Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Royal Navy!
In the somewhat expansive cabin, a subtle scent of must and age lingered in the air, almost like the memory of countless voyages seeped into the very woodwork.

Ryan remained indifferent to the olfactory backdrop of his surroundings.

Sprawled on his back atop the creaky wooden bed, he stared up at the dimly lit planks above him, feeling his once racing heartbeat begin to steady. The recent encounters had been more harrowing than he’d anticipated.

The prowess displayed by the new captain of the *Black Rose* and her guards had shattered his expectations. Just what did it mean to be a “first-order [scholar]” or a “first-order [soldier]”? How could one possibly acquire such formidable abilities?

Ryan had no answers.

Mercifully, despite Freni uncovering the truth of his blood-mark, she exhibited no desire to delve deeper. After a brief interrogation, she dismissed him. Ryan puzzled over her leniency, what was her ultimate goal? Despite the mystery, he detected no malice from Freni.

As long as she needed to remain the navigator of the ‘Black Rose’ until a suitable replacement could be found, Ryan felt a cautious relief about his immediate safety.

‘It’s the circumstance that molds the man, yet my own strength is still lamentably inadequate,’ Ryan mused, a bitter acknowledgment of his current vulnerability. Powerlessness meant a lack of voice, a lack of choice.

His thoughts drifted to his recent travels, particularly the disastrous encounter where he had met his demise at the claws of four beach crabs. Reflecting on the ordeal, he realized his prolonged struggle with the first crab had inadvertently drawn the others from their lair amidst a tempestuous downpour.

‘Next time, I must isolate them from their cave and confront them singly,’ Ryan strategized, a lesson learned in blood and sand.

With the recent enhancements to his Traveling Clone, he felt a surge in his capabilities, confronting a solitary Beach Crab head-on without subterfuge was now within his grasp. The tangible improvements with each level ascension promised him a chance at survival in these traitorous waters, even if the elite “Path Profession” remained elusive for now.

As his body succumbed to the overwhelming tide of exhaustion, a physical and mental toll wrought by the day’s escapades, Ryan’s thoughts ebbed away into the pull of sleep.

In the quietude of the cabin, with the sea whispering just beyond the ship’s hull, he finally let go, allowing the much-needed rest to overtake him. This momentary sanctuary offered a respite, a place to gather strength for the trials that lay ahead.

The sea, a vast canvas of the unpredictable, had once again demonstrated its capricious nature.

As abruptly as it had arrived, the tempest ceased. The rain tapered off, the tumultuous waves calmed, and by twilight, serenity reigned over the sea.

In the bustling expanse of Silver Moon Bay’s largest port, a formidable level five sailing cruiser, the ‘White Dove’, embarked on its journey. Stretching an impressive 150 feet in length with a hefty displacement of 800 tons, it boasted a formidable armament of 40 cannons. Its flag, billowing proudly in the sea breeze, bore the insignia of the Royal Navy of the Augustus Dynasty, crossed swords under a halo of purple thistle, symbols of martial prowess and royal lineage.

The Royal Navy, dreaded by offshore pirates as the “most terrifying hunter,” had a reputation for relentless pursuit from which almost no pirate could escape.

At that moment, on the second deck of the ‘White Dove’, Lord Sproul lowered his brass telescope, his expression tinged with gravity. Pinned to the wooden mast behind him were over a dozen wanted posters fluttering slightly in the wind, each bearing the visage of pirates sought by the Royal Navy.

Among these, two posters were particularly conspicuous. Adorned with vibrant red lace and significantly larger than the others, they depicted a woman and a man, the notorious “Darkmoon Witch” Freni and new infamous blood son, Ryan Leland, accused of slaying the governor of Silver Moon Bay’s eldest son.

Labelled as a heretic and the sole surviving heir of a disgraced noble house, their infamy was legendary.

Lord Sproul, dressed in refined aristocratic attire complemented by an ornate wig, was conscious of his image. Originally a commoner, his rise to prominence was marked by his numerous captures of wanted pirates, earning him a noble title.

Yet, despite the external accolades, Lord Sproul was acutely aware of his limitations. To the world, he was a noble lord, but he knew the reality, that his ascent to this station likely marked the pinnacle of his life’s trajectory.

In the hierarchical structure of the Kingdom of Augustus, the title of “lord” does not equate to true nobility. It is a distinction often granted to civilians who have demonstrated notable merit, a title non-hereditary and considered a step below the peerage.

For one to ascend to the rank of baron and enter the echelons of true aristocracy, it typically requires the sustained efforts of three successive generations.

Lord Sproul, however, lacked the patience for such a protracted endeavor.

A golden opportunity had presented itself at Silver Moon Bay, the emergence of two infamous Sons of Blood.

While the notorious Dark Moon Witch did not pique Lord Sproul’s interest for capture, Ryan Leland, a former noble now reduced to commoner status, did. The so-called “bloody mark” of the [Golden Rule] could be tracked by the Kingdom’s [Lawkeepers] on the “Law Path,” allowing them to estimate a target’s strength.

Though the [Dark Moon Witch] shared his rank as a first-level official professional and was a rare “Sea Witch,” Lord Sproul harbored doubts about his ability to apprehend her. Ryan Leland, on the other hand, seemed a more feasible target. This man, who had brazenly killed a noble, possessed no known ties to the professions, a fact that made him an enticing target for Lord Sproul, who could scarcely forgive himself if he let such a “plump lamb” slip through his fingers.

Capturing or eliminating a Bloody Son would garner him enough merit to be elevated to the rank of baron.

With a stern command, Lord Sproul ordered, “Set sail with the wind and pursue at full speed! After we capture the Bloody Son, the reward in gold pounds will be distributed among all of you. I shall claim none of it.”

His declaration was met with resounding cheers from the crew, invigorated by the promise of reward; they intensified their efforts, propelling the ship swiftly towards their distant quarry.

…

The rhythmic crashing of waves against the hull served as a gentle tumult that roused Ryan from his slumber.

Awakening to a gnawing hunger and the enticing aroma drifting through the air, he stretched languidly, feeling the weight of his previous exhaustion lift in an instant. His eyes fell upon a wooden table not far off.

At this moment, a modest feast lay upon the wooden table in Ryan’s cabin: a plate of toasted white bread, two vibrant oranges, and a glass of ale, shimmering slightly under the dim light. At sea, where scurvy was a constant threat, fruits rich in vitamins were a rare and cherished luxury, usually reserved for rare occasions or the affluent.

Compelled by the growling in his stomach, Ryan swung his legs off the bed and devoured the meal. Satisfied, he leaned back in the wooden chair with a deep, contented sigh.

It was then that he noticed the discomfort of his still-damp clothes clinging to his skin, making him feel clammy and uncomfortable. Reluctantly, he changed into the rough linen clothes and trousers laid out for him, grimacing at the coarse fabric against his skin. In these harsh conditions, comfort was a luxury he had to forgo.

Peering through the cabin’s small window, Ryan caught sight of the faint moonlight and murmured to himself, “Have I slept for more than six hours…”

Though unsure of the exact time, he recalled being rescued by the Black Rose around noon, and now darkness enveloped the sea.

“I wonder if the [Travel] function resets at midnight each day, or only every 24 hours…” Ryan pondered, trying to gauge the mechanics of his mysterious ability, his mind teeming with unanswered questions as he stared into the moonlit night.