Chapter 254
Chapter 254
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 255
Chapter Title: March of the Archipelago Pirates
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The great pirates of the Archipelago were marching toward Olivia.
It was impossible for the navies of each kingdom not to detect the movements of those who dominated the seas.
As such, the rumor spread across the entire Southern Continent like wildfire in a dry field, impossible to contain.
And there was no way the Olivia territory wouldn't hear that rumor.
In Olivia's grand conference hall.
Bam!
Saladin slammed his fist on the desk, frustration pouring out.
"That damn idiot... What the hell is he still doing in there?!"
No one spoke, but everyone shared Saladin's sentiment at his growled words.
The master of this land, Jerome von Carviot.
He had entered secluded training in the fall and still hadn't emerged.
"We should've dragged him out by the collar by force...!"
"Don't do that, Young Master Saladin. If the Baron is at a critical juncture, your actions could put his life in danger."
"At this rate, it's not his safety that's in danger—it's ours! That guy's already a huge part of our forces. Without him, it's like losing another hand!"
Saladin wasn't wrong. Even if Jerome hadn't broken through the wall and couldn't handle Balak, his martial prowess was far from negligible.
If he, who was supposed to command one of the legions, remained stuck in training and failed to appear, they'd be left without anyone to face one entire enemy legion.
The already unfavorable situation would grow even more dire.
"Enough, enough! Raising our voices among ourselves changes nothing. Right now, we need to focus on finding a way out of this mess."
As Saladin and Beskin's exchange began to heat up, Dwain hurriedly intervened to mediate.
What they urgently needed was a solution, not venting about Jerome.
"......"
"......"
Everyone fell silent like they'd swallowed honey.
And rightly so—no one in the room had expected Jerome wouldn't have emerged by now.
They'd all subconsciously assumed Baron Jerome would shatter the wall and appear any moment.
'...This isn't good.'
Dwain read the mood in the conference hall, his expression darkening.
This war was a dangerous tightrope walk.
A single misaligned gear, and victory would slip away.
Yet the most crucial puzzle piece had vanished.
'I have to hold the center.'
That was the role of a staff officer. When plans went awry, revise them on the spot, fill the gaps with alternatives. The true measure of a staff officer was how quickly they could do it.
-Do you think it's because you're lacking? You have other things to do. No time to wrestle with numbers at a desk. Got it?
He recalled Jerome's face, smirking as he noticed Dwain's subtle concern while searching for Jeremiah.
An expression brimming with rock-solid trust, without a shred of doubt. He couldn't betray that.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Dwain struck his own cheeks repeatedly.
In the hushed conference hall, all eyes turned to Dwain at his sudden outburst.
"First, we'll hold the Baron in reserve from our forces. We still have about a week until the Archipelago forces reach Olivia. We'll devise additional strategies assuming he can't join us."
His cheeks flushed red. He'd hit so hard that his lip split, a trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
"No matter what it takes, we'll win this war."
Dwain's voice rang with resolve, easing the deep anxiety filling everyone's hearts in the hall to some degree.
A barren, parched world of the mindscape. Though it was a familiar sight, Jerome could clearly sense the changes in this realm.
Kwaaaang!
The skin on his fist tore as it struck the rampart, blood bursting forth.
No matter what techniques he unleashed, the rampart refused to yield its back.
But that wasn't the only problem.
-Human, won't you give up!
Whoosh!
A wyvern coiled atop the rampart unleashed a merciless breath attack straight at his back.
A breath that could melt even the mindscape's earth like cheese.
But he didn't dodge. In that brief moment of evasion, the mindscape rampart would instantly recover from the shock.
The instant he dodged, it would heal all accumulated damage.
Sizzle!
His steel-clad skin sizzled as the breath hit dead-on.
He ignored it.
Kwajik!
Unfazed by the breath, it swooped down, clamping onto his shoulder and tearing. It didn't even try lifting him with its hind legs.
His legs, rooted to the ground like trees, had foiled that intent countless times.
Its teeth gnawed endlessly at his shoulder until, true to its nature, the wyvern finally ripped off his left arm.
Starting with the left arm, then the right, and finally both legs.
'...This far this time.'
Amid the agony of severed limbs and crumbling mindscape, he could smile in satisfaction.
At first, the wyvern's essence had merely mocked him blankly, but as time passed, it began interfering more aggressively.
The rampart blocking his path had thinned and shortened bit by bit. He could now faintly glimpse beyond its edge.
It wouldn't be long now.
The day he shattered the rampart before him.
Splash!
Vast ocean expanse. Pirate brigs filled the view so completely that the sea seemed insignificant.
"Goddamn. There's a filthy lot of them, seriously."
A bit south of Olivia's Dirphorus Strait lay the massive ocean gorge of Corantos.
From atop the towering cliff of Krol Wall rising in Corantos, Saladin peered through a vision artifact at the pirate brigs and grumbled in disbelief.
"It's fine. Our side's brigs are no slouch in number either."
Dwain replied calmly.
"The numbers are okay, but..."
Saladin still couldn't hide his worry.
"We've done everything we can. All that's left is to give it our all."
Dwain didn't utter any nonsense about leaving it to fate. To a staff officer, fate was just the pathetic excuse of the defeated.
His strategies had fallen short against the enemy's might, and he hadn't given his best. That was all.
Thus, Dwain intended to give his utmost.
For victory.
"...Yeah, no choice, huh."
Perhaps sensing Dwain's resolve, the grumbling Saladin shifted gears.
He knew full well how tirelessly Dwain had built strategies over the past week.
He was just... disappointed. That his trusted friend hadn't opened his eyes even at the end.
