Chapter 322 - 317: Visitors from the South

Chapter 322: Chapter 317: Visitors from the South

At the confluence of the North Sea and Gray Bay, the deep blue waters turned murky.

A massive fleet rode the current north, like a pack of sharks piercing the sea fog as they sailed slowly onward.

The lead warship’s figurehead was a sea serpent with a gaping maw. The shields hanging from its sides were caked with layer upon layer of dried, blackened blood.

A blood-red sail unfurled on the mainmast, its sigil a skeletal hand tightly gripping a cutlass.

The captain’s cabin reeked of a nauseating mix of cheap rum and sweat.

"We lost another thirty brothers!"

A burly captain slammed his mug on the table, splashing liquor everywhere. "Damn it, and all for that worthless island! Speaking of which, what’s the deal with that glowing Priest? He’s like a goddamn cockroach you can’t kill!"

"I hear he can reattach a severed arm, as long as you’re still breathing," another captain said, taking a swig of booze. "My men saw it with their own eyes. A flash of golden light, and a guy with his guts spilling out can just stuff ’em back in and keep on fighting."

The tall man in the seat of honor remained silent.

He had only one eye. The other socket was dominated by a hideous scar that stretched from his forehead to the corner of his mouth.

"Black Sails" Barbossa, the head of the Bloodsail Brotherhood.

He merely swept his single eye over the two complaining captains, and they instantly fell silent.

"Useless trash," Barbossa spat. "Fought for over two months, and you can’t even conquer a few worthless rocks. Now you’ve got the nerve to come here and whine."

"Goddammit, didn’t those bastards from the Empire and the church say no one over there would dare to touch us? So where the hell did this rogue Priest come from?"

Just as he was about to erupt, the door to the captain’s cabin was pushed open.

His first mate, a man with a Sea Monster tattooed on his face, walked in briskly.

"Boss, we’re about to enter the waters of Gray Bay."

"Gray Bay..." Barbossa’s one eye narrowed, the contents of the letter delivered by the Imperial messenger a few days prior floating into his mind.

The letter’s contents were simple.

The target had changed. The Empire wanted them to stop gnawing on the hard bone that was the Southern Islands and instead deal with a new nuisance.

A Pioneer Baron named Velin Klein had built a port in the Grey Marsh Territory that would soon threaten them.

The Empire’s demand was to make this nuisance disappear.

"The Grey Marsh Territory?" Barbossa snapped out of his reverie and snorted. "A worthless patch of mud nobody wants. What kind of spoils could there be?"

The first mate leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Reports say their new port is called Minas Tirith. The Golden Sail Commerce Association’s ships have been going in and out frequently, every one of them loaded to the gunwales."

"The Golden Sail Commerce Association..." Barbossa repeated the name, a flicker of interest flashing in his one eye.

"As long as there’s money to be made."

He stood up and pushed the door open, his voice drowning out the sea breeze and the sailors’ shanties.

"Relay my orders! Change course! Target: the Grey Marsh Territory!"

The first mate grinned, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth.

"As you command, Chief!"

A long horn blast echoed from the flagship, the Sea Serpent, then spread like a ripple through the vast fleet.

The flagship was the first to respond. Its rudder groaned beneath the waves. The massive, blood-red mainsail suddenly went slack as the ship turned, then filled with the new wind with a thunderous BOOM.

Immediately after, the dozen or so warships of varying sizes behind the flagship began to repeat the maneuver, one after another, as if pulled by invisible threads.

Countless sails angled themselves in the sea breeze as the ships’ hulls carved furrows into the ocean’s surface. The entire fleet swung toward the northern coastline, making straight for the Grey Marsh Territory.

However, a mere half-day’s voyage later, the lookout sounded the alarm.

Barbossa stormed onto the deck and snatched the spyglass.

On the distant coastline, the silhouette of a port far larger than he had anticipated came into view.

It didn’t look like a new pioneer settlement; it looked like a heavily fortified citadel.

"Send out the scout ships!" Barbossa lowered the spyglass, his expression grim. "I want to know exactly how many soldiers that Minas Tirith Port has, how many gun emplacements, and how many fat sheep are tied up at its docks!"

Three single-masted cutters broke away from the fleet, unfurled their sails, and skimmed across the water’s surface toward the port.

Meanwhile, the main fleet dropped anchor in the outer sea and waited in silence.

At dusk, one of the scout ships came speeding back.

Before the ship had even docked, its captain was already scrambling up a rope ladder. He rushed before Barbossa, his expression a mixture of excitement and gravity.

"Chief, something’s wrong!"

Barbossa’s one eye narrowed. "The port’s a tough nut to crack?"

"Extremely tough!" the scout captain replied, panting for breath.

"They don’t just have city walls, they’ve built two massive wooden forts out on the water! It’s insane! And... those forts and the city walls are covered in battle scars!"

He gestured wildly as he described the scene.

"There are scorch marks and huge breaches everywhere. You can see hasty repairs all over the place, and the water is full of splintered wreckage. Chief, that port... it’s in the middle of a fight with someone!"

Barbossa fell silent.

His first mate and the other captains at his side exchanged uneasy glances.

"Who are they at war with?" The Sea Monster tattoo on the first mate’s face seemed to contort. "The Duchy’s navy? Or another outfit like ours?"

"Doesn’t look like it." The scout captain shook his head. "We didn’t see any other fleet’s colors. The entire bay is empty except for them. But that level of damage... this is no small skirmish. They’re locked in a life-or-death struggle with some powerful, unseen foe!"

The easy raid Barbossa had envisioned had turned into a murky, unpredictable affair.

His face remained impassive, but a glint appeared in his one eye.

It was the glint of an opportunist who had just spotted even greater prey.

Barbossa returned to the captain’s cabin and spread a massive nautical chart across the table.

His captains crowded around him, the atmosphere tense.

"Chief, are we still attacking?" an impatient captain asked. "The Empire’s orders..."

"The Empire only cares about the result." Barbossa’s finger traced a path across the chart, finally tapping on a small island far from the main shipping lanes. "They never said we had to be the first ones to charge in."

"So you’re saying we wait?" the first mate asked.

"What else would we do?" One of the captains who had complained earlier immediately piped up.

"Chief! This is a golden opportunity! They’re fighting some unknown enemy to the death. Once they’ve bled each other dry, we can rush in! All the treasure in that port will be ours for the taking!"

Barbossa didn’t even look at him, speaking as if to himself.

"An unknown enemy capable of battering a sea fortress into that state... You think they’ll be a soft touch?"

He tapped his finger on the chart.

"This port and its enemy... no matter who wins, how much strength do you think either side will have left?"

"A port that would make an enemy expend so much effort to crack must have something inside more valuable than gold."

"But what if the unknown enemy is the one who wins?" another captain spoke up.

"Even better." Barbossa cracked a cold grin.

"A victor, fresh from a brutal battle, guarding a ruined city full of treasure. For us... isn’t that just a festival?"

Several of the captains unconsciously licked their lips, their eyes filled with greed.

The risk was immense, but the potential reward was equally staggering.

"Relay my orders," Barbossa’s voice boomed.

"The fleet will change course. Head for this position: the Dog Tooth Archipelago. The water is deep enough there, and the reefs will provide cover for the ships."

"Lower the blood-red sails and hoist the spares. From this moment on, we are Ghosts—hyenas hiding in the shadows, waiting to feast on the corpses!"

The massive fleet set sail once more, but this time, it did not charge murderously toward its target.

Instead, it turned in silence, slipping into the mists on the outskirts of Gray Bay to lie in wait.

Waiting for the warring parties to shed their very last drop of blood.