Chapter 4: The Boarding Battle

The atmosphere inside the ship's hold was heavy with tension. The sight of the slave ship's crew rallying the slaves to fight was unexpected to everyone.

"Prepare to board!"

"Ready the grappling hooks!"

The shouts from outside echoed through the hold.

"Hold on tight, brace for impact!"

The sailors near the door quickly shouted to the rest of the crew.

A sudden darkness filled the room, followed by a violent crash. A large surge of seawater poured in through the breach as the ships collided.

Ian crouched slightly, but the enhancement of his body from stepping into the extraordinary realm kept him perfectly balanced.

"The pirates are boarding!"

"What do we do?"

"..."

A chorus of anxious voices filled the hold.

"I'll ask one last time—who's going?"

The second mate's voice trembled with urgency.

"I'm the second mate! By the God of Storms, I swear if you refuse, misfortune will befall you!"

The second mate's desperation was palpable. Ian couldn't just wait around, clueless about what was happening. That would only put him at a disadvantage.

He decided to act. Pushing through the crowd, he stepped forward.

"I'm in!"

"I'll go!"

A tall figure from the corner stood up at the same time. Ian glanced at him, and the man returned the look with a piercing gaze.

Despite the dim light in the hold, Ian could clearly make out the man's features. He had gray eyes, short grayish-white hair, and a rugged face. His tall, lean frame stood at about 6'3", looking thin but with a wiry strength. He was wearing a tattered half-suit of leather armor, with strange tattoos covering his bare arms.

It was unclear if it was Ian's blood-soaked appearance or his sharp gaze that made the man instinctively turn his face away.

'No spiritual energy... he's probably not an extraordinary profession.'

Ian shifted his focus, taking a few steps forward and scanning the weapons scattered on the floor. He picked up a curved sword that seemed in relatively good condition.

"Do you have any bows or arrows?" Ian asked, turning to the sailors by the door.

Ian had been trained by his family since childhood. Before he became an alchemist, he had undergone training in the Tidal Hunter sequence, mastering the use of firearms, bows, curved swords, and long swords.

His expertise in firearms, particularly, had been honed with a magical energy firearm that his father had commissioned from the dwarves at Furnace Fortress, a weapon Ian had unfortunately lost in the Storm Sea during his escape.

Normal flintlock guns had too low a precision and took too long to reload, while bows and arrows on a ship were affected by the wind, waves, and the ship's movement, so they weren't his go-to weapons. But in a boarding action, paired with his ability, Precision, they could be extremely effective.

Of course, although Ian had inherited the abilities and knowledge of the original owner of this body, he had never actually fought in combat, so there was still a bit of hesitation. A ranged weapon would provide more room for error.

"There aren't any. How about an axe?"

A sailor with a braided ponytail offered as he assessed Ian. He tossed a leather strap over to him.

The strap was brownish-gray, with five pairs of leather loops. Three of them were slanted, holding short-handled battle axes.

"Win, and it's yours," the sailor added.

As the other tall, lean man chose his weapon, he bolted toward the door.

"Let's go! Hurry!"

Ian, now with an axe in his left hand and a curved sword in his right, quickly followed.

"I mean it—what I said earlier still stands!" the sailor called over his shoulder before running out.

Outside the hold was a narrow corridor. It was so tight that two people had to turn sideways to pass. One by one, others from different rooms began to file out, gathering in the corridor. Among them were both slaves and sailors.

At the stairs, only about ten steps remained. Ian blended in with the crowd without drawing attention.

As they ran, Ian subtly focused his energy, and with a slight mental pulse, a faint spiritual glow appeared around his body.

Witchcraft - Emergency Shield!

The lead sailor, bald and burly, stopped halfway up the stairs and glanced back at the group coming from behind.

"Anyone with a red bandana or red belt is a pirate!"

"Kill them all!"

With a loud cry, he charged forward, dual curved swords in hand. The others scrambled to follow, shouting as they surged ahead.

Ian, wielding his axe in his left hand and curved sword in his right, leapt up the stairs.

They emerged onto the deck where the pirates were boarding from the other side of the ship. Ian quickly moved into position, stepping out of the way and slipping into the gap between a cannon and the ship's side. He leaned against the cannon and scanned the battlefield.

It was about 3 or 4 PM. The sea breeze was moderate, and the waves were calm. The sun had begun to dip, no longer as harsh as before. The sky was clear, but the view was ruined by thick black smoke rising from the areas where the ships had collided.

The pirate ship's deck was higher than the merchant ship's, and most of the pirates had already boarded. They wore bright red bandanas or belts, making them easy to spot.

The two ships were in a full-on melee. The deck of the merchant ship, barely 30 meters across, was crowded with people. Pirates, crew members, and cannon frames were scattered everywhere.

The pirates had the upper hand. Nearly 100 pirates surrounded fewer than 50 crew members on the merchant ship. Even with the reinforcements from the fresh fighters who had just joined the fray, it was still looking grim for the defenders.

Typically, a Level 6 ship would have a crew of 80 to 180 people. This merchant ship, however, had been modified and clearly didn't meet the Level 6 specifications, and its crew number was well under 100, not counting the cargo.

The pirate ship, on the other hand, was likely at full capacity.

In the midst of the chaos, one particular duel caught Ian's attention. The two fighters were clearly far above ordinary in strength. As they clashed, others stayed clear of the combat, giving them a wide berth.

One was the pirate captain, wielding a curved sword. Ian guessed he was a Sequence 9 warrior. The other was a heavily scarred man, his bare chest covered in tattoos, with blood-red skin and a chaotic spiritual aura emanating from his left hand. Ian guessed he was a Sequence 9 berserker.

The Bloodhand Pirates seemed to have the advantage. The berserker had only a few light injuries while he dominated the captain in their exchange. Yet, the captain appeared to be wary of the berserker's sword and was holding back somewhat.

Nearby, another pirate, a large man with a red bandana, was supporting the berserker with a crossbow.

Sequence 7-9 were considered low-tier in terms of extraordinary ranks. While the individual strength varied, their biggest weakness was their vulnerability to large-scale battles.

Once the berserker and the captain cleared the area, the pirates could easily overwhelm the captain with ranged attacks.

'First, I'll take out some of the regular pirates to get a feel for things, then try to help that captain.'

Ian quickly assessed the situation and made his decision.

He moved swiftly along the ship's side toward the captain.

With a flick of his left hand, the axe flew through the air, embedding itself in the back of a pirate's skull. The pirate, who had been roaring and hacking away just moments before, fell to the ground without a sound.