Saladin glared fiercely toward the flagship.
Inside it now was that madman cultivating in seclusion, claiming only the final hurdle remained even as war loomed.
A single shock to the ship could cause internal injuries. How reckless was he—or did he trust them that much?
"Damn bastard. Once this is over, I'm really kicking his ass."
"Enough of that. Time to go. Everyone below is waiting."
Only Saladin and Dwain stood atop Krol Wall. The rest were preparing to engage the enemy throughout Corantos.
Now, it was time to give their guests a grand welcome.
"All forces, halt."
Vessels flying flags from blood-soaked torture devices—hallmarks of the Iron Maiden Pirate Fleet—extended hands in blockade. Their captain, West Commander Omali, issued a curt order upon sighting them.
"Here, still. Olivia, far."
At Omali's calm mutter, First Mate Grace rushed over to explain.
"Captain, didn't South Commander say it? The enemy will surely make their stand at Corantos Gorge."
"Did she?"
The annihilation of the Kybele Pirate Fleet by Olivia's navy at Dirphorus Strait—without even landing a blow—was already widely known.
But Dirphorus Strait was notoriously narrow due to its fierce currents.
Impossible to fight this massive fleet in such confines.
Pulling them deeper past the strait risked them landing too close to Olivia territory.
Thus, at the strategy meeting, Martel had declared: The enemy would meet them at Corantos Gorge.
The myriad small islands were perfect for concealing forces, and the sheer Krol Wall optimized spotting ship movements.
But Grace didn't bother explaining all that to Captain Omali—it would tire her tongue.
Their West Commander neither sought nor needed such details.
Just tell her.
"Yes. So, cut down every one of those blocking the path."
Process them.
Omali nodded at Grace's words.
"Easy."
Shing!
Drawing twin daggers from her bosom, Omali commanded.
"All forces. Advance."
"Th-they're coming!"
Olivia's navy, facing the oncoming foes, swallowed dryly.
That nightmarish grotesque emblem. Unmistakably the Iron Maiden Pirate Fleet of West Commander—no, the Western Devil—Omali.
True to her title, Omali ruled the western seas spanning Ikenia.
In the past, all pirates handling Ikenia routes, including the Neptune Pirate Fleet, had been under West Commander's umbrella.
A being leagues beyond the pirates they'd faced till now. Even Olivia's elite navy quailed at her infamy.
Thud!
A massive harpoon slammed onto the flagship's deck, amplified by amplification magic.
"You worthless asses! Haven't you got your heads straight?!"
"!"
A voice all too familiar to Olivia's navy echoed through.
"What're you shrinking from pirates led by some pint-sized brat who still reeks of milk?! I've told you lot a hundred times!"
Clang!
The old man's harpoon-wielding bellow resounded through the gorge.
"If you don't crush them, your families are in danger!"
"......!!"
The sailors' eyes changed.
Gazing at the encroaching Iron Maiden brigs, Delo shouted.
"Fire!"
Kwaang! Kwoong!
Cannonballs fired on Delo's order streaked straight for Omali's flagship.
Kiiiiing!
The shots aimed at First Mate Grace's cutlass split in half.
"With toys like these."
"...Grace. Can I, kill that old geezer?"
Murderous intent surged from behind Grace. She nearly blurted he was the king's prey but shut her mouth.
'...Can't stop her.'
Omali's petite stature was her reverse scale. Touch it, and the old man's life was forfeit.
"...As you wish, Captain."
"Going."
Kwaaaang!
West Commander Omali leaped from the bow.
"Puhahat! That dumb bitch. Who does she think she's messing with?"
Right wing North Commander Pardal couldn't hold back laughter watching Omali charge recklessly at Delo's taunt from the left flank.
Her opponent was Vidal Croit, once a scourge who cornered the king. Pardal considered him washed-up now, sure.
But not some fool to charge solo without countermeasures. He'd have preparations.
"Whatever, none of my business."
Whether Omali died or not, what did it matter to him?
He just needed to handle his assigned sector.
"Now, which one to kill first... Huh?"
As Pardal scythed for prey, his eyes gleamed.
A key Olivia figure was aboard a ship in his sector.
"Norland, handle the ship. Gotta fetch that guy's head."
"Huh? Wait, Captain?"
Crack!
Ripping the railing for a sea perch, Pardal dashed toward the enemy brig.
"Damn humans. Dumping cleanup on me again."
Norland sighed, taking command of the Buccaneer Pirate Fleet.
"Here it comes."
From the gorge's left, Saladin watched the battlefield tensely.
Lose this war, and it was over. Everything done with Jerome till now would go up in smoke.
Ready to bolt if things went south—or at the first clash—Saladin spotted it.
"Huh? Wh-what the hell, that guy?"
A man riding a log toward him. Saladin freaked, deploying Mimi and Nene.
Kwaaaang!
Mimi's crossed arms launched wrist blades blocking the massive scythe.
The shockwave was so huge it rippled circles across the sea beneath the brigs.
"Whoa! Blocked that? This could be fun."
Mimi swung her arms, repelling the scythe-man. He landed lightly on the railing, eyeing Saladin.
"You're the Puppet guy, right? Nice to meet ya. I'm North Commander Pardal."
Greeting like an old pal, Pardal extended his scythe toward Saladin.
"Sorry on short notice, but hand over your head. Yours looks like it'd make a good ball."
"...Hah."
Saladin felt veins bulging on his forehead at Pardal's attitude, like claiming deposited goods.
"...Fine. Starting with me, huh?"
Just seeing me as easy pickings.
Fine.
I'll play your game. But the head rolling won't be mine—it'll be yours.