Chapter 38 – Too Many Plot Twists for God’s Sake!!

The Stroud creaks softly against the black waves.

Most of the crew sleep soundly, drunk on grog and exhaustion. Luna’s chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, Seraphina curls with her blade in hand, even Eira snores like thunder below deck.

Only I can’t sleep.

A weight presses against my chest, my skin crawling like invisible fingers drag across it. Something’s wrong.

I drag myself to the deck. Fog clings to the air like a shroud. The sea looks endless, but too still… like it’s holding its breath.

At the helm, Arin sways lazily, humming off-key with a bottle in hand.
“Arrr, ye be havin’ trouble catchin’ some Z’s, lad?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. “What about you?”

“A swig o’ grog be the cure fer all, matey! A sailor sleeps with one eye open and the other dreamin’ of rum, savvy?” He chuckles, but his voice seems… tense.

The fog thickens. My skin vibrates, instincts screaming.

“How long until we reach it?” I ask, eyes fixed on the black horizon.

“By dawn’s break, we’ll be droppin’ anchor at Altar Isle,” Arin says. “Where vows be sealed… and fates decided.”

Fates decided, huh? That line clings to me like a curse.

I patrol the ship. The others sleep soundly, unaware. But then—movement.

A shadow slithers up the side of the Stroud. Too quiet. Too precise. Not drunk pirates.

My hand grips the dagger at my belt. When the figure’s head rises over the railing, I grab him by the collar and plunge the blade deep. His eyes widen—no sound, just a wet gurgle—before I drag him down and spill his blood on the deck.

He’s dressed like a pirate… but cleaner. More uniform. A mercenary?

Another climbs over. I duck into the shadows, heart pounding.

Voices drift from below.
“Eh? Thought they’d all be snoring by now.”
“Forget it. Lady Xylara wants this done. Can’t wait for the Silver Fangs to do her dirty work.”

Xylara?!

Assassins. Damn it.

I grip my dagger tighter. I don’t have a silencer, no gun for quiet work—mental note, make one later. For now, it’s steel and shadow.

I slip behind the nearest one. The blade slides across his throat before he even gasps. Blood spatters warm across my arm as I heave his body overboard. The splash is swallowed by the fog.

The other turns. “Oi… Ganri? You there?”

I step out of the mist. His eyes go wide.

Too late.

My blade flashes. His scream dies in his throat. I kick his corpse into the sea.

The silence shatters.

Arin’s voice roars across the deck. “What be happenin’, lad?!”

I wipe the blood from my hand, eyes sharp. “Intruders. And they’re not pirates.”

Arin stiffens, then throws his head back and howls, “ALAAAAAARM!”

The bell clangs. The Stroud wakes like a beast disturbed. Crew stumble from hammocks, weapons flashing in the torchlight. Eira bursts out half-dressed, hair wild. Seraphina’s tail coils, blade drawn. Luna snaps awake, already tying her hair into a ponytail, eyes like cold steel.

The deck shakes under boots, the fog pressing tighter.

And somewhere beyond the veil of mist, I can feel them. More shadows. Watching. Waiting.

This isn’t a random ambush.
This is an execution.
And it’s only just begun.

Eira kicks open her cabin door, hair a mess but pistol already cocked.
“Avast ye! What in the goddess’ name be goin’ on here?! Arin, why be the alarm blarin’ like a siren on a warship?!”

I slam a body down onto the deck. Black blood spreads across the planks.
Seraphina’s pupils narrow to slits.
“…Dark Assassins. Western dark elves. Only they use these blades.”

The fog presses in, thicker, colder. My gut knots.
“So, Eira…” my voice low, “…don’t tell me this is just pirates.”

Her jaw hardens. “Aye, lad. If them shadows be movin’, then the vows already be spoken. We’re sailin’ behind schedule… and into the lion’s maw.”

Luna rushes to me, eyes catching on the blood dripping from my hand.
“Randy! What happened to you?!”

“Assassins,” I mutter. “Guess they gave up waiting. Thought they’d slit our throats in our sleep.”

Seraphina smirks darkly. “Good thing you were awake. The rest of us would’ve been fish bait by dawn.”

I scan the horizon. Too quiet. Too wrong.
“…We’re not alone out here.”

