Chapter 142: Pirates (Part 1)
After leaving the canteen, Kael returned to his room. The conversation with Princess Audrey had been more interesting than he had expected.
He hadn’t imagined that the princess would be so competent. With just a few words, Audrey had noticed every change in his expression, trying to extract information from him.
Kael realized that she was not just any woman: beneath that delicate appearance lay a sharp mind.
This was a slight surprise he had not anticipated. Still, it did not bother him; on the contrary, he was pleased. Several ideas began to form in his mind, like seeds of plans that would blossom when the time came.
When she reached the room, the scene was different: Michel was sitting on the bed, looking calm and indifferent.
"You’ve reached rank 7," he said suddenly. His tone was neutral, but there was an unshakeable certainty in his voice. Michel had sensed Kael’s aura; something that could not be faked.
"I arrived last night," Kael replied coldly. He said no more, simply collapsing onto the bed and closing his eyes. His breathing soon became steady, as if he were asleep, although his senses remained alert, tense as a bowstring.
Michel watched him silently. His face remained neutral, without the slightest emotion, until he finally lay down as well. Soon after, his body fell into a deep sleep. However, thanks to Kael’s teachings during his days in the jungle, his senses remained sharp, always alert to any danger.
...
In the cantina, the music was softer than anywhere else in the building. The atmosphere was heavy with lethargy. The tables, messy and stained with liquor, were occupied by a few men overcome by drunkenness, lost in troubled dreams. Their snoring mingled with the faint murmur of the melody, giving the impression of a room abandoned by life.
Amidst the silence, the door opened with a quiet squeak. A woman wearing glasses entered the room. She walked with a firm gait, yet maintained the caution of someone who knows her position. She approached the bar and, with a slight bow, spoke in a restrained voice.
"My lady, why did you tell me not to accompany you? I am responsible for your safety."
Audrey, seated, did not deign to look at her servant. She ignored his words and, with icy calm, asked:
"Do you know who Jasper Medici is?"
A trace of surprise flashed in Martha’s eyes. Still, her duty compelled her to respond clearly.
"Jasper Medici was the fourth young master of the Medici Clan. However, according to recent news reports, this clan was destroyed during the Great Spring Tournament, which they organized in the mountains. Since then, the whereabouts of the survivors remain a complete mystery."
Audrey nodded slightly. The gesture was brief, but enough to show that she valued the information.
"What does Jasper look like?"
Martha did not hesitate. Her voice remained firm, yet respectful.
"My lady, like all members of the Medici Clan, your features are unmistakable: blood-red eyes and red hair."
"I see..." Audrey murmured with a smile that seemed like a hidden blade beneath the silk. "Just as I expected. That man is too cautious to give his name so easily."
The smile on her face was not one of simple amusement, but of someone who enjoyed unraveling the hidden threads of a dangerous plot. Her eyes sparkled with interest.
"What else do you know about the Medici Clan?" she asked, intrigued, leaning slightly toward Martha. Her tone was soft, but left no doubt: this woman wanted all the information she could get. The more she knew, the better prepared she would be for the game ahead.
"As you wish, my lady."
Martha bowed deeply, her hands trembling slightly, but her voice remained clear. She began to recount everything she knew, along with the information she had managed to obtain from the Medici Clan, who had hosted the Great Spring Tournament.
The cantina remained silent as the maid’s words flowed, every detail carefully laid out. When she finished, Martha bowed her head once more, remained silent and motionless, her gaze lost, as if her thoughts were miles away.
"Hmm... I see."
Audrey let out a soft, barely audible sigh. Her delicate but firm fingers caressed the rim of the empty glass. The sound of the glass scraping against the table echoed eerily.
"They had seven young masters... and the last one is the one about whom the least information is known." A smile slowly formed on his face, curving his lips with an air of dangerous fascination. His eyes sparkled with a singular interest, fixed on the mental image of the seventh young master.
