By noon on the fourth day, the war had grown to involve thousands of people.
By then, the fighting was no longer about the 21 Great Grade Blades. Those who could reach the island within four days were all from nearby factions, and they had friendships or grudges with one another.
In the island's frenzied atmosphere, old scores and new ones were settled together. One man might have killed another's brother, and the other might have killed his family. Hatred piled up fast.
Some tried to stop the war, but all failed. The lucky ones took only a couple of cuts from the blood-crazed fighters. The unlucky ones were killed.
Weapons clashed and gunshots rang out across the battlefield. Ships anchored along the shore kept pounding the island with cannon fire.
No one knew which madman had started it, but someone had fired a ship's main cannon straight into the fighting.
As a result, the battle spread from the island's edge out to sea. Ships began trading broadsides, and every so often one became a blazing wreck. The naval battle had begun.
Bodies lay everywhere around the island. Though it was a Winter Island, fires burned across it, fed by the corpses.
The smell of charred flesh mingled with cannon smoke and the heavy stench of blood. Perhaps that was what hell smelled like.
The fighting went on without the slightest sign of stopping, and more people kept gathering on the island.
Several large pirate ships appeared on the horizon. At their highest points flew flags bearing three deathly pale skulls above four crossed bones.
That emblem stood for one man and one crew: the Blackbeard Pirates.
"Zehahaha! What a free-for-all. And those guys haven't shown up. Perfect! This is a golden opportunity.
"Let's go. Head straight onto the island