Chapter 250
Chapter 250
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 251
Chapter Title: The Buccaneer Fleet Approaches
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Shwaaaaa!
The beach of the island domain.
The crashing waves ebbed and flowed relentlessly, just as they always did.
But one thing had changed: the season.
"Achoo! Ugh, damn it. It's freezing to death out here."
The chilling sea wind whipped even fiercer through the frigid air.
A breath of white steam poured endlessly from his mouth, making his body shrink involuntarily against the cold.
Glance!
The pirate, rubbing his arms with his hands, turned his eyes toward the sun hanging high in the sky.
Still high up.
"Damn, time's barely moving... Huh?"
As despair sank in over how far away shift change still was, something caught the pirate's eye far in the distance—a massive fleet approaching.
The nightmare of the South Sea, with a Kraken perched atop a skull: the symbol of the Buccaneer Pirates, led by North Commander Pardal.
"N-No way!"
The pirate's huddled body shot straight as he hurriedly signaled.
Pardal was infamous for his cruelty and strictness.
If the gates opened even a second late, North Commander would hunt down and kill the on-duty guard like him, no matter what.
Boom!
Fireworks lit up the sky, announcing the North Commander's arrival to the domain.
"Hm, quick response, huh?"
Swish! Swish!
North Commander Pardal, sitting atop a haphazard pile of cargo on the deck and diligently wiping something down with a towel, chuckled at the fireworks rising from the main island.
"That's more like it. Finally showing some discipline."
"It's not discipline—it's them scrambling to stay alive."
Pardal pursed his lips at his vice-captain Nolland's words.
"Come on, what did I do that's so scary?"
"The guy who finds the lazy guards on duty, even if the gate's just a bit late, chops off their heads, and hangs them by the seaside? If that's not scary, nothing in the world is."
"They deserved it! Showing that kind of sloppiness at His Majesty's residence? They could die a hundred times and still have no excuse."
"Sigh, let's not go there. Huh?"
Nolland rubbed his furrowed brow as if his head ached, then suddenly raised an eyebrow.
"Ah, damn. I just finished polishing my weapon."
Pardal, as if already aware, lightly lifted the scythe he had been tending.
Fwoosh!
-Rooooar!
A massive sea monster barreled toward the flagship, jaws wide open, slamming its bulk against the ship.
Ever since the South Sea's nightmare Kraken vanished, the monsters that had been hiding like rats beneath it began rampaging freely, causing this phenomenon.
It was the kind of colossal body that could intimidate anyone.
But—
Shing!
Pardal casually swung his scythe, and the sea monster that had been whole moments ago turned into five chunks of sashimi mid-air.
Splaaash!
Red blood rained down from the severed cross-sections like a downpour onto the flagship's deck.
"Ah, Captain! Come on! Don't we have to clean the deck again now?!"
Nolland recoiled in disgust, retreating from the blood-soaked deck into the captain's quarters.
"Faithless bastard. Dodging the blood alone again?"
"I just hate blood splattering on my clothes."
"Sigh. Fine, fine. With your germaphobia, what can I expect?"
Thud!
Pardal stood from his squat and lightly kicked the pile of cargo on the deck with his foot.
Roll roll roll!
The pile—no, a severed human head—tumbled powerlessly forward toward the crew.
"You lot, clean up this trash and wipe up the blood while you're at it. Leave it, and the stench'll seep into the ship."
"Understood!"
The crew bowed in unison and, at Pardal's command, immediately began tossing the mound of severed heads piled on the deck into the sea and scrubbing the scattered blood.
The gruesome sight of heads stacked like a mountain, frozen in aggrieved expressions, was the stuff of nightmares—but it stirred no emotion in the Buccaneer Pirates.
They had followed their lord and witnessed far more brutal scenes countless times.
Leaving the cleaning crew behind, Pardal slung his bloodied scythe over his shoulder and leisurely strode to the prow.
"Hmm, wonder if East Commander geezer and that psycho West Commander lass have arrived yet? I hate waiting."
It was a summons after a full ten years.
Like him, the Commanders primarily operated from their own territories, not the main island.
No need to live under superiors, watching their every move.
They were practically great lords of the sea. As long as they offered regular loyalty and tribute to the king, no one could touch them.
On the contrary, South Commander Martel, who stuck close to the king and lived suffocatingly by choice, was the odd one.
Grrrrumble!
As he yawned and let his mind wander, the main island's gates creaked open slowly with a massive groan.
At that speed, they'd be wide open long before they arrived.
Snicker!
"Today's workers are pretty sharp. I like it."
Two breathtakingly beautiful women displayed their graceful forms.
Any man of steel resolve would falter at their appearance, yet the man seated before them simply gazed at them calmly.
Clink!
Fiddling not with bouquets for the women, but with grease-stained tools.
Clang!
Finally, he set the tool in his hand down on the floor.
"That's it. No point tinkering further."
Since last autumn, when Jerome entered secluded training, Saladin had endlessly refined Mimi and Nene for months. Now, he finally set the tools aside.
He had added everything possible. Mimi's body brimmed with hidden weapons for nonstop shredding, while Nene had become a walking poison factory.
No doubt, if those two dolls unleashed all their power at once, even a Master would fall helplessly.
Yes.
A Master, that is.
The enemy he faced wasn't some ordinary powerhouse—a Commander. The scourge of the seas, said to rival four marquises.
No matter how much he upgraded Mimi and Nene, he couldn't envision them easily toppling such a foe.
'Is there no other way?'
Rustle!
Pondering, Saladin drew a small violet gem from his bosom.
Bzzz! Bzzz!
The gem, ominous yet brilliantly glowing, pulsed with immense energy.
Poison Essence.
The quintessence of Poison Blood Master Martin, the righteous Black Lion, forged from his final dying embers.
