บท 14: HoG - Chapter 14
Chapter 14: Victory Escape
The wooden sailing ship groaned, a haunting creak echoing with each sway in the tempestuous sea. The gale-force winds and towering waves toyed with the vessel, sending it rocking from side to side.
High above, the peril was magnified. The naval officer, clad in the distinctive uniform of a lieutenant, ascended the precarious mainmast's side stays. Four compact flintlock pistols were secured in the bull leather bandolier across his chest, a testament to his rank and readiness.
Unlike warrant officers, who were merely candidates in waiting, lieutenants like him, having served at least two years and passed the Navy's rigorous assessment, were the true officers of a warship. Moreover, he was a liminal figure, akin to Byron, having awakened his 'Spirituality' yet to undergo the inauguration ceremony—a semi-supernatural being.
In the tapestry of human society, few prodigies could autonomously elevate their 'Spirituality' before adulthood. Most supernatural beings only awakened with the aid of potent elixirs and seasoned experience, their powers blossoming with age and responsibility. It was the norm for such awakenings to occur beyond the age of twenty.
"I'm here!" the lieutenant exclaimed, his voice tinged with triumph as he reached the topgallant yard, taking advantage of the chaotic battle that consumed the crew. A smile of satisfaction graced his face, a rare feat in such treacherous conditions. Only the most intrepid sailors dared to scale these heights during a force 6 gale.
Below him, dozens of meters down, the waves churned with a fury, their crests whipped into a frenzy. One false move would be his last.
Yet, high risk promised high reward. The accolade for completing this task was substantial, enough to grant him the knowledge needed for the promotion ritual. His ambition was to become an 'Artillery Expert' of the Lighthouse sequence, amassing further merits to earn the rank of field officer. He dreamed of commanding a fourth-rate battleship or greater, stepping onto the express lane to promotion, and becoming a "Sir" revered in high society.
Though he had pledged allegiance to Henry VI of Lancaster upon enlisting, he was no steadfast 'Disciplinary Knight.' His own future outweighed any notion of loyalty, especially in the pursuit of a suspected remnant of the Lancaster faction, the "Son of the Demon." He would not hesitate to betray the old king if it served his interests.
After all, the Lancaster dynasty had crumbled, replaced by the York dynasty. The White Rose now wielded the 'Iron Law of Sovereignty.' As long as he could live with the consequences, the repercussions of his broken oath would not haunt him.
With determination, the lieutenant tore down the pirate flag emblazoned with a shark and skull, firmly affixing the English blood-red cross flag to the mast. His duty done, he lingered, eager to witness the 'Edict' take effect and savor his moment of glory.
From the 'Severe,' Baron Adonis extended his hand towards the 'Maneater,' now subject to their jurisdiction, and declared with the golden law ring on his finger pointed at the pirate ship: "Edict: All pirates and pirate actions without a 'Letter of Marque' from our country..."
But just as victory seemed assured, the lieutenant, caught in a moment of complacency, noticed Baron Adonis's expression shift dramatically, his finger pointing behind him.
As he turned, a figure on the opposite stay leapt at him with the agility of a leopard.
His 'Spirituality' warned him just in time, allowing him to dodge at the last second. The blade that should have claimed his neck grazed his chest, thwarted by his chainmail.
Byron's face remained impassive as he swiftly adapted, using the rope tied to him as a safety line to propel himself to the other side of the yardarm. In their brief encounter, a precise slash carved a chunk of flesh from the lieutenant's thigh.
The sudden agony threatened to unbalance the lieutenant, who, despite his aspirations, was no master of the blade. He fumbled for the flintlock pistol in his bandolier.
As the adage goes, beyond seven paces, the gun is quicker; within seven paces, it is both precise and swift—especially at the low-tier supernatural being stage, where ordinary soldiers could fell the supernatural.
In his panic, the lieutenant failed to notice that Byron had seized the upwind position, leaving him downwind. When Byron tossed a packet of red powder, the 14-meter-per-second sea breeze ensured it coated the lieutenant's face.
"Ah—!" His scream pierced the air, more agonizing than any before.