No more waiting. My wings unfold, thrumming as my flight suit powers up. The crew gape, jaws hanging, as the jets roar to life—except for Luna, Harmonia, Seraphina, and Elowen. They’ve seen this before.

Still, Eira stares like she’s seen a ghost.
“By the saints… a man takin’ flight like a storm crow. What sorcery be this?!”

Arin leans on the helm, utterly unfazed. “Arrr, that be some fancy gizmos, lad. Me? I’ll stick to me rum, thanks.”

“Randy…” Luna whispers, voice trembling.

I pull my mask on, hiding my face. “Checking the surroundings. Don’t wait up.”

And then I leap.

The night air tears past me. Higher. Faster. Until the Stroud is just a shadow on the black water.

Then I see it.

A fleet. A massive fleet.
Silver sails glinting. Black flags snapping. Dozens of warships, tight formation.
And above them, blotting out the stars—an airship, crimson-marked with three scars.

My blood runs cold. Their cheat code, huh? Then I’ll use mine.

“Drones… unleash.”

Panels slide open. A swarm of machines pour into the sky, red optics gleaming like fireflies of war. They streak out, unseen in the fog, while I climb to the blind spot above.

Inside the airship, panic spreads.

“What’s happenin’?!” crew shout.
“We’re under attack?!”

Xylara grips the railing, voice like thunder.
“Impossible! No such technology exists among pirates!”

Thorgrim’s crimson eyes narrow. “No… this stinks of him. The one who destroyed Gungnir…”

Glass shatters—BANG!

Bullets tear through the helm. Sparks rain down. The captain drops. Controls burst into flames.

I land in their midst, rifle already raised. Masked. Silent. A shadow with wings.

“STOP HIM!!!” a guard screams.

Too late.
I fire—helm destroyed. Another shot—fuel tank ruptures.
Then I toss the gift.

A bomb.
“BOOM!!!”

Flames swallow the chamber as I blast back into the sky.

“Let’s test your fuel…” I mutter, scope locking on their tanks. “Hydrogen, huh? Big mistake.”

Trigger pulled.

WHOOSH. FWOOM.

The airship erupts into a second sun, tumbling from the sky.

On the Stroud, the crew watch in horror.

“Randy!!” Luna screams, her voice breaking.
“Dumbass!!” Elowen slams her staff.
“He’s gone solo again!!” Seraphina’s tail lashes.
Harmonia, of course, is cheering. “Woooaaah!!! Randy’s amazing!!!”

Eira steps beside Luna, her usual grin gone. “Arrr… pray hard, lass. Else he be joinin’ Davy Jones.”

Flaming wreckage rains down, crushing one Silver Fang ship into splinters. Others scatter in panic.

But my work isn’t done.

I dive, weaving through cannon fire, drones splitting into squadrons. One bomb, one shot—ships explode like fireworks.

Four ships gone. Then eight. Then more.

By the time I land on the deck of a warship, the horizon burns. Over a hundred vessels already sinking.

The pirates gape at me, shaking. Some drop weapons. Others leap into the sea rather than face me.

“By Neptune’s beard… what is that thing?!”
“Drake Stroud’s ghost! He’s come for our souls!!”

I raise my rifle.
Their fear is answer enough.

The deck vanishes in another explosion as I launch away.

But the celebration dies when the shadows rise.

Thorgrim—towering, armored, eyes glowing like burning coals.
Xylara—lean, dark, her aura twisting with poisonous magic.

“You…” Thorgrim growls, his colossal frame blotting out the moonlight. His voice rumbles like an earthquake across the sea. “The one who destroyed Gungnir…”

Xylara’s emerald eyes burn as her lips curl into a snarl. “You bastard!!” She raises her obsidian blade, aura flaring with dark elf magic.

I don’t answer. No words. Just the steady hum of my drones circling overhead, raining fire on the Silver Fang fleet. Explosions ripple across the sea, each blast reflecting in my mask’s visor.

“They’ll come for me soon…” I mutter under my breath, voice lost to the storm. “…but first, I’ll finish this.”

Wings of mana flare behind them—Thorgrim and Xylara launch into the sky, streaks of crimson and emerald tearing through the fog. Fireballs and jagged lances of lightning scream toward me, but my suit absorbs, disperses, and nullifies them one after another.

Xylara gasps, fury twisting her features.
“What…? My magic has no effect?! What ARE you?!”

