Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 48

Chapter 48: Terrifying Sword!
“Lady Freni, there’s something I’ve been trying to understand, something crucial. May I seek your guidance on it?”

“Of course,” Freni responded softly, not turning, her gaze still fixed on the distant waves. “Just ask if don’t understand anything.”

“It’s like this,” Ryan began, carefully choosing his words as he broached a topic that had been weighing on his mind. “Upon my recent ascension to the rank of [First Order Pirate], I’ve noticed my spirituality manifesting more tangibly in this world. However, I’m at a loss on how to enhance this spirituality. Regular exercises seem futile, and with my current level, advancing to a second-tier professional seems out of reach.”

“You’re quite correct,” Freni replied, her smile conveying both encouragement and a hint of seriousness. “Advancing from a first-level to a second-level professional requires meeting stringent spiritual benchmarks. Without adequate spirituality, you risk being overwhelmed and lost in its vast ocean, turning into nothing more than a spiritual husk.”

“You only assumed your new role two days ago. My initial plan was to allow you a few days to settle in before discussing this, but now that you’ve brought it up, it’s as good a time as any,” Freni continued.

“Professionals progress through sequences, and each sequence is distinct, codified in the [Golden Rule]. This sequence, also referred to as the path, dictates the course a professional must follow to ascend.”

“It’s not just about difficulty, it’s about compatibility,” she added.

“Compatibility?” Ryan echoed, furrowing his brows in thought.

“Yes, compatibility,” Freni elaborated. “You’ve probably noticed how the names of our professions, like your [Pirate], Cecilia’s [Soldier], and my [Scholar] are not just titles. They are keys to understanding our paths. For instance, as a [Scholar], my path involves the pursuit of diverse and novel knowledge. The more unique and groundbreaking the knowledge, the deeper my compatibility with my spiritual path.”

She paused to ensure Ryan was following, then resumed, “The typical method for spiritual growth is to enhance this vocational compatibility. When your compatibility reaches a sufficient threshold, you become eligible for promotion.”

“And while we’re discussing conventional methods,” Freni hinted with a knowing look, “there are, of course, some less orthodox paths one might explore…”

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.

On the wind-swept deck, Freni regarded Ryan with a solemn gaze and spoke with measured seriousness:

“In the shadowed corridors between nations, and even upon the vast seas, there lies a clandestine practice employed by certain practitioners. This method, shrouded in secrecy, allows one to siphon the spiritual essence of others to augment their own. Those who master this dark art are often referred to as ‘Soul Reapers.'”

Ryan listened intently, the sea breeze tugging at his coat as Freni continued, “These Soul Reapers belong to a zealous order known as the ‘Sanctum of Sanguine.’ Should you ever cross paths with such entities, extreme caution is advised.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Beyond the Soul Reapers, there exist other, perilous paths of power enhancement. Each bears grave consequences, and I urge you, only in direst need should you consider such routes.”

“I understand,” Ryan replied, his face etched with the weight of the knowledge.

Pleased with his attentiveness, Freni nodded, “Though I’m not well-versed in your chosen path of the pirate, adhering faithfully to its practices daily should steadily enhance your spirit.”

“That should cover it,” Freni concluded, then, with a final nod of approval, escorted Cecilia back to the captain’s quarters.

Left alone, Ryan’s gaze drifted across the ocean’s expanse. “Is it merely about fitting in, or is it more about embodying the role?” he mused.

He pondered further, “What actions define a pirate? Is it the stereotypical plundering and carousing? Or is there more that I’m missing?”

His knowledge was, after all, primarily derived from films and stories from his previous life, surface-level portrayals that barely scratched the depth of true pirate lore.

“I suppose the path unfolds one step at a time,” Ryan sighed, a mix of resolve and trepidation in his heart. “Navigating the ‘Path of the Pirate’ seems fraught with complexities far beyond the straightforward physical enhancements of my traveler’s clone.”

Ryan paced restlessly to the bow of the ship and settled into a cross-legged position. Although he wasn’t engaged in his usual rigorous “charge training,” his hands lingered near the hilt of his sword, a testament to his reluctance to part with his martial practice.

…

Time seemed to slip away as effortlessly as the sea beneath them, and before long, the sun had climbed to its zenith. At that very moment, the lookout perched atop the crow’s nest caught sight of a warship on the horizon through his telescope. The sight of the fluttering naval flag sent a jolt of fear through him, and he scrambled down to deliver the news to Captain Freni with a mix of urgency and dread.

