Face to Face

~~~🏴‍☠️~~~

The main pier of Luminas darkened under an overcast sunset. The sea, flat as a sheet of burnished iron, reflected a dull glare that burned the eyes. And on it, the captured brigantine descended with a final sigh from its ether core. The black sails fluttered lifelessly. The hull settled onto the water with a tired groan.

People stepped back a few paces from pure reflex when it finally came to rest against the wooden docks. No one spoke.

Ettor was the first to move. With a tilt of his chin, he ordered two guards to climb the makeshift gangplank and help the prisoners down. The three men and the wolf-man stumbled with wrists bound by hemp rope. The purple bruises on their cheekbones and grime on their clothes told the recent story without words.

Nessus, agile as a cat, planted himself on the other side of the line. One hand on the chain he'd used in the square. The other resting with apparent disinterest near his bow. A smile played on his lips, not mocking, but warning.

Leonoris descended carefully, holding Sylve by the shoulders. The hostage was pale, dark hair plastered to her face by salt dampness and belated nerves. With every step, the princess murmured little words of comfort, as though singing to herself could bring her back to reality.

Rei came down last, but placed himself at the front of everyone. The weight of the pirate musket dragged at his arm, yet it also made him look unstoppable, merciless. He walked a few paces along the shoreline and stopped, waiting for his enemy’s move.

In front of him stood sloth and cruelty incarnate: Drey Malbrine. The crooked smile was the same as that first night; the stained teeth, the gleam of cruel amusement in his eyes, the lock of hair fallen over his brow as if this were nothing more than a private party. Rei’s gut twisted. The memory of the blow in the workshop, the smell of oil and powder, the thunderclap that stuck to his soul, clenched into a knot in his stomach. He could vomit. He could cry. But he wouldn’t. Beneath the fear, something denser and hotter flickered.

“What a picture,” Malbrine crooned. “One of my brigantines, four of my men… and the port’s favorite pastry girl. You’ve got too much guts to stand against us, little mice. Makes me want to applaud. Or think you’re begging to die.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, gathered behind the inexperienced Kounarian guards. Some stepped back; others just one step forward, jaws clenched. Ettor didn’t flinch, his steel eyes counting cannons and enemy muskets. Nessus rolled his shoulders, and Leonoris pulled Sylve closer to her.

“Then applaud, Drey Malbrine,” Rei said, his voice clear, deeper than usual. “From afar, please. I don’t want your rotten stench spreading.”

The port fell utterly silent. The three Illuminated behind him stared wide-eyed, as if he’d gone mad. Maybe that was the plan, considering Malbrine and his lackeys looked the same.

“But you’re in luck,” Rei continued. “Today you’ll walk home with part of what you came to lose.”

The corsair tilted his head, amused.

“Oh, really? Then speak, plaything.”

Rei forced a smile, taut at the edges. It was fine that it came out that way—the tension was true.

“When the table shakes, don’t scream; fix a leg.”

Damn it, Gorō. Not the time for carpentry lessons.

“You’ll take your four men. As a warning, just this once.” Rei gestured with the musket, not aiming, just a horizontal trace, firm. “And you’ll take that brigantine, empty. In return, you leave us in peace for one month. Thirty days without raids, without scouting, without midnight visits to the port. You tell your friends Luminas Pier is closed to you until then.”

The silence that followed was sharp. Malbrine stopped smiling with his mouth, but the grin lingered in his eyes.

“How funny. I have to congratulate you for today, but you’ve got no voice to set terms. Give everything back, toy hero. The ship, the weapons, the cargo… and the woman. If you want ‘no trouble.’”

Rei’s heart slammed against his sternum. Sylve’s ruined face flashed painfully clear in his mind for a second. Leonoris squeezed her a little tighter, aware she now understood the danger. Rei inhaled through his nose.

“No.” The word fell heavy as a large bolt on wood. “The hostage stays. That’s not negotiable. And the weapons too. Take your ship. Take your men. Take this truce, or you’ll regret it.”

Ettor said nothing, but his gaze was solid support. Nessus was ready to leap. Leonoris whispered an imperceptible prayer: that luck would not betray them now.

Malbrine laughed. Not a chuckle, not festive. A low, heavy laugh, like chewing on a bone.

“Remember, boy, the last time you tried this you ended up crying with a pistol in your face.” He raised his voice deliberately, for all to hear. “I could smash you again. I could step right over your pretty manners and turn you into figurehead décor.”

“Try it.” Rei didn’t move, swallowing hard any flicker of fear. “But you just sent four hens, and they didn’t do well. Why not add a fifth?”

There was a choked “oooh!” somewhere on the pier, someone clapping a hand over their mouth as if the word could curse them. Ettor’s shoulder tightened just a fraction, a silent warning but also a doubt at the Hero’s boldness. Nessus grinned wide, on the contrary, savoring the provocation. Leonoris shivered, but didn’t pull Sylve away.

Malbrine’s eyes sharpened. His right hand slid to his side with the lazy grace of a cat before a pounce. Rei was already watching when it began. The musket lifted a handspan. His finger didn’t reach the trigger, but it wouldn’t have taken an instant. If the pirate drew, he would… do something. He feared taking a life—unlike those monsters—but he wouldn’t hesitate if it meant protecting his people.

They froze like that, measuring. The port held its breath. A lone plop of a fish breaking the surface proved time hadn’t truly stopped.

Malbrine sighed. Not resigned—cautious. He deliberately pulled his hand away from the holster.

“Very well.” The word spat venom. “Your saintly pose sickens me. I’ll take my men and my ship. You keep the girl and the garbage you stole.” The grin returned, frosted. “One month. Spin your nets, kiss children or tell hero tales in the square. Then, when the bell tolls, we’ll come back for what’s ours, and with interest.”

