Chapter 408 Decapitation

"Swish! Swish! Swish!"

Sharp arrows rained down like a thin veil. Wood chips flew as they thudded into the deck one after another.

Following the orders of Captain "Oily Hand" Bourne, the pirate ship stopped hesitating and rapidly closed in on the cargo ship just ahead, making its hostility crystal clear.

Everyone on board knew with absolute clarity that in this vast, lawless expanse of sea, surrendering meant certain death.

No matter how much they cooperated—even if they voluntarily handed over the safe hidden in the captain's cabin—these bloodthirsty, ferocious hyenas would never let a single person live to become a future threat.

With their ship's speed far inferior to the enemy's, their only chance of survival was total resistance. They had to show enough determination to force the pirates to retreat.

Therefore, the moment he spotted the pirate ship raising its sails to approach, Gregory, the dark-skinned, incredibly experienced middle-aged captain of the Black Gull, decisively ordered his crew to counterattack.

The sailors who had taken their positions at the stern used their elevation to their advantage. They drew their bows and crossbows, aiming and firing, pouring an endless stream of arrows down upon the pirate ship visibly closing the distance.

The Black Gull had been sailing for years, and she boasted quite a few veteran crew members.

But this was a line of work where they lived on a knife's edge. Surviving a voyage felt like cheating death, so they indulged themselves even more fiercely than adventurers did on their days off. Very few ever spent their free time honing their skills.

As a result, most of the arrows they fired had terrible accuracy.

Many couldn't even reach the enemy's deck, thudding harmlessly into the hull or splashing into the sea.

After a full volley, the only arrow that actually dealt any damage—grazing a pirate's calf—came from the newly boarded apprentice sailor, Colin. Before leaving his hometown with Xia Nan, he had spent some time as an apprentice to the village hunter. He had a bit of talent and practiced hard, so his archery was quite good.

Seeing this dismal result, some of the less experienced sailors panicked, their bodies trembling so violently they could barely hold their weapons.

The veterans were just as tense, but their hands never stopped moving. They shouted at the younger men to stay calm and not panic while nocking arrows, drawing their bows, and coordinating the second volley.

They weren't professional adventurers, after all. On a ship swaying heavily in the wind and waves, maintaining accuracy was almost entirely a matter of luck.

It was perfectly normal for the first few volleys to yield little result; they were just getting a feel for the shots.

Their real chance would come when the pirate ship drew close enough for the pirates to mass on the deck and attempt a boarding action.

"Clang!"

The crisp sound of clashing metal rang through the air.

With a flash of cold light, an arrowhead was effortlessly parried by a cutlass.

With just a flick of the wrist, the blade sent the snapped arrow tumbling onto the deck nearby.

Listening to the agonizing howl of an unlucky crew member whose arm had just been pierced by an arrow, "Oily Hand" Bourne stared intently at the cargo ship ahead, his face twisted with bloodlust and cruelty.

These damned, pathetic, overconfident maggots actually dared to provoke him... In that moment, Bourne sentenced the entire crew of the Black Gull to death.

He fully intended to keep the enemy captain alive after the battle just to torture the man and vent his fury.

At the same time, as an experienced adventurer and a longtime pirate, he wasn't about to let his anger destroy his reason.

He could always recruit more sailors once they returned, but their mission hadn't even officially started yet. He had to avoid excessive casualties if at all possible.

He had no desire to take a ship full of wounded men to the island for their mission.

"Grass Snail!"

Still staring straight at the approaching cargo ship, he suddenly shouted without looking back.

They had been partners for years, so their silent understanding went without saying.

Almost the very second Bourne's voice dropped, an unnatural sea breeze suddenly whipped up from the void.

Far from being invisible, this gale seemed to be driven by the purest natural magic particles. As it howled, it sparkled with a magical luminescence that resembled glowing phosphorus powder.

In an instant, it shrouded the space above the pirate ship, forming a blurry, transparent wall of air.

While it didn't completely deflect the sharp arrows falling from overhead, it drastically stripped away their kinetic energy.

Unable to even pierce the wooden deck, they clattered harmlessly around the crew's feet.

Behind him, Grass Snail gripped his staff tightly with both hands, his lips moving rapidly. The magical light flashing in his eyes was so intense it blurred the boundaries between his pupils and the whites of his eyes.

