VS Hornigold
"Hey, Hornigold. What the hell are you sailing the seas for anyway?"
"If you won't laugh, I'll tell ya."
"Mocking the comrade of a man who'll conquer this sea? That ain't manly."
"A young punk who hasn't shed his scales a few times is still kickin', huh."
Scorching sunlight, birds soaring through the sky—the vast blue sea. Memories from those days more precious than treasure. Anyone would laugh. To the people, tales of the witches' sea were like ghost stories, and by the time they reached the legendary immortal being known as the sea witch Circe, they were nothing but myths. Even if dismissed as unknown fantasies, you'd be called crazy ten times out of ten.
But to him, it was a dream more certain than anything.
Raging storms, sails billowing as if they'd tear in the fierce winds. Lightning crashing down. The alien feel of metal shackles on his neck and arms, endless helplessness in pitch-black darkness without even a sliver of light. In this sea, people suffered and died meaningless deaths without hope, just for being born.
Kids even younger than his child self drowned without a sip of water. That was the value of slaves. They gave just enough food and water to keep from dying—and if that was too much, they let only the hardiest survive. They didn't care if you died; it was common sense among the scum of this world to even use the corpses.
The ship swallowed by storm and waves, sinking. As he sank into the deep sea, feeling his limbs go numb from the cold water, death became real. Then scorching sunlight, the gritty texture of sand in his mouth. Opening his eyes, he saw—for the first time in his life—a brilliant blue sky. He first beheld the sun, and standing on the beach, a goddess-like figure.
He couldn't understand what she said back then. But seeing the half-dead kid washed up by the waves, she grabbed his filthy hands without hesitation and pulled him into her embrace.
"Washed ashore, huh? You okay? Probably can't understand me."
Her words in rune tongue were incomprehensible to the boy he was then.
The witches' island, a legend unto itself. Surrounded by walls of storm, a natural prison where no one dared enter, isolating themselves. Nursed by the witches there, but she insisted, "This child's mine since I brought him—I’ll take responsibility," and cherished a worthless life.
"Hmm, Lady Circe. Gonna raise him on Witches' Island? Having a boy around might be nice."
"The island's all women! A man's gotta be good, right? We got Deynous witches too?"
When the witches cooed over the boy in bed and pestered him, she shooed them away.
"This child can't live on this island. Humans need to live among humans."
Once his body recovered enough to walk on his own, she used magic to erase his slave shackles and brand, took his hand, and promised to take him back to the surface. Money to survive and a single potion filled with red liquid.
"Drink if you're hurt. Sell it if you're desperate."
She escorted him all the way to a port city in the Trust Union, where the kindest folk lived. He didn't understand her words, but one witch translated, saying he couldn't survive alone and entrusting him to an acquaintance to learn self-reliance.
The first grace he'd ever received in his life, a selfless act with no expectation of reward. Her figure vanishing beyond the sea felt like a dream slipping away into emptiness.
That was 30 years ago.
He scraped together money, studied, learned history—and discovered the name Sea Witch Circe. With that one burning desire to meet her again, he set out to sea. He threw himself against unrelenting malice.
Elves kidnapped or massacred islanders, pirates rampaged for greed, the Empire treated them as breakwaters to protect their coasts under the guise of guardianship, enslaving any who resisted. The Holy Eagle Kingdom forced worship of their god, but even if you did—they just spread doctrine, never fighting to protect believers.
The Trust Union had the most decent folk, but they focused on guarding the Pansinjeon and their territory, minimizing needless clashes.
Hopping pirate ships, sunk by navy, captured after defeats, betrayed by treasure-hunting comrades—he endured harsh days. Treasure, lives, power, fame—none interested him. Only the history of sunken kingdoms buried deep in the sea, and what life she had lived.
──When despair crept in, heart rotting, youth fading, dreams on the verge of breaking.
He met a fool of a man.
"The sea witch Circe! Wanna meet her! Make her a crewmate!"
A greenhorn idiot just hitting the waves, and the fools following him.
The start was shaky, the process a mess. His logbook was 60% curses about the guy. But through relentless persistence, miraculous luck turning defeats, overcoming disasters, trials, strong foes—the adventure showed potential. This man could truly become the "King of the Sea."
"I got a dream too, Hornigold. Gonna build a kingdom on a massive island. King of the Sea! Second Pirate King! An untouchable king who'll smash all the injustice and oppression in these waters!"
Pure madness. Fighting elves? The lunatic actually battled the elves raiding a village, causing chaos. He miraculously survived what should've killed him, but lost one eye. Even comrade Zan lost an eye and tail in that brutal fight. Without Mortis, more would've died.
"Pirates wear eyepatches!"
"Quit your bullshit and regenerate. No more one-eyed crap!"
"Nah! Ain't it cool? Hahaha!!"
He didn't know then, but the wounds were too severe for regeneration.
After that, he hated one-eyed looks—they dredged bad memories. The 10 years with him meant more than 30 wasted alone. Sunken histories and treasures—and learning of the Sea God's Crown.
We found temple records: with that crown, one could rule the seas and islands—a true king's power. Tales of few survivors fleeing elves, handing it to gods and kings, escaping to the far sea's end.
