Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 49

Chapter 49: A Bard’s Poems!
The sword strike streaked across the air like a bolt of lightning, reaching its target in a mere blink.

“Ding——!”

A sharp, metallic clang reverberated through the air, accompanied by undulating waves of spiritual energy. Suddenly, a figure materialized in front of Lord Sproul, parrying the blow with a long, black sword.

The mysterious defender, clad entirely in black, was none other than the renowned “Sword Master,” Il.

The thwarted assailant executed a nimble backflip, landing gracefully on the ship’s wooden deck.

Adorned in a gleaming silver chainmail shirt, the young woman wielded a slender, silver rapier. Her eyes, cold and impassive as a frozen lake, betrayed no emotion.

“Sword Master” Il faced her with a grave expression, his grip on his sword’s hilt trembling ever so slightly. The thrust she had delivered was precisely aimed at a critical weakness in his stance, narrowly missing a potentially fatal blow.

“Such exquisite mastery of the blade… Who are you? There’s no pirate in these waters with skills like yours!” Il exclaimed, his tone laden with a mix of respect and bewilderment.

Behind Il, Lord Sproul, who had narrowly evaded death, was catching his breath, his heart pounding wildly. For a fleeting moment, he had seen his life flash before his eyes.

He felt a surge of gratitude for having enlisted the help of “Sword Master” II, realizing just how close he had come to a dire fate.

As his initial shock subsided, it was swiftly replaced by a fierce indignation. How dare a mere pirate challenge him, Lord Sproul!

With a swift flick of his wrist, Lord Sproul summoned an ancient harp into his hands. As he channeled his spiritual energy into the instrument, melodious strains began to fill the air, weaving a spell of courage and strength.

The haunting music bolstered “Sword Master” Il’s focus, his aura intensifying. The marines, rallied by the empowering harmonies, unsheathed their weapons with fervent cries of “To battle!”

Together, they stood, a united front against the mysterious intruder, driven by the compelling call of their lord’s magical harp.

This is known as the “Poet’s Path,” the quintessential ability of the novice profession [Bard], aptly named [War Psalm]. When the melodious notes of the piano cascade through the air, allies are emboldened with significant enhancements, while adversaries find themselves beleaguered by an array of debilitating afflictions such as slowed movements, mental disturbances, and a general spiritual malaise.

The [First-Level Bard] may not possess formidable combat prowess directly, yet when it comes to support capabilities, they stand unparalleled among their peers.

On the deck, the already dispirited pirates found their resolve further eroding under the haunting melody of the piano. Were it not for the binding magic of the curse seal, they might have turned tail and fled immediately.

It’s an acknowledged truth that pirates harbor an intrinsic dread of the navy. In every conceivable metric, be it individual gear, ship capabilities, discipline, or teamwork, the pirates fall drastically short of their naval counterparts, appearing nothing more than a ragtag bunch in comparison.

Cecilia’s brow furrowed in annoyance.

The strains of [The Bard]’s piano were truly vexatious.

At that moment, “Sword Master”

Il made his move.

A shimmer of spiritual light enveloped him, rendering his figure slightly blurred to the eye.

“Stab…”

The sound was a sharp hiss, a testament to the friction between his clothing and the air as he moved at breakneck speed.

“Ding!”

Cecilia’s face was a mask of calm as she swiftly redirected her rapier, not to defend but to counterattack, intercepting Il’s aggressive lunge with impeccable precision.

The perfect timing of her counterstrike widened Il’s eyes in astonishment.

Forced to alter his swordplay, Il managed to parry her thrust just in time to avoid the piercing blade.

Il’s features were etched with gravity.

He could sense that although the girl’s strength and speed were typical of a first-level professional, her rich combat experience and flawless sword technique surpassed even those of many second-level professionals.

“Such a formidable adversary…” he murmured, acknowledging the unexpected challenge posed by this knightly opponent.

“Sword Master” Il was beginning to regret his acceptance of Lord Sproul’s request for aid.

“Once the arrow is loosed, it does not return to the bow,” he mused ruefully, acknowledging that retreat was no longer an option.

With their fates now intertwined as adversaries, a fight to the death seemed the only remaining course. Resignation settled over Il’s features, steeling into a calm resolve as he brandished his long sword in a sweeping arc.

To an untrained eye, the maneuver might have appeared simple, but as the sword sliced through the air, a radiant white light began to intensify along its blade.

This was the “Charged Slash,” a deceptively modest [sword skill] that used special techniques to amplify a basic slash into a devastating strike, potentially unleashing one and a half times the usual power of the blade, a formidable tactic in any skirmish.

Across from him, Cecilia’s gaze flickered with anticipation. With a fluid motion as swift and elusive as a silver serpent darting from the water, she thrust her stabbing sword. The movement was too swift to trace, and her blade aimed directly at Il’s face with lethal precision.

“Cang!”

Il realized in that critical moment that if he persisted with his slashing attack, Cecilia’s rapier would pierce his brow before his own blade could even graze her. In a crisis, even a warrior as seasoned as him had to swallow his pride and shift tactics, abruptly breaking off his [Sword Skill] to defend instead of attack.

“Ding——”

The force of Cecilia’s thrust pushed Il back several paces, his hands trembling from the effort to counteract the powerful impact. More than the physical strain of interrupting his skill was the psychological toll it took on him.

As a celebrated swordsman of Silver Moon Bay, being outmaneuvered and nearly bested by a simple rapier was not just humiliating, it was maddening.

Yet, even amidst his fury, Il’s disciplined mind clung to a sobering realization: he was likely no match for the knightly maiden before him. The [War Psalm]’s bolstering was the only thing that had allowed him to change his move in time to avoid a fatal strike. Without it, he might have met his end with that single exchange.

The nature of melee combat with cold weapons is such, it lacks ostentation, yet every strike harbors lethal intent.

As II faced the knightly maiden who stood her ground with sword in hand but curiously refrained from advancing, confusion mingled with suspicion in his heart. It was then that a series of heavy thuds resounded behind him.

“Plop! Plop!”

With a swift sidelong glance, Il’s eyes widened in horror at the sight that unfolded. The wooden deck had transformed into a dark expanse marked by inky blue veins that spread like a colossal spider’s web. The navy personnel, ensnared within these sinister threads, struggled in vain like flies caught in an arachnid’s trap, their bodies bound by the dark blue strands. Muted by the entanglement, they fell silently to the deck, unable to utter a single cry for help.

It dawned on II that of all those who had disembarked from the White Dove, only he and Lord Sproul remained unaffected by the malevolent “Dark Blue Spider Web.”

A chill of fear, unfamiliar and unsettling, crept into Il’s heart. He had neither heard of nor witnessed such a spectral dark blue force before.

“Boom…”

A soft, ominous thud echoed from behind.

Turning his gaze, II noticed a young man appearing on the rear bulwark as if materializing from nowhere. With a light hop, he landed gracefully on the deck, clutching an enormous sword nearly as tall as himself, and began advancing towards Lord Sproul.

His appearance was unassuming, barely distinguishable from an ordinary man’s. His fair, unblemished skin hinted at a life of nobility, sheltered from the harshness of sun and wind.

Yet, despite his delicate demeanor, this young man exuded an aura so menacing that Il and Lord Sproul felt as though they were confronting a savage beast. Each step he took seemed to intensify the looming threat, casting a shadow of dread over the deck.