Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 235

Chapter 235: Unexpected Situation!
 

In the narrow, shadow-clad alley, a creeping frost painted every surface in icy hues, transforming the secluded pathway into a biting, wintry realm.

Ryan, his brow furrowed in concentration, watched the woman clad in a flowing green cloak perched on the crumbling brick wall. Her presence exuded a palpable, mystical energy that transcended the formidable skills of the three core disciples he’d encountered before. Was she at the peak of the fourth level, or teetering on its uppermost edge? Ryan couldn’t be certain.

However, one thing was undeniably clear to him: the woman in green radiated a dangerous aura that set every nerve in his body on alert.

As Ryan strategized an escape, the sky sword swordsman, now the betrayer known as Swordsman Durrand, stepped forward. Durrand positioned himself between Ryan and the green-clad figure, his gaze lifted, his voice tinged with a mixture of nostalgia and regret.

“Junior sister, it’s been ages,” Durrand murmured, his voice soft yet carrying through the cold air. “You’ve grown stronger…”

His eyes lingered on her, the transformation from the girl he remembered into this formidable woman etched with resolve striking him profoundly.

“Silence!” The woman’s response cut through the night, sharp and unforgiving. “Traitor Swordsman, you abandoned our creed, murdered our brethren.”

“The day you were cast out was the day I ceased to be your sister!”

Her face was an icy mask of disdain. “What will it be, Durrand? Will you come quietly, or must I drag you back in chains?”

Durrand exhaled a weary sigh, a complex storm of emotions swirling behind his eyes. “I wish I could make you understand, there are truths you wouldn’t accept, not now. There are urgent matters that call me back to the island. I’m afraid I can’t comply with your demands.”

Her expression hardened further. “Do you really think you have a choice?”

With a resigned glance, Durrand turned slightly, addressing Ryan without meeting his eyes. “Mr. Purple Wind, it’s best you go on without me. This is my burden to bear.”

“I’m sorry to have been a burden,” he added, his voice a low whisper.

Ryan didn’t hesitate; he turned and vanished into the dark as Durrand faced their accuser alone.

“Oh, how cold and indifferent you are, even to your allies,” she accused sharply.

“You are mistaken. Mr. Purple Wind and I share no bond,” Durrand replied, though he knew his words fell on skeptical ears.

A sudden clash of energies erupted as green sword energy sliced through the air, meeting a frosty blade that had launched towards the retreating figure of Ryan. Durrand’s voice softened, a hint of his former power threading through his words, “Junior sister, remember I once led sky sword. My injuries were grave, and my progress has stalled, but do not underestimate me…”

Meanwhile, Ryan slipped through the bustling street, his features morphing to blend seamlessly with the crowd. To even the most observant eye, he became just another face in the throng, disappearing from the site of conflict with a silent grace that left no trace of his passage.

It was deep into the night, past the stroke of midnight, when Ryan finally felt confident that no pursuers lingered on his trail. With cautious steps, he made his way back to the Hotel.

Inside his hotel room, the atmosphere was tense as he sat across from Freni and Cecilia. The soft clink of his teacup broke the silence as he took a sip of the steaming brew, gathering his thoughts. “Today was… eventful,” he began, recounting the day’s harrowing encounters.

Freni’s porcelain features tightened into a frown as she listened. “This Durrand, the traitor swordsman from your tale, he doesn’t match the descriptions on the wanted posters. His aura, the feel of him, it’s off.”

“Thundera seems caught up in something sinister,” she mused, her brow furrowed.

“What are you suggesting?” Ryan inquired, leaning forward, his interest piqued by her line of thought.

“Do you know of Poseidon’s domain, Ryan?” Freni asked, steering the conversation towards mythology rather than answering directly.

Ryan shook his head, his knowledge of local deities limited to vague tales of a Lord of Blood. “I’m not familiar, no.”

Freni nodded, not surprised. “Poseidon was among the mightiest in an era where gods walked among us. His domain was the vast seas and the essence of life itself. His followers, renowned for their benevolence, were said to protect seafarers rather than harm them. They rescued countless souls from stormy deaths.”