A journey from which you might never return. Complaints abounded; some plotted mutiny, kill the captain. They told him, of course—and he had no intent to betray. Fame, power, wealth—irrelevant. One reason drove him to sea.
"If we make a nation from islands, wanna let the witches live there too. Sound good?"
"I refuse. Leave 'em be. How ya gonna handle the Evil God?"
Circe traded with an Evil God for survival and revenge. A tragic priest's record from Hecate's temple revealed her unfree state, bound by immortality's curse. Elves would move to kill her too. If the crown fell to them, she might die. So he confessed.
"If the Sea God's Crown is real... I'll betray you. Take it and run."
"Then we fight. If ya got somethin' to protect, kill your captain and take it."
──By then, the captain was dying. Cancer mushrooms riddled his lungs. He couldn't hide it, but guilt crushed him. The potion he treasured could've saved him, but it was his last link to her. The captain knew, that's why he said it.
"If ya kill me... become Pirate King. Your captain's always me."
"What nonsense... Turn back now, you can live."
"If dyin', go out like a pirate to the end."
Wishing it didn't exist, they reached the sea's end. There lay the Sea God's Crown. Before the stairs, the captain stood silent, back turned. Within reach, blood trailing as he climbed, then stopped.
Damn stubborn fool, deciding even his death. Unfathomable bastard.
"Edward Bristol—!!"
Shouting his name, drawing sword. He turned, smiling. Crossed the line climbing those stairs—a line of no return. Choosing his dream, he thrust the blade.
Believing the crown would reunite him with Circe. Snatched it and fled without looking back. Mortis's furious roar, Zan's screams—and the captain's last smile, impaled.
"Don't make that face. We're pirates, yeah?"
The Sea God's Crown wasn't for the unworthy. Like a curse, it bound him to death by fate. Couldn't remove or discard it. To keep it from being stolen, he plunged into eternal hellish battles.
Held the crown for Circe, but became a wanderer unable to meet her. Foes inevitably lost or damaged an eye, aging rapidly mid-fight from killing intent, forced to block his strikes as old men. Couldn't die—god's power in the crown prevented aging.
Empire, elves, greedy pirates. 50 years slaughtering them to guard the crown. Ruled as Sea King, built the kingdom as that damn captain wished. Faced elves head-on, protected unguarded islanders, rose as sea's absolute ruler, even beheading the Evil God to shield Circe, sitting on the cursed throne.
No one would take the Sea God's Crown. Nor approach the storm demon realm.
90 years lived for Circe, who might remember him. Despair hearing she'd lost an arm—indescribable. Not elves, Empire, or even Evil God, but nobodies did it. Vowed to rip them apart even on land, hatred burning.
──But somehow.
She looked happy. Smiling with joy. True freedom now. The man who returned her soul from the Evil God, her two arms—giving the freedom and happiness he craved. Survived his invincible fleet, defeated endless elf harassers.
Strong, unyielding grit. Dull face lacking drive or fight, yet he charmed her. Makes you wanna kill him, right? But for the first time, relief washed over. All duties, burdens, his one wish—gone without regret.
But ditching kingly duty might earn a word from the captain. A wry smile formed.
But that was fine. He had a successor.
Sick of the sea—happy to pass it on.
──Boom.
Impact to the gut shattered the rampart, sending him tumbling. Body aging, weakness flooding—did he doze off? He saw a nostalgic face. Spitting broken teeth and blood, Hornigold staggered up.
Brilliant sky, beautiful sun. Wished to see once before death....
"—Deep sleep and sweet dreams are all I need...."
"....."
"What's wrong, sis? Pity for this old man? The bastard who killed his captain and stole the throne to become Sea King?"
"......."
"Hurry, or Zan's gonna die?"
Mortis swung the head in her hand. Untouched by 100 years, still violently strong. He parried with sword, twisted fist into her gut. Struck thick skin, shock to organs. But even guts were absurdly tough—Dullahan trait. Not called elf butcher for nothing.
Kicked off ground hard, launching her toward intact rampart. She took three steps, unflinching. Ship-smasher force, yet she slammed the rampart. Air-ripping flail—Cutlass's magic sliced hair ends. Companion of 50 years snapped like end of life.
....So, it's finally over?
Grinning, hooked the falling head. Bopal Weapon aimed for head, desperately shifted to ground.
"....Experience lacking, no flexibility."
"Put down Miss Mortis's head!"
"Yeah, here."
Radamu caught the tossed head one-handed. Rope burst from Hornigold's waist, binding arms while gripping head. Bopal hilt about to hit head—he dropped sword, Radamu cradling head, arms bound tight.
Strained full strength, rewound time a second to free one arm—but bound unchanged.
"Hecate goddess's magic rope. ——Now, how weak do ya get without hands?"
"Ngh—!"
"Don't lose to a 90-year-old geezer, Radamu!!!"
Kick launched Radamu to sea. Used headless Mortis body as springboard, leaped toward sea—and bound Radamu—with hearty shout.
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A few illustrations.
Nex Hades Mortis
Circe
Thanks to Sabusabu for drawing Radamu /
