Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 79

Chapter 79: One-Eyed Santas!
Panic flickered across the faces of the pirates as the ship trembled under the aquatic assault, and Santas, the notorious captain of the Cyclops, felt his heart lurch with the closeness of the blast.

“Damn, how did they manage such precision from that distance!” Santas muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing in a mix of admiration and irritation.

The audacity of the opposing ship to retaliate against the feared Cyclops Pirates was a clear challenge, and it painted a grim scowl across Santas’ weathered face. “Full steam ahead! Close the gap!” he barked, his voice a mixture of fury and excitement. “It seems the legends of the Cyclops Pirates have faded from memory in these waters. Time to remind them who rules the waves.”

Rejecting the option of a long-range artillery duel, given the superior firepower of the enemy’s cannons coupled with the accuracy shown by the other ship, Santas knew all too well that a true naval skirmish wasn’t won by firepower alone. His gaze fixed on the distant ship, eyes alight with the thrill of the chase and not just for the prize of the elusive blue-spotted electric ray, but for the ship itself, the Black Rose, which seemed to taunt them with its stationary defiance.

The Cyclops surged forward like a spear loosed from a bow, rapidly diminishing the distance to the Black Rose, which oddly remained still as stone on the water. Santas stood at the prow, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Neither fleeing nor fighting,” he mused aloud. “Just what are you playing at?”

Doubt gnawed at him. Surely, they recognized his flag, the black eye on a field of red, a symbol feared across many seas. Yet their posture was one of blatant confrontation, an open invitation for battle.

A flicker of unease tinged Santas’ thoughts, a premonition of an unseen threat, but it quickly dissolved into the salt air. “If word spreads that the Cyclops shied from a skirmish with an unknown crew, our reputation would be tarnished,” he growled to himself. Not only would his standing be questioned, but his alliances with powerful factions like the Iron Eagle and Blood Demon Pirates might falter.

“This battle is inevitable,” Santas declared with a steely resolve. As the Cyclops drew near, the call to arms rang out. “All hands, prepare for combat!”

“Boarding parties, ready the ropes! Bring us alongside!”

The fierce determination in Santas’ eyes mirrored the relentless surge of the sea. “Let’s see the mettle that fuels your bravado.”

With a resonant “Bang!” echoing over the waves, the battle was set to begin.

The wooden hulls of the opposing ships groaned as they collided with a thunderous crash, setting the stage for a fierce battle. The Cyclops Pirates, bristling with anticipation, brandished their weapons and swung across the gap between the decks on thick ropes, their faces split with eager grins.

Among the Cyclops Pirates, mediocrity found no harbor. Each member had proven their mettle through perilous trials, and scampering across ropes was considered mere child’s play to these seasoned marauders.

Leading the charge were the formidable duo known throughout the seas, the corpulent “Bone Eviscerator” Lonnie and the wiry “Ripper” Edge, first and second mates of the crew, respectively. Not only did they rank just below “One-Eyed” Santas in hierarchy, but they were also distinguished as the only first-level professionals on board, a testament to their fearsome prowess.

The deck of the enemy ship, the Black Rose, received the pirates’ boots with a solid thud. Lonnie and Edge were the first to land, their eyes scanning the deck for any sign of resistance. To their surprise, the deck was nearly deserted except for a solitary figure, a youthful man, no older than twenty, with sun-kissed blond hair and skin untouched by the harshness of maritime life more like a noble then a pirate.

What really drew the mates’ attention was the weapon slung across the young man’s back, a massive broadsword, uncharacteristic for naval skirmishes. Lonnie and Edge exchanged a look before bursting into boisterous laughter.

“Feast your eyes on this, Edge! A broadsword for a sea battle?” Lonnie roared, his voice carrying over the deck.

Edge snickered, leaning in as if sharing a private joke. “Seems the lad plans to anchor himself to the seabed with that hunk of iron!”

Their laughter was infectious, and soon the whole boarding party was echoing the sentiment, the deck ringing with mirth.

