Werther sheathed Intent Blood and struggled to his feet.
His steps were unsteady, and pain throbbed through the wounds all over his body.
Werther took out his Pocket Watch and checked the time. It read nine o'clock. Judging by the sun's position, he reckoned it was nine in the morning.
He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but it had certainly been more than one night.
"Intent Blood, how long was I out?"
Intent Blood could not speak, but it could still keep track of time.
Twelve days.
Werther was not too surprised by Intent Blood's answer. He had passed out from severe injuries and exhaustion. Waking up at all was a stroke of luck.
Once he knew he had been unconscious for twelve days, a fierce hunger gripped his stomach.
But this was no time to eat. Werther did not even have time for a drink of water.
He hurried to the Darkness Wall surrounding the island and tossed a branch at it.
The branch vanished instantly, apparently swallowed by the darkness.
Werther thought it over. Blackbeard was dead. Even if this Darkness Wall could remain standing, it could not have much power left. Its source was gone.
He gripped Intent Blood's hilt with one hand, drew it, swung, and sheathed it again. The movements flowed together without the slightest hesitation.
Midway through the swing, however, Werther's expression shifted. He had felt something change.
But leaving this deserted island came first. Everything else could wait.
Shing.
A brilliant, pale-blue Sword Flash cut straight through the Darkness Wall before Werther.
The wall was not all he had cut. A vast stretch of space before him had shattered beneath that single stroke.
"What is this?"
Delight crossed Werther's face. He had sensed something, but he did not open