Location: Rhygross Island – The Hollow Hills
The night passed heavy and wordless.
The black rain finally stopped sometime before dawn, leaving behind a chilling mist that hung low and clung to the Red Blade's crew like wet ash. Ankit barely slept. His system didn't offer healing—no potions, no magic. Just the slow restoration of a human body after real battle.
Which meant every bruise, every ache… he earned.
And that made it real.
Morning – The Forgotten Dockyards
Their path led them to what remained of an old Marine port. Overgrown, abandoned, and torn apart as if a hundred battles had raged across it, the stone piers were cracked and buckled.
And yet...
Everything felt wrong.
Shanks narrowed his eyes. "Notice something, Ankit?"
Ankit looked around, fingers resting lightly on his swords.
"No birds. Again."
"Right. And no rats, no footprints in the mud—even our own are vanishing."
Ankit crouched low. His system chimed softly.
[Environmental Anomaly Detected: Temporal Residue – Grade F]
[Threat Level: Unknown. Proceed with caution.]
He stood quickly. "Time distortion?"
Shanks gave a short whistle. "That's a new one."
Mace had gone quiet. He stood by the edge of the collapsed dock, peering down into the water. His voice was slow and tense. "You'll want to see this."
They joined him.
Below the waves, just barely visible through the greenish hue, lay the shattered remains of a submarine. But this was no Marine tech. It looked cobbled together from scrap—armored in sea-dragon hide, with reinforced brass rivets and markings written in ciphered code.
A pirate ship.
Sunken and forgotten.
And recently, too—still warm with energy.
Ankit's eyes narrowed. "Someone's been testing... something."
"Someone smart," Shanks muttered. "Real smart."
Later – Beneath the Docks
They found a hatch.
Old and rusted, yes—but not untouched. The handwheel was clean. Recently used.
The passage below reeked of salt and gunpowder. As they descended, torches lit automatically—some kind of low-tech mechanism, perhaps linked to pressure plates or old alchemical fuel.
"I don't like this," Mace muttered.
"You never do," Shanks said, grinning, but even his voice had a whisper of edge.
At the end of the tunnel was a door.
And a note.
Written in clear ink on black parchment:
"You're two steps behind.
One of you thinks like a pirate.
One of you fights like a soldier.
Neither of you is ready.
But if you wish to know the sea's true scars… follow the red mark."
Ankit stared at it. His hand curled slightly.
This was no random message.
This was a test.
And the one behind it?
Watched them. Knew them. Judged them.
Shanks took a deep breath and laughed under it. "Oh-ho… I think I like this guy."
Ankit glanced at him. "Is he the kind of man we'd want on our crew?"
Shanks's eyes lit with something strange—respect, maybe… or challenge.
"He's the kind of man who doesn't follow anyone... unless he decides it's worth it."
Transition – Coastal Cliff Route
They emerged on the far side of the island just before dusk. The storm clouds had finally lifted, leaving the sky painted in deep reds and golds.
Etched onto a rocky outcrop was a symbol: a red arrowhead inside a circle—drawn in some type of powdered coral.
Ankit's system pinged again.
[Cognitive Resonance Triggered – Unknown Observer Tracking Progression Path]
[No active danger. Surveillance confirmed.]
Shanks pointed to a nearby mountain slope. "There. That's where the old observatory was. If I were the kind of guy who played games like this…"
"You'd make your stand from the highest ground," Ankit finished.
They started climbing.
Evening – The Edge of the Observatory Ruins
When they arrived, the ruins were deserted. But someone had been there recently—stone arranged into chess-like boards, carvings etched into the wall in several different languages.
Strategic analysis diagrams. Bullet trajectories. Weather patterns.
This wasn't just a hideout.
It was a war room.
And everything inside pointed to one name neither of them had spoken aloud yet.
A man of reason and precision.
A commander without a navy.
A pirate with the mind of a tactician.
Benn Beckman.
Shanks said nothing.
He simply stood there, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, staring out at the sea.
Ankit watched him carefully.
"You know he's watching us," he said.
"Oh, I hope he is," Shanks said with a grin. "Because when the time's right, I'm gonna offer him something even he can't calculate."
"What's that?"
Shanks turned.
"A future that's worth fighting for."
End of Chapter 9 – Scars Under the Sea
Next: Chapter 10 – "The Mark of the Ghost Duelist"