over the sea with hair and tentacles that writhed like serpents, its singular blood-red eye surveyed its domain. Its mouth, a grotesque hole located on its abdomen, bristled with layers of razor-sharp teeth spiraling into its gullet, each movement suggesting the endless hunger of the deep.

Then, the figure on the cliff stirred.

He rose, and with a motion fluid as the wind itself, the pure green sword lifted into the air, guided by an unseen force. As he grasped the hilt, the very elements seemed to rally to him, winds from every corner of the world converging upon the blade, wrapping it in a cyclone of power and promise.

The onlookers held their breath.

In an instant, a flash of cyan light filled the room, blinding all who witnessed. When their vision cleared, the scroll showed the aftermath: the sky healed of its black wounds, the sun’s rays bathing the now-cleaved body of the deep-sea diver, which sank mournfully into the depths.

The wind, having played its part, whispered its departure, and the drama on the scroll concluded, leaving behind a room filled with awe and the lingering scent of sea spray and storm.

A flicker of cyan text danced across the screen.

The leader of swords, the sky is blue and boundless.

“Pah.”

As the shadows ceased their ethereal dance, the lights of the rustic tavern brightened, revealing the absence of the tuxedo-clad shadowcaster who had enraptured the audience just moments before. The room, filled with patrons clutching their drinks, lingered in a state of awed silence.

Gradually, a murmured chorus of whispers breathed life back into the hushed atmosphere. The patrons, still under the spell of the spellbinding swordplay they had witnessed through the spirit shadow performance, conversed in tones laden with reverence and disbelief.

“Is that really the leader? His strength is unparalleled…”

“Surely, his might reaches into the realms of legends?”

“I’ve glimpsed legendary battles from a distance before, but none seemed as formidable as the leader’s display…”

Seated in a dimly lit corner, Ryan absorbed the swirl of conversations around him, his mind racing with thoughts of the incredible swordsmanship he had just witnessed.

Minutes later, he rose and made his way to a secluded nook at the back of the tavern, where a man with jet-black hair sat alone. “Do you mind if I join you?” Ryan inquired, his voice cutting through the lingering echoes of awe.

“Suit yourself,” the man replied with an easy smile. As Ryan settled down, the man studied him with a keen gaze. “So, what are your thoughts after the performance?”

Ryan pondered for a moment before responding earnestly, “Incredibly powerful. Such mastery of the sword is beyond anything I’ve encountered.”

If the tales woven into the fabric of the spirit shadow performance held any truth, then the leader of the Sky Sword Dojo wielded a skill so profound that it seemed unreachable to Ryan. He knew that only by mastering the elusive third technique of the Storm Sword Art, God Splitting, might he stand a chance to rival such prowess. Yet, the prerequisites of achieving 100 points in both Spirituality and Physical Fitness seemed an almost insurmountable threshold.

“Indeed, formidable…” the black-haired man echoed, his laughter tinged with a hint of irony. “His prowess is what allowed the Skydao to withstand the sea monster’s onslaught. A true hero and guardian.”

He paused, then inquired, “And what might I call you, sir?”

Ryan opted for discretion. “Purple Wind,” he replied, offering a pseudonym.

“A pleasure, Mr. Purple Wind,” the man nodded, undeterred by the facade. “Your swordsmanship exudes strength, even unseen. Should the opportunity arise, I’d relish a chance to exchange techniques with you, there’s much we could learn from each other.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But a word of advice, steer clear of the Sky Sword Tournament. If you must compete, avoid hosting it.”

Ryan’s brow furrowed in confusion, his question still forming when the tavern door burst open with a resounding crash. A group of men clad in Sword garb strode in, their eyes scanning the room until they settled on the black-haired man.

“There! Seize him!” they commanded, their voices slicing through the tense air.