Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 47

Chapter 47: Pursuit!
Freni, understanding the layers of Ryan’s caution, dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand, her confidence unwavering. “Fear not, I have contingencies in place.”

As the ship’s captain and a figure of arcane authority, her reassurance left no room for argument. Ryan acquiesced, albeit reluctantly: “Understood.”

“Then it’s settled,” Freni declared, her voice imbued with a surge of determination as she planted a small flag on the chart at the Whirlpool Islands. “Set sail for the Whirlpool Islands!”

Her declaration echoed through the cabin, a firm command that set the course of their dark vessel towards destiny’s uncertain swirl.

“Lady Freni, while your strategy is sound, the Moon Wolf’s arrival has attracted numerous pirates to the Whirlpool Islands. Our security there could be compromised…”

His voice trailed off diplomatically. After all, the trio were not just ordinary pirates. Ryan bore the “Blood Mark,” a perilous identifier among pirates, and the histories of both Freni and Cecilia were a themselves cloaked with complexities, any of which could spell disaster if exposed in such a crowded and lawless setting.

Freni, understanding the layers of his caution, dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand, her confidence unwavering. “Fear not, I have contingencies in place.”

As the ship’s captain and a figure of arcane authority, her reassurance left no room for argument. Ryan acquiesced, albeit reluctantly: “Understood.”

“Then it’s settled,” Freni declared, her voice imbued with a surge of determination as she planted a small flag on the chart at the Whirlpool Islands. “Set sail for the Whirlpool Islands!”

Her declaration echoed through the cabin, a firm command that set the course of their dark vessel towards destiny’s uncertain swirl.

As dawn broke, the air was filled with the salty tang of the sea and the anticipation of departure. Precisely at eight o’clock in the morning, the Black Rose hoisted its dark sails, slipping away from the port of Lanya Island, its prow cutting a decisive path southeastward through the blue waters.

Far beyond the immediate horizon, over ten nautical miles away, a vigilant lookout perched atop the crow’s nest of a rival ship, his eyes glued to a specially crafted telescope. He meticulously tracked every movement of the Black Rose, observing its departure with keen interest. Without wasting a moment, he scrambled down to deliver the crucial news to his commander.

In the captain’s quarters of the pursuing vessel, Lord Sproul stood by a broad table scattered with nautical charts and navigational tools, the atmosphere tense with expectation. He had spent the entire night strategizing, half-expecting the Black Rose to linger at Lanya Island for supplies and potential recruits. The early departure of the notorious pirate ship took him by surprise, abruptly shifting his plans into a new phase of urgency.

Upon receiving the report, a spark of exhilaration lit up Lord Sproul’s eyes. This was the moment he had been meticulously preparing for, and every second now counted more than ever. With a swift stride, he moved to the deck, where his crew awaited his commands, the morning light casting long shadows across the wooden planks.

Raising his hand high for all to see, Lord Sproul called out with a voice that carried over the waves, charged with the thrill of the hunt, “Set our course southeast! Head towards the Skeleton Isles!”

His command was met with a thunderous response from the crew, their voices rising in a unified cry, “Kill!”

“Kill!” echoed back, the fervor of the chase igniting a fiery zeal among the sailors. Every man aboard was now bonded by a singular, pulsating goal, to pursue and confront the infamous Black Rose. The chase was on, and the sea awaited their tempestuous dance.

Beneath a sky clear as glass, the air fresh and brisk, today presented perfect conditions for sailing.

The [Black Rose] glided elegantly across the sapphire depths of the sea.

On the bow deck, Ryan stood with his sword resting on his shoulder, his posture one of seemingly effortless readiness. Yet, those with a discerning eye could see every muscle in his frame was engaged, tense like a coiled spring, compressing tighter and tighter.

After a tense ten seconds, Ryan’s muscles unwound. The great sword, still sheathed, clattered onto the deck with a resonant “bang”, drawing admiring glances from the crew.

Heaving deep breaths, huchi…huchi, Ryan’s breathing steadied within moments.