Thorgrim’s face hardens. He senses it. He knows.
“…Impossible. That power… He is dangerous.”

He glances back at the burning sea, at the shattered Silver Fang fleet. His lips tighten into a grim line.
“Xylara… retreat.”

“What?!” She snarls, whipping her blade toward him. “Don’t spout coward’s words to me, Thorgrim! He bleeds like any other!”

Thorgrim doesn’t move. His massive frame shakes—not from fear, but recognition. His voice lowers, almost reverent.

“Grimgold is dead because of him. And that presence… it’s the same as Lilith… and Drake. A warrior who should not exist has returned.”

His crimson eyes lock on me one last time before his body vanishes in a shimmer of teleportation.
“…I must report this to Lord Azrael.”

And just like that, the giant is gone.

Xylara’s eyes widen with rage. “You coward!!” She turns her fury back on me, her aura exploding outward.

She chants, words ancient and sharp.
“Ozhashkwebi!”

A crescent blade of wind, sharper than steel, screams toward me—fast enough to cut a galleon in two. It slams against my chest—

—and disperses like smoke.

Her eyes widen, disbelief written all over her face.
“No… impossible!!”

I lunge. The hum of my thrusters roars as I close the distance. My hand reaches to my side—click, snap, hiss.

The air splits with the searing light of my saber, crimson-white, humming with destructive intent.

“You—!!”

Xylara slashes with her obsidian sword, sparks flying as steel meets plasma. Her arms tremble. My blade cuts through her guard like paper.

One sweep. One flash.

Her body stiffens mid-air, eyes wide in shock.
“Argh… no… I am Xylara, General of the West… I… cannot…”

The light bisects her cleanly. Her scream vanishes into the night as her body scatters into ash on the wind.

I hover above the sea, saber hissing in my grip. The Silver Fang fleet burns below me, terrified voices crying out in the distance.

The execution continues.
Above, my drones roar through the clouds, fire and smoke painting the sea red.
Below, the Stroud cuts through the chaos like a predator, her black sails blazing against the burning fleet.

The two Silver Fang ships—still blind to the slaughter around them—swing their cannons and prepare boarding hooks.

“Avast ye!” the elf captain bellows, brandishing twin elvish sabers. His voice cuts through the cannon smoke. “Prepare to be boarded, scallywags! This ship be mine!”

“Yarrr!!!” his crew howls, charging forward.

But they don’t know.
They don’t see the glint in Eira’s eyes.
They don’t realize the Stroud has been waiting.

“FIRE!!!”

The Stroud’s cannons roar in unison, thunder shaking the sea. Wood splinters, masts snap, and one of the Silver Fang ships lurches violently, sails shredded by chain shot.

“Board ‘em!” Eira’s voice is fire and steel. “Make ‘em regret ever raisin’ their sails against the Stroud!!”

Hooks latch. Planks slam down. Pirates clash midair like demons leaping from hell.

On the left flank, Eira and Luna lead the charge.
Steel sings as Luna’s rapier gleams under the moonlight, precise and merciless. Every thrust pierces armor at impossible angles, every kick sends foes sprawling.

“Your stance is weak,” she says coldly, parrying a pirate’s cutlass before sending him overboard with a spinning heel kick. “This is no duel. This is extermination.”

Beside her, Eira laughs wildly, her blade flashing arcs of silver death. “Arrr! This be the dance of blades, matey! To Davy Jones with ye!!” She cleaves through two pirates at once, kicking one back into his own crew.

The elf captain rushes them, sabers swirling with elven wind magic. “Ye think ye can best me, blidge rats?! I’ll carve yer names into the sea itself!!”

Their blades meet. Sparks explode.
But with Luna’s deadly precision and Eira’s unpredictable ferocity, the captain is already drowning. His strikes grow frantic, his steps stagger. He doesn’t realize it yet—
—but the duel is lost.

On the right flank, Arin staggers drunkenly across the deck, bottle in one hand, cutlass in the other. “Hyaaaah! This one’s fer the grog!” He swings, trips, and somehow sends a Silver Fang pirate flying into another, knocking them both unconscious.

“Are you serious?!” Seraphina groans, coiling her serpentine body around three men at once. Her spear spins in her hands, slicing clean through armor. Blood spatters across the deck. Her golden eyes blaze.
“Run while you can, weaklings! I don’t fight cowards twice!!”