The searing pain in his eyes rendered him incapable of reaching for the pistol. Byron charged, his sword slashing through the air. He not only claimed the bandolier but also delivered a decisive kick, sending the lieutenant plummeting from the dizzying height of the yardarm.
Below, the man-eating sharks, kept by "Blood Eye," had been anticipating this moment. They swarmed, their hunger insatiable.
"As a chef, carrying a packet of chili powder should be quite reasonable, right?" Byron mused aloud, a wry smile playing on his lips. "I wonder if the sharks have a taste for spice."
As he executed these actions, Byron did not neglect to slice through half of the blood-red cross flag with a swift flick of his sword. The 'Edict' proclaimed by Baron Adonis was rendered null and void.
Byron's "Weather Intuition" had forewarned him of the impending change, and he silently counted down in his heart:
"Ten, nine, eight..."
When only five seconds remained, he signaled to Hans, the carpenter, whom he had previously informed of the plan.
Hans, who had been poised at the bow anchor, promptly released the anchor of the 'Maneater,' a weight surpassing that of the ship's cannons. This was a tactical maneuver known as "Drop Anchor and Turn."
The main anchor of a warship, being heavier than its cannons, would cause a violent tremor upon striking the seabed, abruptly tautening the anchor cable and shaking the entire vessel. Though such an action, with its potential to dismantle the ship, was strictly forbidden under normal circumstances, in this life-or-death scenario, it was the 'Maneater's' sole chance to evade the cruiser.
A resounding boom echoed as the grappling hooks binding the two ships snapped under the tremor, and the ships, once locked side by side, finally separated.
After signaling, Byron did not immediately descend the mast. Instead, he clung tightly to the yardarm that extended over the 'Severe.' From his waist pouch, he retrieved two bottles of 84.5-degree Bacardi rum, a prized possession of Captain Salman.
The light of 'Spirituality' danced in his eyes as an invisible third hand uncapped the bottles, stuffed cloth into their necks, and saturated them with liquor. These were Molotov cocktails, a makeshift yet potent weapon.
Ignited by sparks from Byron's 'Tinderbox,' the bottles plummeted toward the warship's hatch below, exploding upon impact and igniting a fierce fire in the lower hold.
"The warship is on fire!"
"Retreat quickly! The baron is still on board, and if the powder magazine explodes, we're all doomed!"
The naval soldiers, who had been thrown off balance by the tremor, realized the gravity of the situation and scrambled back to their ship, including Harold, the "Fortress Guardian."
A step-by-step approach might have allowed them to defeat the pirates with minimal losses, but the pirates, fighting for survival, were too desperate and fierce. The navy could not afford such a high cost, especially with their own ship ablaze and a noble from York at risk.
As the 'Maneater' executed a wide turn under the combined forces of the anchor and the gale, heading northeast into the wind, Salman, the "Blood Eye," leaped forth, radiating heat, and severed the thick anchor cable with his saber. Freed, the 'Maneater' surged forward, propelled by the wind, heading northeast on the wings of inertia.
The timing was impeccable. The 7th-level wind, with a speed of 27 knots, arrived as anticipated, bringing tears to the pirates' eyes. Towering waves, crested with white foam, rose like hills and, in the blink of an eye, pushed the two sailing ships further apart.
It was a miraculous reversal.
"Roar—!"
"The wind is here!"
"We really survived! Hahaha..."
The pirates' exultant cheers pierced the heavens, casting a somber shadow over the faces of both Baron Adonis and Captain Harold. Meanwhile, the fire in the cruiser's lower hold grew uncontrollable, threatening the magazine.
Captain Harold had no choice but to order, "All hands on deck, focus on putting out the fire! Everyone else, evacuate for now!"
Soldiers frantically operated the manual water pump, drawing water to extinguish the flames. On the other side, a soot-covered Baron Adonis was carried onto a lifeboat by marine soldiers, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails nearly drew blood.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"
His furious roars were hollow and impotent. The damaged sails, the encroaching fire, and the sudden weather anomaly made pursuing the pirate ship impossible.
He knew this had been his closest and last chance to capture the "Son of the Demon." Once the pirates left England's territorial waters, the family's manhunt would intensify, drawing in the navy, privateer captains, bounty hunters, and even other pirates.
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