On the surface, he seemed too normal. He went unnoticed. But in the Great Spring Tournament, he revealed absolute dominance over his opponents. What caught Audrey’s attention most was not his brute strength, but the strange duality of his power: he used both magic and aura.
Something that was rarely seen.
To use magic, it was necessary to engrave a magical diagram in the heart itself. A risky act, a gamble with death. For this reason, most chose the path of the aura, which was more direct and safer. True magicians were rare, and even rarer were those who mastered the Zu, a path considered completely dead.
The advance of that seventh young master was, without a doubt, terrifying.
Audrey stopped the movement of the glass. She let it rest on the table with a slight clink. Her eyes narrowed, the smile disappeared, and she gave way to a calculating expression. She turned her gaze to Martha, her maid, with a flash of coldness in her eyes.
Inside, she couldn’t help thinking that the mysterious young man from the night before had some close connection to the Medici Clan. But the information she had obtained confirmed nothing. It was all shadows and conjecture.
Finally, Audrey leaned back in her seat and exhaled a long, deep sigh. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, as if that breath carried with it a dark decision yet to be revealed.
...
The boat continued sailing down the river of blood, entering a fog of blood, which was quite normal on this river, as unique as it was mysterious.
In the distance, silhouettes began to appear. Small boats, swaying in the haze, slowly approached. At first, those who saw them were perplexed. That route was rarely traveled; finding another boat in the fog was unlikely, almost impossible.
The confusion soon turned to alarm. Several black dots emerged from the haze, advancing at high speed. They were not ships.
They were arrows.
The first to fall was a woman. The projectile struck her squarely in the eye, sinking into her skull with a dull thud. The victim barely managed to let out a muffled scream before collapsing onto the deck, while a stream of dark blood spurted from her empty eye socket.
The screams began to erupt, desperate, heart-wrenching, mingling with the constant splashing of the river of blood. New arrows whistled through the air.
A burly man tried to stand up to give an order, but an arrow pierced his throat, cutting off his voice before he could utter a single word. Blood spurted out, bathing the floor of the ship, as he drowned in his own fluids, his hands clutching uselessly at the wound.
Another woman, who had run to the rail to hide, was struck in the back by an arrow. The projectile emerged from her chest, tearing flesh and ribs. She fell to her knees, her arms trembling, trying to breathe between gushes of blood, until she collapsed and rolled onto the deck, motionless.
A young man tried to protect his little brother by covering him with his body. Three arrows pierced him instantly: one in the back, another in the shoulder, and the last in the side. The boy fell on top of the child, convulsing as his eyes clouded over.
The little boy was trapped under his weight, crying and screaming, until another arrow ended his life as well.
Amidst all the chaos, a cry was heard:
"PIRATES! WE ARE BEING ATTACKED BY PIRATES!"
The small ships finally appeared on the horizon, dark and menacing. They were filled with pirates, their figures tense, ready to launch themselves onto the ship at any moment.
In response, several workers, including the boat owner himself, came out to defend the passengers. They ran across the deck, shouting orders and wielding improvised weapons. But the desperation was palpable; every movement was clumsy compared to the precision of the attackers.
In a matter of seconds, the deck was almost empty, a silent landscape marked by death. Only the corpses of those struck by arrows remained, twitching weakly before falling motionless, staining the wood with their dark blood.
The air was filled with a metallic smell.
Shortly thereafter, the pirates boarded the ship. Their movements were swift and calculated, and the threat was palpable with every breath. As soon as they touched the deck, chaos erupted.
A battle against the workers began. Screams mingled with the clash of metal and the thunder of blows; each attack was precise, each defense desperate. The air was filled with dust, sweat, and the acrid smell of fresh blood.
...
Kael, who had been asleep, slowly got up, his eyes glowing darkly. Listening to all the noise, he figured out what was going on.
Pirates... to be more precise, river pirates.
Knowing this, Kael thought for a moment, then lay back down, as if everything that was happening didn’t bother him in the least.