First arrival

"Ahem, ahem." A violent fit of coughing came from the pile of spices.

The giant pushed aside the broken planks pinning him down and rose to his feet, breathing heavily.

He forcefully swallowed the blood in his mouth and glared viciously at the black figure hovering in midair.

"You bastard, what are you muttering to yourself about?"

He roared, his voice mingling anger with a trace of fear.

"Men, open fire!"

At his words, cold sweat involuntarily seeped into the palms of the merchant ship's crew.

Clutching their crude weapons, they surrounded Thatch in a fragile ring.

A flicker of resolve crossed the eyes of the muscular young man called Kurururu. He lunged forward, his bulging muscles stretching his sleeves taut, and raised his steel pipe high before bringing it crashing down at Thatch with a whistle through the air.

At the same time, the musketeers aboard the pirate ship swallowed and raised their old-fashioned muskets with trembling hands. Standing at the rail, they aimed at the black figure hovering in the air and pulled their triggers.

In an instant, gun smoke billowed, and the pungent smell of sulfur spread on the sea breeze.

Yet once the bullets came within a certain distance of Boer, they began to slow unnaturally, finally freezing in midair as though embedded in invisible amber.

After one volley, the pirate lackeys exchanged looks. Their earlier arrogance had vanished, replaced by profound fear.

On the deck, Kurururu's muscular frame, standing over six feet tall, would have been considered imposing among ordinary people, but he looked particularly small before Thatch.

Thatch did not even move his feet. He merely raised his right hand casually and caught the swinging steel pipe with precision.

His scar-covered left arm immediately clamped around Kurururu's neck like iron pincers. With an effortless swing, he hurled the brawny young man hard against the mainmast.

With a dull thud, Kurururu's back slammed into the solid mast. He then crumpled onto the deck, his eyes rolling back as he lost consciousness.

The sight of this crushing defeat sent the merchant crew stumbling back several steps in terror, the courage they had just mustered instantly dissipating.

"A bunch of useless fools!" Hunt, the pirate ship's first mate, cursed as he shoved the gunner aside.

The man, who wore a crew cut and had a vicious knife scar on his face, roughly adjusted the cannon's angle, slowly aiming it at Boer. His fat face twisted savagely. "You and your cheap tricks! Try this!"

Boer watched the varied reactions aboard the two ships with interest.

Some of the pirates had already put away their weapons and slumped to the deck, offering him ingratiating smiles;

those near the officers hesitated, wanting to surrender but fearing punishment afterward. Everyone's gaze focused on First Mate Hunt.

"Run!" the merchant captain urgently called to Boer, trying to grasp this sole lifeline. "That's a cannon! At this range, it can blast even a city wall apart!"

The pirates' gunnery, however, was truly atrocious. Even at a distance of just over twenty meters, the cannonball only barely skimmed over Boer's head.

But the instant it entered the magnetic field's range, it seemed to be caught by an invisible hand. It began revolving slowly around him, then disintegrated into fine iron sand before everyone's horrified eyes and dispersed into the air.

"Enough." Boer's voice passed through his metal faceplate, carrying an icy authority across the sea. "This show of opposition should end now."

Elsewhere, Thatch's enormous two-handed sword suddenly began to melt, turning into flowing metal ribbons that coiled tightly around their owner like swimming snakes, wrapping him in a sealed metal cocoon.

In Boer's Extrasensory Vision, Thatch's life magnetic field was several times stronger than an ordinary person's, like a torch in the darkness-he was a promising prospect with exceptional natural gifts.

"You bastard, let our captain go!" shouted a dwarf only half as tall as an adult, his voice trembling.

He gripped a dagger that was overly long for his size. Though his legs shook, he still pointed it resolutely at Boer.

Most of the pirates had already dropped their weapons. Only eight or nine diehards still clutched their blades, drawing together to make a final stand.

Boer slowly descended onto the deck, his metal boot soles making a crisp sound against the planks.

As he stepped forward, the pirates around him involuntarily retreated.

He approached the resisters led by the first mate, while Thatch, wrapped in metal ribbons, was also hauled into the air and then slammed down hard in their midst.

As the metal ribbons receded like a tide, Thatch struggled to stand. A magnetic pulse pressed down on him, and he felt a violent wave of dizziness, his limbs weak and limp.

In Boer's perception, the burly man's life magnetic field resembled a plucked string. Though it trembled violently, it stubbornly maintained its original frequency, only its light was much dimmer than before.

"I... I pledge my loyalty." Half-kneeling on the ground, Thatch finally forced the words through his teeth, though his clenched fists betrayed his unwillingness.

The heavy armor covering Boer's entire body began to flow and transform, finally shifting into light armor that covered only his vital areas. Revealed beneath it were dazzling short silver-white hair and a startlingly young face.

"Aaron Ball, sixteen." The youth introduced himself calmly, his voice clear and confident. "Soon, that name will ring out across this entire sea."

Thatch froze. He had imagined a battle-worn warrior beneath the armor, or an old man who had lived in seclusion for years, perhaps even a woman, but he had never expected such a young boy.

That face still retained a youthful innocence, yet those eyes were as deep as the sea, as though holding wisdom and strength beyond his years.

Boer extended his hand, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. "What? Think you can look down on me because I'm young? In this world, strength is the only truth."

Slightly embarrassed at having his thoughts exposed, Thatch nevertheless reached out and clasped that hand, using it to pull himself upright.

That hand was unexpectedly strong, possessing nothing like the strength a boy should have.

"Now," Boer turned toward the merchant ship, his voice regaining its earlier authority, "please invite the captain over for a chat. We have some things to discuss."

He casually waved his hand, and the metal between the two ships extended and transformed like a living creature, finally forming a sturdy bridge.

Watching this, the merchant crew felt both awed and at a loss.

On the way to the dining room, Boer instructed Hunt, "Prepare something to eat."

His tone was even, yet brooked no argument. The once-arrogant first mate now nodded meekly and hurried toward the kitchen.

Sunlight fell across the silver-haired youth as he stood on the platform. His gaze swept over the pirates below, who were silent as frightened cicadas, before finally settling on the merchant captain hurrying toward him.