Gazing at the heavy sword in his grasp, thoughts flowed through his mind: “Through sustained training in power storage, my body should grow accustomed to gathering strength more swiftly… This technique proves its worth, yet it demands enduring commitment.”

With nothing urgent at hand, Ryan resumed his practice of the storm sword techniques right there on the deck.

His choice of location was deliberate: the cabin’s cramped quarters were ill-suited for such expansive movements, and more importantly, he believed that immersing himself in the ocean’s rhythms would help him grasp the essence of the “Breaking Wave” technique.

The inheritance crystal bequeathed to him by Freni was a reservoir of knowledge, containing the full spectrum of the [Storm Sword Skill]. The [Breaking Wave], merely the fundamental level of this art, was but the gateway to more advanced techniques. To unlock further skills, Ryan had to master the [Breaking Wave] through rigorous training, advancing it to the “three stages of charging.”

Achieving this was no small feat, demanding not just physical prowess but deep spiritual resonance, a challenge that daunted even the most dedicated swordsmen.

Rigorous training paired with a deep understanding are both crucial elements for mastering any skill.

Ryan never considered himself a slacker when it came to physical exertion. As for comprehension, a notion as elusive as the morning mist, he decided to seize every moment to deepen his understanding.

The “charging” exercises were demanding, sapping his physical, mental, and spiritual energies. Each session concluded with a recovery period of at least fifteen minutes, a process somewhat alleviated by the “Necklace of Fertility” he wore. Without it, Ryan could only guess how much longer his recovery might stretch.

As he readied himself for another round of strenuous training, a clear voice cut through the air, halting him.

“Mr. Ryan, please hold a moment. There’s something urgent we need to discuss.”

Turning toward the voice, Ryan saw Freni standing at the entrance to the captain’s cabin. A gentle smile graced her lips, and the sea breeze toyed with the lace at the brim of her hat, making it dance like a wave.

“Something urgent?”

His brow furrowed in confusion, yet he sheathed his sword and strode towards her with purpose.

Leaning casually against the railing by the captain’s cabin, Freni’s voice dropped to a whisper as her eyes locked onto Ryan’s, “The ‘Line’ has been spotted nearby, and the followers of the ‘Bloody Mark’ are closing in on the [Black Rose].”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed, his demeanor shifting instantly to one of alertness.

“The pursuers of the ‘Bloody Mark’… Are they preparing to strike?”

“It seems likely.” Freni gave a slight nod, a hint of challenge in her tone. “Why, Mr. Ryan, does that frighten you?”

“Of course, it frightens me,” Ryan responded without a hint of shame. “Facing an unknown enemy, shrouded in darkness while we’re exposed, is naturally unnerving.”

“Don’t worry,” Freni chuckled with a glimmer of amusement. “Mr. Ryan, modesty is certainly a virtue, but excessive humility can be a hindrance. Having already mastered the initial techniques of Storm Swordsmanship, your prowess is considerable among first-tier professionals.”

“From the thickness of their trail, the trackers aren’t beyond the first level,” Freni continued reassuringly. “But remember, they’ve been merely shadowing us until now. Their decision to engage means they likely awaited reinforcements. Expect at least two skilled adversaries.”

“We’ll stand together in this,” she added firmly.

Ryan inhaled deeply, his resolve firming. “Thank you.”

“By the way, Lady Freni, are you able to estimate how far away the enemy ships might be?”

She squinted towards the horizon, calculating. “Between five and ten nautical miles, I’d say.”

“This distance,” Ryan mused, “suggests their ship’s capabilities might slightly outstrip ours, but not by much. At five to ten nautical miles, it would take them three to five hours to reach us.”

“That sounds about right,” Freni agreed with a nod.

Ryan exhaled slowly, tension ebbing slightly. “Now, we wait.”

The reality of the impending confrontation made him reconsider his next steps. Knowing the physical, spiritual, and energy demands of his “charged training,” he decided it would be prudent to conserve his strength instead of depleting it further. Battles demanded peak condition.

Observing Freni, with her hair dancing in the salty breeze and her delicate, almost translucent earlobes catching the light, Ryan pondered a question that had been nagging at him since he turned professional.