The pirates freeze, staring at her monstrous naga form. Some scream. Some drop their weapons. Others hurl themselves overboard, preferring the mercy of the sea to her wrath.

On the rear deck, Elowen chants, her hammer glowing as runes ignite across the Stroud’s planks. “Hold steady!! Reinforce the hull!!” Her magic spreads like fire, strengthening the ship itself. Cannonballs shatter against invisible barriers, falling harmlessly into the sea.

Beside her, Harmonia leaps from railing to railing with grace, kicking pirates into the water while cheerfully shouting, “Nyaaa! Bad doggies don’t belong on our ship!”

The sea itself becomes a battlefield of chaos—ships burning, pirates screaming, steel ringing in the night.

The Stroud’s crew moves like one, a storm of steel and sorcery, while their enemies break like waves against rocks.

By the time the elf captain realizes his mistake, his men are already scattering, their war cries drowned beneath the thunder of cannons and the roar of the sea.

I cut through the dark skies, the dawn finally breaking across the horizon. The world below burns with the remnants of the fleet. Shattered masts, drifting corpses, and ships already slipping beneath the waves. A battlefield graveyard painted in crimson light.

The Stroud sails steady among the wreckage. Despite her patched hull, she floats proud, smoke curling from her cannons. Two Silver Fang vessels smolder beside her, broken and burning.

On deck, Eira’s voice thunders:

“Avast, ye bilge rats! Grab anythin’ worth its salt! Don’t be forgettin’ the grog or the powder, or we’ll be sailin’ into the abyss dry as a nun’s teacup! Snatch every cannon, every blade, every last drop o’ rum—savvy?!”

Her crew roars in reply, already looting like hungry wolves.

Arin, of course, is swaying drunkenly, arms full of bottles. “Aye, ye heard the lady! Grog first, questions never! Hah!” He takes a long swig and nearly topples off the deck.

Elowen crosses her arms, fuming. “We are now officially pirates.” 😭

Luna pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering through clenched teeth. “Yes. I know. This is humiliating.” 😤

Seraphina inspects a pile of scavenged weapons, unimpressed. “Rusted. Chipped. Worthless. Even the steel here is an insult.” She tosses a cutlass aside, her tail flicking with irritation.

Meanwhile, Harmonia is practically sparkling, stuffing coins, pistols, and even a dead man’s boots into a bag twice her size. “Yay! Looting like a pirate! Nyaa~ treasure!!” 🥳

I dive from the skies, smoke trailing behind me, and land hard on the deck. The Stroud groans under my boots, but she’s still standing. Around us, the sea glitters with wreckage. Behind me, the last ship explodes, blooming like firework death across the dawn.

Luna’s eyes find me instantly. “…How many?”

I wipe my mask, sweat dripping. “…The whole fleet’s gone. But—one airship wasn’t Silver Fang.”

“The explosion?” Elowen’s voice sharpens.

My back stiffens. “…Tried to avoid it.”

“The explosion…” Seraphina repeats, arms folding, her gaze drilling into me.

“nyaaa… the explosion~” Luna adds, her tail flicking dangerously.

I break. “Fine!! There were two… interesting people onboard. One giant, one dark elf. But I—”

“But what?” Elowen leans closer.

I scratch my cheek, sweating bullets. “…I thought she’d give me a good fight.”

“And?” Elowen presses.

“…Sorry.” I bow my head like a kid caught stealing sweets.

“You defeated them?!” Elowen nearly screams.

Luna smirks—just a little. “At least you could’ve brought one back alive. Someone to interrogate.” Her tone is sweet, but her eyes are terrifying.

“…You’re scary when you smile like that, Luna.”

“Where are the remains?” Elowen cuts in.

I point toward the smoldering graveyard of ships.

The Stroud sails closer, and the crew gasps.

“Shiver me timbers! That be no jest!” Eira slams her grog bottle down.
“By Neptune’s trident!” Arin gawks, stumbling into the railing. “The lad wiped a fleet like it were nothin’! Shiver me spyglass, I be starstruck!!”

“…Nope.” I shake my head. “Like you said, they weren’t organized.”

Arin bursts into drunken laughter so hard he collapses to the deck. “Arrgh, ye landlubber! Ye think bein’ a pirate be swabbin’ decks an’ firin’ cannons?! Nay, matey! It’s about outwittin’, plunderin’, and survivin’ by yer wits! Ye just proved it!!”