Saladin had never met or spoken to the man, but he knew his fame well.
And the fact that he had died miserably at the Holy Empire's hands.
"...I didn't want to use this unless it involved the Holy Empire."
Though known only by name, Poison Blood Master Martin commanded respect from Black Lions across factions.
As the man's very essence, Saladin hesitated to use it for personal matters.
Unlike the fight with Third Holy Knight Order Captain Judah.
That had been against an imperial knight, so no qualms—but this had nothing to do with the Empire.
Yet without the Poison Essence, victory against a Commander wasn't guaranteed.
"Hmm..."
Fidget, fidget!
After agonizing in the workshop for a long while, Saladin made his decision.
"Just three-tenths."
It was for his sole friend.
And for the peace of his homeland, ruled by his father now and his sibling in the future.
When else would he use this power, if not now?
He severed the 'thread' linking Mimi and Nene, then used solidified aura on his fingertip to carefully split the Poison Essence into two: a small one and one exactly twice as large.
Tucking the larger away safely, he placed the smaller in a vessel and slowly infused it with energy.
As his energy touched the Poison Essence, he closed his eyes and visualized.
'How best to use it.'
The Poison Essence embodied every facet of poison wielded by a Black Lion.
The clearer the user's image, the more concretely it manifested.
Shrrr!
A portion detached from the small Poison Essence, slowly forming into a needle.
'First, a hidden weapon form.'
Naval combat involved the sea's currents and splintering decks, creating far more three-dimensional chaos than land battles.
For piercing those variables, nothing beat a needle.
Indeed, the needle-shaped Poison Essence had made short work of Judah last time.
'And next...'
Shrrr!
Another portion split off, shaping into a small poison bomb encased in a thin membrane.
It would burst on his command, indiscriminately assaulting the surroundings.
If surrounded without allies, this could neutralize all foes save the Commander in one go.
The final piece.
Saladin pondered long what to make it, then steeled his resolve.
"...Just in case."
Shrrr!
Per his intent for unforeseen contingencies, the last of the Poison Essence slowly transformed.
As evening fell, the sun that had bathed the land vanished.
Even in the warm south, it was winter.
Without the sun's lingering warmth, the air turned biting enough to chatter teeth just standing still.
Ching!
"Cheriwon, you're too slow!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Captain, your side's open!"
Thud!
A brutal kick, unfit for disciplining a subordinate, dug into Beskin's waist.
Splash!
Unable to defend in time, Beskin's body slid backward across the ground.
In combat, momentum was key.
As Beskin's offense faltered, Ravins immediately swung for his neck, while Cheriwon targeted his legs from the opposite side.
Even if Ravins's strike was blocked, stripping Beskin's mobility would seize the advantage—a sound judgment.
But Beskin was a veteran among veterans, honed in the brutal half-ten realms.
Woooong!
Chilling aura rose from his feet, binding Ravins and Cheriwon's legs.
Crack!
It held only a fleeting instant before shattering, but that instant was more than enough for Beskin to regain his stance.
As Beskin effortlessly evaded their joint assault, the two knights gnashed their teeth.
"Damn it, falling for the same trick every time. Got nothing else?"
"Before war, it's better to hone familiar techniques than invent new ones."
"Well, yeah. For plain knights like us, that's doctrine."
Ravins's words would have made continentals clutch their necks in shock.
The Shield Family, renowned across the land. Their talents, pillars of the Hexagon elite, anything but plain.
Humility beat arrogance, but excessive humility bordered on servility.
Yet astonishingly, Beskin didn't refute it.
He couldn't.
Compared to their foes, their talents truly were 'plain.'
'Not just the enemies, though.'
The young lord they served outshone them even more.
Challenging the throne at barely adulthood.
And his lord's friend, while not quite matching, bolstered him reliably with flashy, unique style.
In contrast, they were undeniably 'plain.'
But.
Plain folk had their own plain ways of fighting.
"You're right. Time to polish it again. Get ready."
"Yes, sir!"
At Beskin's words, Ravins and Cheriwon, who had been fiercely sparring moments ago, moved behind him.
The prior training refined them individually; now, it would forge them into 'one.'
Shick! Whoooosh!
The three knights' swords filled the space, dancing through the air.
'A head-on clash with a Commander is still beyond me.'
Beskin's official realm: mid-Master. In truth, his ordeals with Jerome had shattered his wall.
But without unleashing, he'd always be outmatched. Beskin judged himself coldly.
Thus, he had anticipated it.
From that moment training naval combat on Lake Dozmari, he knew he'd have to face one Commander.
Inferior as he was, no one else could handle it.
In chaotic sea battles, fully unleashing to fell a Commander was best avoided.
He'd end up combat-invalid, effectively even numbers.
Two-stage release was the same.
It would surely drop the Commander, but it'd be his last fight—this war's finale.
Unacceptable. His young lord needed many guardians by his side still.
Thus, alternatives were essential. Ways to boost victory odds. Ways for him to aid his lord without exclusion.
Hence, 'from then,' he had honed joint techniques with them.
And finally perfected it.
The combined assault passed down in Blizzard Knight Order lore, devised to topple superiors.
'Never thought I'd master this. Life's unpredictable.'
His prideful past self despised group tactics over duels.
Never dreamed of joint arts.
Yet who could've guessed he'd become the Order's most perfect practitioner?
Chucking softly, Beskin swung on with a smile.
What did it matter?
His knightly honor be damned.
Cowardly fingers pointed? Fine.
For my lord, I'd walk any path.
Pipipipit!
Undeterred by the flesh-nipping cold, the three knights' blades embroidered the training ground long after dark.
Not just them.
Some for their lord, some for their kingdom.
Some for their houses.
Countless in Olivia forsook the night, training in their spaces.
For the war to come.