Chapter 145: Pirates (Part 4)
The first clash of swords caused the entire ship to shake violently. The deck creaked as if it were about to split in two; the wood, unable to withstand such pressure, cracked and spat splinters in all directions.
The pirate smiled broadly, revealing sharp, yellowed teeth. His arm trembled from the force he was exerting, but he did not retreat. Instead, he applied more pressure, stubbornly sinking his sword deeper.
The clash of their auras collided like invisible lightning bolts, generating electric crackles that filled the deck with a vibrant and oppressive air.
Michel felt the growing weight of that power. His feet sank a few millimeters deeper into the damaged wood, leaving marks as if the deck itself wanted to trap him. However, not even the slightest trace of discomfort appeared on his face. Quite the contrary: a small, calm, and amused smile remained intact on his lips.
Suddenly, he applied more force to the coin sword. The blade flashed coldly, and with a precise movement, he repelled the pirate’s attack. His body rose slightly in a small leap backward, landing lightly, as if his feet carried no weight at all.
The pirate leader’s eyes widened in surprise. His knuckles cracked as he recoiled, feeling the recoil as a painful vibration in his arm.
For a moment, his thoughts raced: how was it possible that a young man could force him to retreat? But then he remembered the reality: that young-faced boy was also in rank 7... and not only that, he was at a higher level than him.
The pirate looked up at the cloudy sky, as if searching for an answer there. For a moment, the idea of jumping into the river and escaping crossed his mind. But that illusion was shattered as soon as he looked up again: a young man with black hair was watching him with a completely indifferent expression, as if he had already decided his fate.
The pirate leader let out a long sigh. His lungs expanded, filling his body with air, and he immediately began to sing in a deep, booming voice:
"Vermin! Hear the Old Wolf roar! My axe is hungry, and the river demands its tribute of sighs!"
His voice spread like a roar.
"We are not thieves... we are the flowing end! Carcass is our banner, and with it we shall prevail!"
As he sang, his orange aura began to distort, as if boiling from within. The colors blended, darkening until they turned a deep red, like fresh blood.
His veins swelled like living snakes beneath his skin. His muscles bulged in a matter of seconds, tearing part of his clothes, while his silhouette grew and his shadow lengthened like that of a monster emerging from the depths of the river.
The deck shook once more. The air grew heavy. And before Michel, the pirate no longer looked like a man, but a beast.
"To the helm! In my name! Let the screams be the coins that our efforts pay."
"I don’t want booty... I want to see how their fear sails!"
"Heh... his cantinco changed."
Michel showed no surprise at the pirate’s sudden change. His lips barely betrayed a cold smile, and his eyes remained calm.
On the contrary, he clearly sensed that his opponent had become stronger. The difference was no longer abysmal. The pirate was now only one level below him. Michel, rank 7, Peak level, could see the gap narrowing.
...
"He~. A battle cry... interesting. Willing to burn his life away just to delay the inevitable."
Kael had already suspected it when he saw the other pirates, men who sang until the end of their lives like beasts driven by an invisible force. But witnessing the change in their leader confirmed it beyond a doubt.
The war chant was a little-known, ancient, and feared technique. It had been used in times past when an army lacked sufficient strength. Through it, soldiers could receive an immediate power boost, a buff.
However, the gain came at a price: every five minutes, the user’s mana essence capacity was irreversibly reduced.
In other words, with each verse of that song, the lifespan and talent of the singer were consumed like oil in a burning lamp.
What they gained in momentary power, they paid for with a withered future.
Kael understood what that meant. Such techniques were only granted to the most expendable soldiers: cannon fodder. They were sacrificed to pave the way, their talent destroyed in exchange for fleeting power.
...
The strong smell of blood permeated the air, mingling with the sound of the river crashing against the hull of the ship.
The pirate leader was the first to move. He swung his sword violently, descending upon Michel with fierce momentum. His body, despite its size, moved with surprising speed.
Michel dodged with pinpoint accuracy. His response was immediate: he counterattacked with all his strength. His cuts were so fast that the pirate barely understood what had happened.
A moment later, his entire arm was sliced off. The flesh was torn, and blood gushed like a fountain, falling to the ground in a grotesque spectacle.
"Let the river be stained purple with sorrow!"
"Let every sob be a song to our wind!"
"What we leave behind is not a man... it is a story!"
"So that the world may know the horror of my attempt!"
Even with his wound open, the pirate leader did not stop. Instead of retreating, he sang furiously as he threw a devastating punch.
Swoosh!
The air was torn apart by the speed of his attack, generating friction that echoed across the deck.
"..." Michel watched him silently. His gaze did not waver. The smile that had previously graced his face had disappeared.
When the fist was just a breath away from him, Michel turned his body just enough: a single millimeter. That slight movement was enough to dodge the blow. The gust that unleashed behind him was so violent that it blew several drums off the ship.
The disappointment on his face was evident. With the war cry, the pirate had sacrificed his rationality in exchange for increased power. In that state, he was just a raging beast, guided by primitive instincts. For someone like Michel, that made him an easy target.
The counterattack came without mercy. The pirate, deprived of reason, lacked the sharpness to defend himself.
If it weren’t for that burst of power, he might have been able to react. He might not have lost his arm. But now, reduced to an animal that only knew how to charge, his fate was sealed.
It was disappointing. And pathetic at the same time.
"What a waste of time."
Michel vanished with supernatural speed. His figure disappeared as if he had never been there, and in the same instant, he reappeared behind the pirate leader. The sword of coins glinted in his hand. His gaze, however, was not on his enemy. It was fixed on Kael, who watched the scene with an indifferent expression.
A second later, reality adjusted to Michel’s speed. The steel had already done its job.
"Plunder! Drink! It is for you, my horde..."
"My pleasure is deeper: to see life drowned, slow and bled dry."
"Now... ROW! Toward their panic! Toward their horror!"
"Let our true terror begin...!"
The pirate’s head was cleanly severed from his body as his voice faded away, spinning in the air before falling with a thud onto the wooden floor. A stream of thick blood spurted from his open neck, gushing out violently like an overflowing fountain, staining the plank beneath his feet red.
The decapitated body staggered, as if refusing to accept death, and finally fell heavily to the floor.
The impact echoed across the deck.
Thus, quickly and disappointingly, the pirates’ assault came to an end. A conflict that had begun with shouting, steel, and rape ended in silence and corpses.
The deck of the ship was littered with lifeless bodies, pirates of all kinds: hardened veterans, reckless youths, men and women who had lived under the shadow of violence... now they all shared the same fate, reduced to useless debris.
The people who had survived the assault came out onto the deck. Their steps were clumsy and heavy, as if every movement was laden with fear. As they looked around and saw the bodies of the pirates scattered on the floor, including that of their own leader, a deadly silence fell over the place.
Then the tears began to flow. Some fell to their knees, trembling, unable to stand before the magnitude of the slaughter. They wept for those they had lost, for those who would never return, for themselves.
The strong metallic smell of blood permeated the air, penetrating every breath, reminding them that there was no escape from that reality.
One man screamed in rage and pain before throwing himself onto the edge of a sword. Another, with a lost look in his eyes, let himself fall overboard, swallowed by the river without putting up a fight.
Despair consumed them with the same ferocity as Michel’s sword had moments before.
The ship continued on its way, rocking on the waves as if nothing had happened.
But for the survivors, the world had become an empty and cruel place, where even victory tasted like ashes.