The tension eased a notch. Not relief, but any calm was welcome.

“Ettor,” Rei said without turning. “Have them walk, unarmed, to their ship. The brigantine we’ll release later.”

“Understood.” The older man’s voice was rock on rock. He ordered the prisoners to march toward the men behind Malbrine, while crude bows and arrows aimed at them. As they passed, Rei hammered the musket, intimidating the humans—though not the furred beast that still frightened him. The pirates scrambled up the ship’s side ropes like insects returning to their hive.

“The ship,” Malbrine demanded now.

“When your vessels are distant, we’ll release it,” Rei replied.

“You could sink it before it reaches us.”

“Sorry to tell you, but you’ve got no voice to set terms.” He threw Malbrine’s words back.

Malbrine grimaced but had to accept.

They complied. After the corsair’s theatrical retreat, Ettor loosed the moorings. The brigantine, scarred fresh from battle, slid toward open sea like a dog slinking back to its master. Rei kept the musket angled, never aiming at a head, but never lowering it. He wouldn’t give away the power line he had carved with sheer grit.

The three galleons didn’t turn right away. Malbrine let them taste his shadow a minute longer, so the whole port would remember it in dreams. Then he raised the horn one last time, voice carrying far.

“One month, hero.” The title came like an insult. “Don’t be late to your own legend.”

Anchors lifted. Black sails filled. The ships turned with the majestic laziness only great, fearless things possess. In minutes, the skull banners were swallowed by mist.

The pier erupted. Not in rehearsed cheers, but in broken exhalations: sobs, nervous laughter, names spoken aloud again. An old man raised his arms to the sky and collapsed onto a wooden bench.

“Sylve!” a young man cried.

A group of fishermen surrounded Sylve with cries of relief, touching her shoulders, her cheeks, as if to confirm she wouldn’t dissolve. She cried late, belated, with that quiet sobbing that comes only once the danger is past and the body realizes it’s still alive.

“Are you all right?” Leonoris cupped her face with both hands, gaze warm, pulse steady.

“Yes… yes,” Sylve stammered, ashamed of her own voice. “Did they really… leave?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” Leonoris answered, not promising more than she could. “Recover now. We’ll speak later.”

Nessus leapt forward and nearly tripped from sheer energy. He turned to Rei, thumbs raised like a child seeking praise. Then he gave him a playful shoulder bump.

“That was beautiful!” he laughed, unruly. “I thought you’d faint, but no—you stood like a post in the storm!”

“I was going to faint,” Rei admitted, a half-smile steady for the first time. “But I’d have fallen forward, so it looked like an attack.”

Nessus burst out laughing so loudly a baby two meters away stopped crying, startled by the noise. Even that, they managed well.

Ettor descended with the slowness of one still carrying responsibility. He stopped before Rei. No embrace, no clap on the back. Just a nod, brief and sufficient.

“You rose to the occasion,” he said.

Rei swallowed, that tiny validation weighing heavier on his chest than he wanted.

“About time,” he nodded, unsure of his voice. “Thanks, Supermaster.”

“Hero…” Leonoris approached, Sylve now in the arms of two relatives. Her arrival kept Rei from seeing Ettor’s mildly annoyed frown. “Thank you.”

He looked at her and lowered the musket. His arm throbbed from shoulder to fingers—he only realized it then. The body always sent the bill later. Yet it faded to the background as the town formed around them again. Magdalin, the maid from the castle, appeared with a cloth and pressed it to his cut brow without asking. A blacksmith shouted a heartfelt “hell yes!” that drew laughter nearby. Two children stared wide-eyed at Rei, repeating, “the hero, the hero, the hero.”

The crowd ebbed like waves, as if the pier regained its breath. Sylve, wrapped in arms and blankets, was carried to the healing house.

At last, as they turned toward the horses for the ride back to the castle, Nessus couldn’t resist another shoulder tap.

“‘Supermaster’ Ettor won’t say it,” he whispered loud enough for Ettor to hear, quiet enough to pretend he hadn’t, “but he was proud.”

“Nessus,” Ettor replied with the patience of an elder brother who’s chosen restraint over battle a thousand times.

“What? It’s true!” The blond laughed, and for a moment the port seemed young.

Leonoris returned at a run, hair loose from her hood.

“Sylve is stable,” she said, breathless. “She regained consciousness well. I’ll speak with her later.”

Rei nodded, relieved.

“Hero,” Ettor called. “The pirates said they’ll return in a month. That means…”

“We have one week to prepare. At most.”

“One week!?” Nessus exploded nervously, nearly disbelieving. “That’s nothing!”

“So soon?” Leonoris whispered, afraid.

Ettor breathed deep instead.

“I’m relieved you understand. They’re furious at today’s defeat. They’ll want to deliver an exemplary punishment soon.” He locked eyes. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Rei pressed the musket to his thigh, as if the cold iron could steady his voice.

“I do,” he answered without wavering. “And I believe it’s possible. We just need powder, metal… and Solaria. And to start working now.” His gaze swept Ettor, Leonoris, Nessus, then the horizon. “We can win.”

Despite fear, Nessus grinned with his trademark spark of recklessness.

“Damn, you really are crazy.”

Leonoris lowered her head, murmuring a prayer.

“If that is Solaria’s will…”

Ettor, stern, kept his frown, having said enough.

Rei lifted his eyes one last time toward the sea, as the horses began the return to the castle. The mist thickened, erasing all trace of sails and banners. The silence of the water wasn’t peace, but threat held in check.

In the pirate code there were no promises. They would be back soon.

This had been an important first victory. Not enough. Barely the first. And a greater one would have to follow, or all would be lost in false confidence.

“And it will come,” he thought, for Kashiwa Rei was there.