Boarding Battle

"..."

The atmosphere in the cabin was somewhat stifling. The Slave Ship's decision to mobilize the slaves it had sold into battle had caught everyone off guard.

"Prepare to board—"

"Watch for grappling hooks—"

Shouts rang out faintly from outside.

"Hold on tight! Brace for impact!"

The sailors by the cabin door heard the cries as well and quickly shouted into the cabin.

Then the cabin suddenly went dark. Boom! A violent impact shook the ship.

A great surge of seawater was forced through a hole by the collision.

Ian bent his knees slightly. His Extraordinary physique kept him from losing his balance.

"The pirates are aboard!"

"What do we do?"

"..."

The cabin erupted into noise.

"I'll ask one last time. Who's going?"

"I'm the ship's First Mate. I swear in the name of the God of Storms that anyone who breaks this promise will suffer misfortune!"

The First Mate was clearly anxious, his voice trembling slightly.

"We can't just sit here waiting. If we know nothing about what's happening, we'll only leave ourselves at a disadvantage."

Ian decided to take the initiative. He pushed through the crowd and stepped forward.

"Count me in!"

"I'll go!"

A tall, upright figure rose from the corner at the same time.

Ian looked at the man, and the man looked back at Ian, his eyes bright.

Though the cabin's lighting was limited, Ian, having become Extraordinary, could still make out the man's appearance clearly.

The man had gray eyes, short grayish-white hair, rugged features, and a tall frame. He was about six-foot-three, not particularly muscular, but lean and straight-backed, standing there like a javelin.

He wore a tattered half-length leather cuirass, his arms bare and covered in strange tattoos.

Whether because Ian's blood-covered appearance was too frightening or because his gaze was too sharp, the man instinctively turned his face away.

"No spiritual fluctuations. He probably isn't an Extraordinary."

Ian looked away, stepped forward, and quickly scanned the weapons on the floor.

He casually picked up a relatively intact scimitar. "Any bows?" Ian turned toward the sailor at the door.

Ian had received training from his family since childhood. Before obtaining the Extraordinary knowledge of an Alchemist, he had mainly trained in the Tide Hunter sequence and was proficient with firearms, bows, scimitars, longswords, and other weapons.

He was especially skilled with firearms. He had once owned a Mana Pistol, custom-made for him by the Dwarves of Forge Fortress at his father's enormous expense. However, it had been lost in the Storm Sea during his escape and was most likely gone for good.

Ordinary flintlock muskets were too inaccurate and too slow to reload.

Bows were also affected by wind, waves, ships, and all sorts of other unfavorable factors at sea, so they were not among his first-choice weapons.

But in a boarding battle, paired with his ability—Precision—they could still be extremely effective.

Of course, although he was a modern man who had inherited the original owner's abilities and knowledge, he had never actually fought before. He was still a little nervous. Ranged combat allowed more room for error.

"No. Want a hand axe?"

The sailor holding a scimitar had his hair tied in a braid. As he spoke, he sized Ian up, removed a shoulder strap, and tossed it to him.

The grayish-brown leather strap had five pairs of loops on the back, three of which held three short-handled axes at an angle.

"If we win, it's yours."

Seeing that the other tall, lean man had also chosen a weapon, he was the first to run outside.

"Move! Hurry!"

Ian and the man who had chosen a longsword quickly followed.

"My offer still stands!" Before leaving, he turned back and shouted into the cabin.

Outside the cabin door was a short corridor, so narrow that two people passing each other had to turn sideways. People were continuously running out from other cabins and gathering together—some dressed as slaves, others as sailors.

The stairs were only a dozen steps away. Ian quietly blended into the middle of the crowd.

As he ran, he drew upon Mana. With a faint spiritual fluctuation, a layer of nearly invisible radiance appeared over Ian's body.

Spell—Emergency Guard!

The bald sailor at the front stopped halfway up the stairs and looked back at the dozen or so people who had gathered behind him.

"Those wearing red headscarves and red sashes are pirates!"

"Kill them—"

The bald sailor shouted, charging out with a scimitar in each hand. The others shouted a few disorderly cries and surged after him.

Ian held a hand axe in his left hand and a scimitar in his right, leaping up the stairs in one step.

The side he emerged onto was opposite the side where the pirates had boarded. He quickly moved aside, took several long strides to the corner between a cannon and the bulwark, and leaned against the gun carriage to assess the battlefield.

It was around three or four in the afternoon. The sea breeze was moderate, the waves were small, and the slanting sun was no longer scorching. There was not a cloud in the sky. Only the thick smoke rising from the damaged sections of the two ships pressed together ruined the fine view.

The pirate ship's sides stood much higher than those of the merchant ship. Aside from a small reserve force, most of the pirates had already rushed onto the merchant vessel. Their red headscarves and red sashes made them exceptionally conspicuous.

Both sides were currently locked in a melee. The merchant ship's deck, less than a hundred feet long, looked unbearably crowded.

Pirates, sailors, gun carriages, and other debris lay scattered across the deck. Anyone without good balance would probably be unable to bring much combat power to bear.

The pirates held an overwhelming advantage. Nearly a hundred pirates were besieging fewer than fifty merchant sailors. Even with the dozen or so fresh reinforcements who had just rushed out, they would likely still struggle to hold on.

A Sixth-rate Ship generally carried between eighty and one hundred eighty crewmen. This converted merchant ship clearly did not meet Sixth-rate Ship standards and was unclassified. It also needed room for cargo, so its complement was under a hundred.

The pirate ship, meanwhile, was likely close to full crew.

One part of the battlefield was particularly eye-catching. The two combatants were clearly far beyond ordinary men, and everyone else hurried to avoid them as their fight shifted across the deck.

This was a duel between two Extraordinary professions. Spirituality that they could not fully restrain spilled out during their battle. One of them was dressed like a captain and wielded a scimitar. He was likely a Sequence 9 warrior-type profession.

The other was bare-chested, with scars covering both his body and face. His skin was faintly red, his blood and vitality surging. Strangely, his left hand was blood-red and emitted chaotic spiritual fluctuations. He wielded a longsword in one hand and a scimitar in the other. Ian guessed he was a Sequence 9 berserker.

The Bloody Hand Pirate clearly held the advantage. He had only a few minor wounds and was pressing the captain hard.

But he seemed quite wary of the captain's azure scimitar and could not fight without restraint.

The captain had taken a slash across the chest, and the injury looked serious.

There was also a burly pirate with a red headscarf holding a hand crossbow, constantly supporting the Bloody Hand Pirate from the outskirts.

Sequences 7 through 9 were all low sequences. Though their combat power varied by sequence, even they found it difficult to deal with human-wave tactics.

Once the pirates freed up their hands, dozens of them using ranged weapons could surround and kill the captain.

"I'll kill some ordinary pirates first to get used to it, then immediately try to help that captain."

Ian rapidly assessed the situation and made his decision.

He moved quickly along the bulwark toward the captain.

With a flick of his left hand, the short axe ripped through the air and embedded itself in the back of a pirate's head. The pirate, who had been snarling viciously as he hacked away, collapsed to the deck in the blink of an eye.