He didn't know the name of this spell. Deep down, he didn't even consider it to be a spell.

To him, it was merely a technique for manipulating magic particles.

Hailing from a primitive tribe in a remote sea, he had only been fluent in Common for a few years. Though he had learned a little about spellcasting with Captain Bourne's help, in the heat of battle, he still instinctively relied on his natural affinity with the elements to cast magic in an incredibly primitive way.

Using the most crude, simple, and generalized spell model, he violently channeled his mental power into it, summoning a gale to block incoming projectiles.

If an ordinary Novice mage tried to cast a spell this way, the sheer draw would instantly drain their mental reserves and leave them unconscious.

But Grass Snail's aptitude was exceptional. Forged through an agonizingly painful upbringing, his rapidly expanding mental reserves allowed him to accidentally stumble upon a unique, brute-force style of spellcasting.

If he continued down this path and ever received long-term, systematic arcane education to complement his years of live combat experience at sea, he truly could have achieved something remarkable in the field of magic.

It was a pity...

Hum—

The wind barrier above the pirate ship fluctuated wildly for an instant before stabilizing a second later.

Grass Snail did his best to maintain the spell, his brows furrowed tightly.

He faintly sensed that the moment he cast his spell, an almost tangible, bone-chilling killing intent had swept over from the cargo ship's deck.

It felt as if a deep, lurking shadow that had always prowled beneath the waters of his spiritual world had suddenly caught the scent of blood and breached the surface, exposing its fin.

A sense of unease surged in his heart.

For a moment, he even considered dropping the spell entirely. He thought about using his own life and the crew's safety as leverage, gritting his teeth and forcing Bourne to retreat.

But then he remembered his painful childhood—being tortured as a demon by his own tribe—and how Bourne had dragged him out of that hell. The pirate captain's alternating use of kindness and cruelty had molded Grass Snail into a twisted, deeply dependent subordinate, and that conditioning made him hesitate.

'Big Brother Bourne is a Level 4 Class Holder. He has basically no rivals of the same level at sea.'

'The brothers in our squad completely outmatch the guards on that ship in both numbers and Class Levels.'

He comforted himself.

'We've made it through so many years.'

'We should be fine, right...'

'...'

The sheer value of a Spellcaster was put on full display in that moment.

A pirate ship closing the distance should have had its combat power severely chipped away by endless volleys of arrows. Instead, aside from two spectacularly unlucky sailors, they had suffered zero casualties.

The distance between the two ships had shrunk to almost nothing.

Bourne could even clearly see the facial muscles of the young sailor holding a longbow on the opposite deck, twitching violently from fear. He could see the veins bulging under the dark-skinned captain's arm as he gripped his short sword.

His mouth twisted into a cruel, bloodthirsty smile.

"Grappling hooks! Boarding planks!"

At his roar, the pirates waiting at the edge of the deck hurled over a dozen heavy cables. The iron grappling hooks traced cold arcs through the air, firmly biting into the cargo ship's bulwarks, masts, and railings.

The pirates' muscles bulged as they hauled back on the cables with all their might.

Creak—

The teeth-aching sound of splintering wood erupted as the two ships were violently dragged together.

Crash!

The hulls shuddered violently, the sound of grinding, buckling wood echoing like thunder.

At the same time, thick boarding planks embedded with iron nails were shoved across the gap, smashing down heavily onto the cargo ship's deck.

"Brothers, charge with me!!"

Bourne roared at the top of his lungs. His legs exploded with power as he became the first to leap onto the boarding plank.

As the captain of the Flying Fish Oil Barrel and the strongest warrior on the ship, he unapologetically spearheaded the brutal, bloody boarding action.

He knew better than anyone that this was the most dangerous position in a fight.

But on the other hand, his vast experience as a pirate—all those ships he had either sunk to the bottom of the ocean or fenced for shiny gold coins on the black market—gave him absolute confidence in his own strength.

Hum...

An azure light coated the blade of his cutlass. It flickered erratically in the morning light, looking as if it might leap off the steel at any moment.

This was the signature combat technique unlocked when the [Azure Blade Warrior] class reached Level 3—"Sky-Leaping Slash".

It was a rare ranged combat technique for a close-quarters Warrior class.

He had already trained it to Mastery, extending its lethal reach to five meters.

