Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 54

Chapter 54: Spirituality Improvement!
“Clang…”

The echoing sound of clattering bones and searing agony roused the Black Knight from his stupor.

Gritting his teeth tightly, he allowed the blood to continue trickling from the corners of his mouth, each drop a testament to his pain and defiance.

In that moment, his heart was a tumultuous sea of emotions, shock, fear, but predominantly, a surging tide of rage.

As a seasoned second-level elite, how had he been brought to his knees by a mere blade wielded by a ‘newcomer’, a novice freshly minted from his initiation?

How could he, the Black Knight, fail to parry a single sword strike?

Even wounded, even dismissively holding his sword with one hand, the fact remained: he had not blocked the strike.

Any excuse seemed paltry against the starkness of reality.

Yet, with each passing second, his anger deepened, fueling a burning desire for vengeance.

Such disgrace, such humiliation, only blood could cleanse it!

As the Black Knight poised to unleash a spiritual counterattack, he caught the young man opposite him, Ryan, parting his lips. Suddenly, a ferocious wave of spiritual sound erupted. The Black Knight, overwhelmed at close range, felt his mind reel and his concentrated spiritual energy shatter.

His advanced status allowed him to recover from the shock in less than a tenth of a second. In that brief window, Ryan, wrought with extreme pain and teetering on collapse, inhaled sharply and pushed down harder. The sword plunged deeper into the Black Knight’s shoulder, the blade slicing through flesh to reveal stark white bone beneath.

Ryan’s intent was clear, to cleave the Black Knight in two with a single, decisive stroke. Alas, the Black Knight’s armor absorbed much of the blow from Ryan’s ‘Storm Sword Skill – Breaking Waves’. Though the armor fractured, the diminished force of the attack was insufficient to drive the blade any deeper.

In that critical moment, after his [War Cry] and the forceful thrust of his sword, Ryan had reached his physical limits. His fingers could no longer muster the strength to twitch.

The Black Knight, severely wounded yet driven by a dark, spiritual fervor, gripped the sword’s edge and began to lift it gradually, his eyes ablaze with murderous intent, as if he sought to devour Ryan whole.

With a swift, resounding “Puff—!”

The Black Knight abruptly hoisted the sword, then lowered his gaze to the slender hand protruding from his left chest. His eyes widened at the sight of the still faintly beating, vivid red heart in his grasp. As the life ebbed from his eyes, a shadow of realization dimmed their fierce glow.

As the black spirituality unraveled into wisps of dark smoke, the Black Knight struggled to turn his head towards the Dark Moon Witch standing ominously behind him. His voice, raspy and faltering, barely escaped his lips: “…You… can’t escape…”

“We… have… found you…”

With each word, his voice grew fainter, and as he uttered the last syllable, the light in his eyes extinguished forever, his spiritual essence fading into silence. The Black Knight succumbed to the fatal wound that pierced his core.

“Pang Rang…”

The clang of a silver-blue sword echoed as it dropped to the ground, followed by the collapse of the Black Knight’s lifeless form. Ryan, too, exhausted beyond measure, began to fall alongside him.

As the cold deck drew near, Ryan’s eyelids grew heavy. He was overwhelmed, drained by an “energy accumulation” that had pushed him far beyond his limits, despite the aid of the “Necklace of Fertility.” It was more than his body could currently withstand.

Yet, the harsh impact he braced for never came. Instead, just before his cheek could meet the icy deck, a gentle, warm hand cradled his face. A soothing warmth seeped from this tender touch, easing Ryan into a serene slumber, his burdens momentarily forgotten.

On the deck, Freni laid Ryan down with care, then turned her attention to the Black Knight. She stood over his body, her hand reaching out, and summoned a surge of dark blue magical energy. It swirled around, enveloping the corpse. Ten seconds later, as the blue glow faded, the Black Knight’s body had vanished, leaving behind only a dark space ring.

With the threat now eradicated, Freni’s gaze shifted to Cecilia, who stood a short distance away. The once vibrant pale golden strands of the knight girl’s hair had dulled, the roots turned a lifeless gray, a sight that filled Freni’s eyes with sorrow and a deep sense of regret.

“Sorry…” she murmured, her voice carrying across the sea breeze, tinged with a poignant melancholy.

Awakened by the relentless chatter of the waves, Ryan slowly opened his eyes. The sleep he had just emerged from felt like a soothing soak in a hot spring, leaving him rejuvenated and brimming with vitality.

As his vision cleared, a gray text prompt appeared in front of him, capturing his attention instantly.

——

[Path Profession-[Pirate (First Level)] Compatibility deepened, traveling clone [spirituality] +0.5 (feedback to the main body [spirituality] +0.1)]

—What is this?

Ryan blinked in surprise, quickly piecing together the significance of the notification. His recent actions in battle had aligned well with the career path of a [Pirate], deepening his compatibility and enhancing his spirituality. However, because the enhancements were accrued by a traveling clone, only a fifth of the increase, precisely 0.1 spirituality, was transferred back to his main body.

Still, it was a considerable gain.

Ryan’s eyes widened with astonishment as he absorbed the details on the panel before him. His gaze then drifted to the [Title] column.

[Title]: Son of Blood (Those who violate the [Golden Rule] and are blood-marked will attract the Royal Navy’s pursuit, and may also garner favor from certain groups. Remaining mark duration: 2 days, 8 hours, 11 minutes, 34 seconds)

No change?

Ryan’s brow furrowed slightly.

He had anticipated an extension or intensification of his “blood mark” duration after he had slain a seemingly noble bard, a first-level professional who exuded nobility from his demeanor to his attire.

Yet, the unchanged status left Ryan puzzled.

Could it be that the man was not truly a noble? Or, was it possible that during the mark’s duration, attacking another noble wouldn’t extend the mark’s timeframe? Ryan found the latter unlikely; such a loophole would render the “blood mark” ineffectual, encouraging marked individuals to further reckless acts.

If it was the former assumption, it conflicted with known societal norms. In the Kingdom of Augustus, it was forbidden for non-nobles to don noble attire, strongly suggesting that the man’s identity as a noble was accurate. This discrepancy left Ryan deep in thought, questioning the intricacies of the “blood mark” and its implications.

Ryan pondered whether the nobleman’s “level” was too low to be considered a true noble. Within the complex hierarchy of Augustus, noble titles ranged from the high echelons of Duke and Prince to the more modest title of Lord. The latter, in many respects, was not deemed a true “noble” in the fullest sense.

Could the man he had encountered merely be a Lord? That seemed the most likely explanation.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Ryan shook his head, dismissing the quandary. After all, his situation was akin to having so many troubles that one more hardly made a difference.

Rising from the wooden bed, a pang of hunger reminded him of more immediate concerns. He opened the door and was instantly bathed in the gentle glow of moonlight.

Stepping out, a crisp voice greeted him, “Are you awake, Mr. Ryan?”

“How do you feel? Are you experiencing any discomfort?”

Ryan turned toward the voice and spotted a figure cloaked in dark blue standing by the deck’s bulwark. Bathed in the moonlight, the scene seemed almost ethereal, a page from a fairy tale tinged with a hint of melancholy.