“Uh… thanks?”

Arin slaps my back, almost knocking me forward. “Arrr, that’s right! When the seas get rough, when cannons blaze and death sings her song, there be no shame in cuttin’ yer losses and runnin’ for open waters! Live to fight another day, savvy?!”

“…Yeah. Savvy.”

The crew roars again, raising grog and blades toward the sky. But even as their cheer echoes across the blood-soaked sea, my eyes drift back toward the fog of the Cloud Wall.

The fleet may be gone.
But this?
This was only the opening act.

I drag myself back to the Stroud’s deck, exhaustion finally catching up to me. The smell of burnt powder and salt lingers in the air, but my body is too heavy to care. Dropping to the wooden planks, I let the gentle rocking of the ship lull me.

“Just five minutes…” I mumble. And just like that—I’m out cold.

From the helm, voices drift down.

Eira crosses her arms, eyes narrowing on me with something between amusement and awe. “Aye, Granny told me the same tale about Drake Stroud, matey! That scurvy dog could turn the tide with a single ship… and this lad? He be cut from the same cloth. Luck? Skill? Or maybe… the sea’s own magic. Either way, destiny’s chosen ’im. Mark me words.”

Arin tips his bottle, swaying dangerously near the railing. “Arrgh, then we ride with destiny itself! Let the seas quake and the gods weep—this be the pirate’s life, aye! We’ll carve our mark ‘cross the waves, matey!”

The Stroud creaks as she cuts toward the sunrise. Behind us, the smoldering graveyard of the Silver Fang fleet sinks into the sea—a funeral pyre for fools.

Far away, in the jagged shadows of the canyon, a massive figure watches. Thorgrim’s eyes burn with grim recognition.

“…That ship. That power. No point allyin’ with these drunken scum. As if Drake Stroud himself has returned.” His voice is like stone grinding. He lifts a hand, dark magic swirling. “Tholai sthāna sañcāram.”

With a ripple, he vanishes into mist.

Back on the Stroud, a cry cuts through the dawn.

“LAND HO!!!” a lookout bellows from the mast.

On the horizon, an island emerges from the mist. Crags like fangs pierce the sky, and in its heart—an altar glimmers faintly, as if calling us.

Eira’s eyes gleam. “Ahoy, matey! We’ve dropped anchor at Kiri—the Altar Isle! Where the ancients whispered secrets to the waves and ghosts be walkin’ the sands!”

Luna’s gaze softens. Randy’s still sprawled on deck, sleeping like nothing happened.

“Well… he did all the work for us.” Elowen shrugs.

“I know. That dummy.” Luna kneels, brushing the sweat from his forehead. Her voice drops to a whisper. “…Rest now. I’ll scold you later.”

Harmonia crouches beside him, face inches from his. “He looks sooo cute when he’s asleep!”

“Back off, kitten.” Seraphina hooks Harmonia by the collar and drags her away. “He needs to sleep, not wake up to you sniffin’ him.”

“Not on my watch!” Luna snaps, blocking her, tail puffed like an angry cat.

Elowen groans, massaging her temple. “Gods above… every time.”

“Drop the swabbie here, lassies!” Eira cackles, grabbing Luna and Harmonia by the scruff like misbehaving kittens. “The isle calls, and I’ll not have us missin’ adventure! Savvy?”

Elowen claps sarcastically as the girls get dragged away. “Good riddance.” She glances at me, still asleep, then sighs. “…Guess I’ll stay behind. Someone has to babysit this idiot before he blows up another fleet in his sleep.”

The others disembark, boots hitting sand, while the Stroud rocks gently at anchor.

And me? I dream.

A fog rolls in, swallowing the deck. The sea is gone. The world is gone. Only endless mist.

“…What am I looking at?” I whisper.

From the void, a voice rises like the tide—deep, weathered, carrying the weight of storms.

“Arrgh… ye’ve finally arrived.”

A tall figure steps forth, hat tilted low, cloak billowing with phantom wind. Only his silhouette shows—broad shoulders, a cutlass at his side, a grin that feels eternal.

“Let’s set aside the cutlass, lad. Sit fer a parley… with a true pirate king.”

The mist coils tighter. His single golden eye gleams through the dark.

Drake Stroud.

To be continued.