Regaining his composure, Lonnie squared his shoulders, his large frame shadowing the young swordsman. “Well, lad, if it’s the depths of sea you seek, I’m only too happy to oblige,” he declared, his voice a menacing growl.

Unsheathing his oversized scimitar, a blade as brutal and hefty as its owner, Lonnie’s presence was as imposing as a war chariot charging into battle. His reputation was built on the backs of fallen enemies, crushed under the might of his merciless attacks.

With a predatory smirk, he advanced toward the solitary figure, his massive boots pounding the deck like cannon fire. Behind him, the pirates watched with grim anticipation, certain of their mate’s victory. Yet, in the world of pirates and privateers, the tide of battle was as unpredictable as the sea itself.

The only difference might have been the span of spilled blood that marked the distance between life and death.

Facing the towering form of the aggressive pirate, Ryan’s demeanor remained composed, his eyes tranquil pools of resolve. Slowly, his right hand reached behind him and grasped the hilt of his weapon, the Great Sword·Ferocious Ice Flower, a blade renowned across the seas for its chill as much as its cut.

Ryan remained motionless, an enigmatic statue, until the hulking pirate, “Bone-Eviscerating” Lonnie, closed to within five meters. Then, with a decisive motion, he drew his great sword.

The sound of the blade unsheathing eclipsed even the ocean’s roar, a metallic clang that sent shivers through the air. The sword’s silver-blue gleam cast a spectral light over the deck, catching the eyes of every pirate with its icy radiance.

None but “One-Eyed” Santas, who had only just arrived on deck, witnessed the swift arc of Ryan’s sword. In a blink, heads tumbled through the air, their owners’ eyes wide with disbelief and horror, not understanding the silence of their own demise until it was too late.

Lonnie’s realization came as he saw his own body, headless and slumping, a moment frozen in time as he turned to see the young swordsman sheathing his weapon. The truth hit him, he had been defeated, outclassed in a single, swift stroke that he hadn’t even seen coming.

With a reluctant dread settling into his fading vision, Lonnie’s world plunged into an eternal darkness, marked only by the rhythmic ticking of his blood spattering the wooden planks, a grim metronome counting down his final moments.

The deck was slick with blood, each drop echoing in the shocked silence that had fallen over the remaining pirates. They stumbled backward, the sight of their formidable mate’s swift defeat igniting a primal fear. “Ripper” Edge, in particular, felt a cold sweat break out along his spine. He had been moments away from joining Lonnie in the charge, but a last-minute hesitation, a fleeting respect for Lonnie’s rank as first mate, had stayed his hand. That split-second decision had saved his life.

Suddenly, a heavy thud resonated as “One-Eyed” Santas landed squarely in front of the young swordsman. Santas surveyed Ryan with a newfound wariness, his one good eye narrowing. “A second-level elite?” he muttered, sensing something amiss with Ryan’s spiritual aura.

With a deep, steadying breath, Santas ceased his musings and summoned his weapon. A silver spear materialized from the flash of his space ring, gripped firmly in his hand.

“I don’t know who you are, or what corner of the world you crawled out from, but you’ve killed my men,” Santas growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Prepare to face my spear before we speak another word!”

With a fierce determination, Santas lunged forward, the spear a silver blur as it sliced through the salty air, aimed directly at Ryan’s face, marking the start of a perilous duel on the blood-stained deck.

The surface of the silver spear was intricately engraved with delicate, swirling lines that shimmered with an ethereal glow, indicating its rarity and power. As it cleaved through the air in a mesmerizing spiral, it tore apart the atmosphere, leaving behind a glistening trail of silver light that danced like stardust in its wake.

Ryan’s gaze sharpened, his instincts on high alert.

Even before the spear had fully launched its assault, a piercing pain pricked the skin over his heart, a phantom sting that hinted at the weapon’s lethal precision aiming straight towards his heart.

He had never encountered such a ferociously sharp artifact before.

Energy surged through his veins, his blood pounding fiercely. Time seemed to dilate around him, focusing his senses solely on the relentless advance of the silver spear, its light magnifying in his dilated pupils.