With the excited roars of his crew echoing behind him, Bourne gripped his cutlass tightly in his right hand, his muscles bulging with power.

He could already picture the beautiful scene that would unfold in the very next second: he would swing his blade, disemboweling the front line of spear-wielding sailors, and then lead his brothers onto the cargo ship's deck for a one-sided slaughter.

But in the very next moment, a sudden, bone-chilling wolf howl shattered his thoughts.

'A wolf?'

'How could a creature like a wolf possibly be out here at sea?'

Bourne was thoroughly confused, but his gaze was instantly drawn by an overpowering, sudden presence. He subconsciously looked toward the source of the howl.

Hum—

[Night Mother's Gaze] took effect.

His thoughts froze instantly.

The battle frenzy that had just been boiling in his veins was instantly plunged into an ice cellar.

All his thoughts and bloodlust were wiped clean in a flash.

For a split second, it felt as if his entire world had shrunk down to the profound, twisted entity pacing on the deck ahead.

Its mane, darker than the dead of night, rippled without any wind. Its pitch-black eyes lurked in silence like deep pools in a lightless forest, and its ash-black fangs seemed capable of devouring the very sunlight...

An indescribable, terrifying chill shot up his spine. Unfathomable fear gripped his heart.

It was like facing an apex predator he didn't even know existed. It made Bourne subconsciously want to drop his cutlass, turn tail, and run.

But he was an adventurer who had forged a solid reputation in these waters; his willpower was not so easily broken.

He was dazed for only a fraction of a second before he crushed the fear and regained his senses.

'What the hell is that!?' he thought in shock.

Oddly enough, when he looked back at the same spot, the massive, black-maned wolf beast had vanished without a trace.

'Huh?'

Rip—

A violent rush of wind from behind, the abrupt silencing of his crew's excited roars, and the sickeningly familiar sound of tearing flesh made the veteran captain realize something was terribly wrong.

The azure light on his cutlass had already flickered out. He pulled his momentum back, twisting his body to look over his shoulder.

His pupils shrank to pinpricks!

A single moment of distraction...

It had only been the briefest fraction of a second.

Yet the two sailors who had been following closely behind him had been reduced to a mangled heap of severed limbs and shredded meat, completely unrecognizable as human.

The dense crowd clustered by the boarding plank had been blown wide open, leaving a clear path paved with blood and chunks of flesh.

Even one of their Rogue teammates, a formidable Level 2 Class Holder, seemed to have been caught in the collateral damage. He was lying on the deck, screaming in agony, missing his entire left arm.

Bourne's gaze tracked the trail of blood all the way back.

Until it stopped at the very center of his own deck.

"Drip."

Warm, thick scarlet blood sprayed and dripped down, seeping into the cracks in the wooden deck.

There had been no screams. Not even a hint of resistance.

Grass Snail, the only Spellcaster in the Flying Fish Oil Barrel Adventurer Squad, was still standing in the exact same spot.

He was still at the absolute rear, in the safest position under the crew's protection.

His silk robes fluttered gently in the sea breeze, revealing a pair of exquisite but slightly worn leather boots. They belonged to a wealthy merchant from their very first voyage—Bourne himself had pulled them off the dead man's feet for Grass Snail.

His pale hands still gripped his staff tightly. The scars from his childhood, trailing from the backs of his hands up into his sleeves, twitched slightly from the tension of his muscles.

But further up, past his arms and his chest...

That face—which had shed its naive innocence over six years of piracy, hardened and matured by endless slaughter and plunder—was completely missing from above his neck.

All that remained was a ragged stump of muscle and bone, spouting thick streams of blindingly red blood like a broken fountain.

It was an absurdly sharp blade, paired with the monstrous speed granted by [Fang Hunt]—a speed that completely shattered the limits of human reaction.

It had been so fast that not a single drop of blood stained the surface of the [Ember Fall] straight sword.

And that head, still wearing the intense, focused expression of a Spellcaster deep in a chant, was now dangling by the hair from five slender, powerful fingers like a meat lantern.

It was a stark contrast to the wailing and terror echoing across the deck.

Pitch-black, utterly tranquil eyes stared right over the crowd, locking onto the frozen, cruel smirk still plastered on Bourne's face by the boarding plank.

Xia Nan loosened his left hand.

And let the head drop to the deck.