The skull-tattooed big man, who had been on the ship for less than ten days, stuck a finger in his ear, bent over, and pressed his head close to the ground.
“People are coming! Master Ren, and… a whole cavalry unit, about a little more than two li away.”
The tattooed man stood up and urgently reported, his hearing astonishing.
Fen’s apparition nodded, but he couldn’t stay long. The coast was dangerously unstable; he could only provide brief support. Archer, who was scouting, would probably be returning to the ship soon.
The Black Sails’ three top fighters were gathered in the grove beside the main road, along with Morrison and Ox.
About eighty pirates were hidden on both sides of the grove, ready to spring out and catch the enemy off guard at any moment.
Fen roughly calculated the distance from Lavender Town to here. From the moment they returned from the raven, reinforcements should have been close. Li Site and the others were most likely being intercepted by pursuers, or else they had gone elsewhere to open boxes for rescue support. Whether they won their fights or not, this side would have to rely on itself. If Li Site had won, he’d be worn down from hard fighting; if he’d lost, he’d need this side to pick up the pieces even more.
“There’s trouble in Secret Port. It’s the Church. Leave this side to you.”
Fen twisted two strands of curse-energy filaments into razor-sharp cords, like clothesline wire. With a flick of his fingers they weaved rapidly across the center of the road into an invisible giant net, laying down a terrifying death trap.
Ren’s footwork was blindingly fast; his limbs blurred as he darted, pulling far ahead of Zachak’s pursuing unit.
In less than a minute he had already slipped into the grove where Ox was waiting.
Then, in under twenty seconds, Zachak’s unit charged in full force.
What followed was horrific and brutal. The first dozen or so cavalry that thundered through were traveling at high speed; under the razor curse-filaments they didn’t even have time for a scream. They died without explanation—man and horse sliced into countless cube-shaped pieces, the cut surfaces as smooth and flat as mirrors.
Their insides spewed out, blood geysering wildly. The entire road entrance became a stench-filled human inferno.
Only then did the rear units react, but their momentum wouldn’t stop. Another twenty riders collided with the giant net in sheer terror, shattering into pieces and scattering in ruins.
The Black Sails’ ambushing sailors watched with wide eyes. There had always been rumors on the ship—people had heard the first mate was a fearsome sorcerer. Now that they saw it, “fearsome” was an understatement; this was palace-grade sorcery, perhaps even superior.
Arlan’s elite Military Police had been encircled and slaughtered by a bunch of pirates; the rear units were thrown into chaos. Horses screamed and reared; the formation collapsed completely and panic spread.
War is not a contest where both sides are suicidal. If a force can lose a third of its men and not waver, you can call it an ironclad army.
Zachak charged at the giant net, drew his sword, and in an instant slashed ten times. A bloody-red sword light exploded, severing all the curse filaments along a slight arc as they fell.
Zachak’s eyes were like hawks. His terrifying combat instincts made him a killing machine; a fierce sword qi surged out subconsciously, vertically bursting through several large trees with undiminished force, cutting through like a blade through bamboo, and precisely struck Fen in the grove.
The curse-netting had already been thrown into disorder by being torn; struck again, Fen’s apparition dispersed outright, dissolving into a faint violet mist and vanishing without a trace.
Zachak’s eyelid twitched. He had seen a lot—this was only a spiritual body, and even its clone had such terrifying curse energy. This was a master-level figure; Marcus over on that side was in grave danger as well.
Killing more than thirty Military Police at the start had greatly boosted the pirates’ morale, but once Zachak showed himself the whole mood wavered. His presence was too shocking, his skill almost supernatural—this was a major figure among Arlan’s Military Police.
Ox understood that he and Morrison had to slaughter every last one of these soldiers. The coast was also being blocked dead by the Church; Li Site and the others were exhausted from running. This was the main front. If this line collapsed, Zachak could split his forces and the whole thing would be finished.
The Black Sails’ rules for dividing spoils were not haphazard.
For total revenue up to three hundred gold dragons, fifty percent went to communal funds, the rest was split evenly.
For more than three hundred gold dragons, two hundred gold dragons went to communal funds, the rest was split evenly.
If the haul was small, at least you could keep the backbone crew; if the haul was large, you could stabilize the crew—a big win for the seasoned fighters.
Not every job paid handsomely; there were droughts. The three-hundred threshold was set because that was the average resale value after looting trade ships between the Western Continent and the Far East.
Communal funds covered hull maintenance and supplies—small stuff. Paying sailors who risked their lives was the big line item.
If a haul exceeded three hundred gold dragons, the backbone members voted on extra bonuses for the sailors. At minimum it started with gold coins; if it didn’t even reach that, then you were no real pirate.
A pirate ship had only one fairness: whoever had the skill took more. All ship rules were transparent—and Black Sails was no exception.
In the end, mixing into a backbone-organized pirate crew versus a ragtag band meant two different levels of safety and pay.
“Win at all costs. No losing. Each person starts with one gold dragon. One Military Police ear is worth one hundred silver coins. A non-commissioned officer’s head plus their epaulet is worth two gold dragons.”
Ox said coldly. As for that leonin and Zachak—no need to mention it; they were untouchable.
That remark was enough.
The pirates’ cold-blooded ferocity immediately showed itself.
They already knew the Black Sails stocked wine and meat aplenty; they lived up to the reputation of one of the East Coast’s most savage crews.
What is one hundred silver coins? According to the Beima Principality’s navy pay, an ordinary sailor working like a beast would take nearly a year to earn that amount. A beautiful high-quality prostitute might charge twenty to thirty copper coins per session—enough for two hundred sessions before collapsing.
Killing one Military Police soldier equaled two years’ pay; killing one NCO equaled four years’.
In this world, a year had sixteen months.
A scarred one-eyed pirate with a cloudy blue iris—a vicious fighter—heard this and didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his curved blade and strode onto the road. Taking advantage of the soldiers’ lingering shock, he thrust and pierced a Military Police man’s abdomen, twisting and yanking out a brutal, bloody mess. The corpse toppled from its horse. The pirate’s skill was no joke—he vaulted back onto his mount and decapitated another soldier.
Black Sails had absorbed many structured pirate remnants from Linden City; this one-eyed man had once been a helmsman and commanded about twenty brothers. He charged forward regardless of life or death.
The skull-tattooed man raised his great axe and let out a battle roar, charging as well. The remaining pirates emitted weird howls and war cries and surged into the enemy ranks with the most savage intimidation imaginable.
Fighting while mounted and fighting on foot were two different concepts. Once these disciplined regulars calmed down, Ox knew the pirates could not stand up to them.
They had to keep the soldiers in extreme terror, like the most cowardly merchant ship meeting the coldest, most ruthless pirates!
Ox himself hefted his oversized greatsword, leapt—four to five meters into the air—and swung. The giant sword weighing over three hundred jin sliced once and two mounted soldiers and their horses were split along an oblique line. The blade’s force ripped the air into turbulence like a gale, blood and organs exploded outward and splattered everywhere.
Ox’s stature made him taller than even the mounted Military Police, standing like an iron tower in the enemy ranks. The surrounding soldiers were thoroughly frightened.
Ren also burst out of the grove. He didn’t kill men as a priority; he gutted horses to create an advantage for the sailors.
With the first mate and the boatswain leading the charge, the pirates’ momentum grew. Despite inferior overall strength, the infantry were blocking and killing the cavalry.
“You’re a leader, aren’t you?”
The two-meter-five leonin Piapan understood he had to cut down this giant. Wielding his oversized blade, the massive knife slashed toward Ox.