Meanwhile, Ryan had moved to the stern, taking up a telescope to assess the situation himself. His eyes narrowed as he compared their own vessel, the Black Rose, with the looming naval ship. It was a formidable fifth-level sail cruiser, stretching nearly 150 feet with over 40 guns and a weight between 600 to 800 tons. In contrast, the Black Rose seemed almost childlike.

“Royal Navy…” Ryan muttered under his breath, his tone solemn yet unsurprised. Pursuing those marked with the “bloody mark” was well within their remit.

By his estimation, the navy warship was about two nautical miles away. Given the great disparity in speed, Ryan knew they would be overtaken within the hour. Conflict was on the horizon.

Just then, a crisp voice broke through his thoughts. Freni, accompanied by Cecilia, joined him at the stern. “It seems it’s the navy,” Freni observed, peering into the distance. In his eyes flickered a complex blend of resolve and resignation.

“…We need to handle this quickly and continue on our way,” he declared.

“What do you mean?” Ryan asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Freni’s response was sharp and focused. “We stop sailing and face them head-on,” he instructed. Turning to a pirate nearby, he commanded, “Raise the white flag!”

With a nervous nod, the pirate dashed off to carry out the order, his movements quickened by the urgency of the moment.

Pirates struggled to grasp Captain Freni’s strategy, the pirates though followed the command as their allegiance secured more by the coercive power of the curse seal than understanding or agreement.

“The disparity in firepower between the Black Rose and those naval warships is vast,” Freni explained, his voice steady despite the looming threat. “If we enter a direct artillery exchange, our ship could suffer severe damage, jeopardizing our ability to continue. A feigned surrender will allow us to engage in close quarters combat, turning the tide to our advantage.”

Ryan nodded slowly, his understanding dawning even as anxiety knotted his stomach. “But what if they disregard the rules of engagement and bombard us even after we’ve raised the white flag?”

Freni’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Then they risk damaging their own vessel in the fray.”

Ryan’s eyes brightened with a mix of admiration and relief. He extended his thumb in approval. “Clever plan, Captain.”

…

On the deck of the White Dove, Lord Sproul peered through his telescope at the Skull, noting the white flag fluttering above it. His brow creased with suspicion.

Surrender without a fight?

He turned to his advisor, a seasoned swordsman known simply as Ir. “Mr. II, what do you make of their sudden surrender?”

II, ever the pragmatist, merely shook his head. “My lord, the decision rests with you. My role is solely to aid in the capture of the Bloody Son.”

Lord Sproul glanced back, seeking input from the silent figure of the Black Knight lingering in the shadows, but no counsel came. After a tense few seconds of deliberation, he made his call. “Bring us alongside them.”

He understood well the difference in merit between sinking a pirate ship and capturing one intact, let alone the difference between killing and capturing the infamous Bloody Son alive. For the crew, it meant a share in the bounty; for him, it was a potential step toward nobility, perhaps even a baronetcy.

Despite the peculiarities of the situation, Lord Sproul felt compelled to proceed with his decision. With the formidable presences of “Swordsman” Il and the Black Knight by his side, both highly skilled first-level professionals, he was confident that whatever circumstances arose, they would be well-equipped to handle them.

As the Black Rose had ceased its advance, the distance between the two vessels closed rapidly. Soon, they were a mere fifty meters apart, allowing Lord Sproul a clear view of the opposing deck through his spyglass.

What he observed was a crew of pirates, visibly shaken, their postures betraying a mixture of fear and resignation. None among them stood out as particularly noteworthy.

“Where is ‘Roshan’ Salem?” Lord Sproul murmured, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Yet, after a moment’s contemplation, he maintained his course, signaling his crew to initiate the docking procedures.

Armed with cutlasses and pistols, Lord Sproul, Il, and a contingent of navy soldiers swung onto the deck of the Skull via grappling hooks. The pirates they faced retreated without resistance, their silent submission easing the tension in Lord Sproul’s chest.

With the entirety of the White Dove’s combat force now aboard the Skull, escape seemed an unlikely prospect for the pirates.

Stepping forward confidently, Lord Sproul was about to demand the whereabouts of Salem, the “Roshan,” when the unexpected occurred. The subdued pirates suddenly crouched into a defensive stance, their heads bowed.

Before Lord Sproul could process the shift, a blinding flash of sword light erupted from within the huddled mass of pirates. It sliced through the air with lethal precision, heading straight for him.

The speed and ferocity of the attack were overwhelming, sending a spike of adrenaline through Lord Sproul’s body as his pupils constricted to pinpoints, a visceral response to the imminent threat of death.