She paused, her eyes distant. “But with the Golden Age long ended and Poseidon believed fallen, the fate and alignment of his disciples, like the Deep Sea Divers, are shrouded in mystery.”

Ryan absorbed her words, his mind racing. Durrand’s cryptic warning in the tavern to avoid the swordcompetition suddenly cast a shadow over the event. “So, the Sky Sword Competition might not be as straightforward as it seems.”

Snapping back to the present, he realized he had monopolized the conversation with his own dramatic day. “What about you two? Have you uncovered anything new?”

“Yes, before you arrived, Cecilia filled me in on what she’s learned, particularly about the Sky Sword Competition,” Freni replied smoothly, shifting the focus. “It’s structured in two phases: the preliminaries and the finals.”

“The preliminaries are quite unique,” she continued. “Participants must claim and defend a position as ‘arena master’ in one of ten designated sword arenas scattered across the central district. Anyone can challenge for control, but to advance to the finals, one must hold their position as master until noon, three days from now.”

“And every day,” Cecilia chimed in, her voice steady, “the current master must accept at least one challenge. Failure means forfeiture of the title. The competition began two weeks ago, setting the stage for what promises to be a tumultuous final.”

Ryan nodded, absorbing every detail. The stakes were clearly much higher than he had anticipated.

As Freni laid out the strategic nuances of the Sky Sword Tournament, the atmosphere in the room grew more contemplative. “Essentially, the earlier you claim the title of ‘master’ at an arena, the more challenges you’ll face,” she explained. “Those brave enough to step up early are either supremely confident in their skills or seek to refine their swordsmanship through relentless combat.”

“On the other hand,” she continued, “entering the fray later means fewer duels, but each opponent will likely be a formidable swordsman who has already bested others. Both strategies, early and late entries, have their distinct merits and pitfalls.”

“The finalists will convene at the prestigious Sky Sword Dojo for the ultimate showdown. The victor not only walks away with substantial rewards but also stands a chance to be chosen by the dojo’s master to inherit the legendary ‘Sacred Weapon – Azure Sword.'”

Pausing, Freni looked directly at Ryan, her tone earnest. “Given your recent encounters, Mr. Ryan, I’d advise against competing in the Sky Sword Tournament.”

“Alternatively,” she suggested, “you could follow Durrand’s earlier advice, select a challenging arena to test your skills over the next couple of days, but intentionally forfeit on the final day. This strategy allows you to gain valuable experience without overly risking your safety.”

“As for acquiring the Azure Fruit needed for your third-level magic potion, it’s rare but not irreplaceable. Opportunities to find it or a suitable substitute will arise again; there’s no need to rush into undue danger.”

Ryan nodded in agreement, his mind clear. “I understand your points,” he said, feeling the weight of her advice.

Outside, the evening had deepened into night, the moon casting a serene glow through the window.

“It’s getting late,” Ryan remarked, rising from his seat. “I should head back. You both should rest as well.”

“You too,” Freni replied softly, her concern evident even in her hushed tone.

Leaving Freni’s room, Ryan’s solitary walk through the hotel’s corridor was filled with reflection. He decided against delving too deeply into the Sky Blue Sword Tournament. Thundera was on the brink of something bigger, and his forced affiliation with the Sky Sword Gym on his first day, despite the potential protection it offered against the three black knights, left him in a precarious position.

His thoughts then drifted to his reliance on disguises and others’ strengths. True security, he mused, came from within, from one’s own power and cunning.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Ryan contemplated his next move. If tonight bore no sign of the elusive monster, he would venture into the Rotten Miasma to confront the ancient dragon lurking there. The stakes were high, possibly fatal, but he was resolved to face whatever came.

Back in his room, Ryan settled into a deep, meditative trance, gathering his energies until the midnight hour. Eventually, he lay down, whispering to himself a quiet mantra of resolve, “Journey, begin!” as he drifted into sleep, ready for whatever challenges awaited.