Chaos swept through the pirate camp with sudden ferocity, like dry leaves catching fire under a careless spark. Torches were dropped, men stumbled into one another, and panic surged as shadows turned hostile. Flames of panic leapt in every direction as pirates shouted, their torches casting wild shadows across the trees. Ryan moved through the confusion quickly and quietly, using the shadows to his advantage as he circled around the scuffle. His sword gleamed wet under the moonlight, a streak of vengeance flashing through the fray.
The first six had fallen in silence. The next wave would not be so quiet.
"He's in the trees!"
A pirate turned to shout, but Ryan was already behind him. One swift stroke across the back of his knees, another across his throat. The man crumpled. Ryan didn't stop. The system-gifted kendo mastery thrummed through his limbs like a song—his breathing controlled, his footwork exact. He was no longer the slave they once jeered at. He was a weapon forged in fury.
Three more came at once. One had a cutlass, another a crude axe, the last a long dagger. Ryan's eyes narrowed. He met them head-on.
The clash of steel rang out loud and sharp as Ryan met the pirate's swing. Sparks flew with each strike, the screech of metal cutting through the night air and bouncing off the dense tree line like a hammer against stone.
He parried the axe first—his blade striking with practiced precision, a rhythm he'd refined during his two days of intense, focused training with Unohana. As the second pirate lunged, Ryan pivoted smoothly, letting the blade graze harmlessly past his shoulder. In one fluid motion, he trapped the attacker's wrist, twisted it hard, and slammed him forward into the dagger-wielder's path. The two collided violently. Steel clanged, a sharp cry split the air—and then, silence. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs at his feet, unmoving.
Only the axe-wielder remained now, his stance wide and desperate. Ryan circled him slowly, testing his footing, watching every twitch of muscle. He feinted left—then darted right and cut low, his blade slicing clean through fabric and flesh. The pirate let out a strangled scream, the weapon falling from his hands as he dropped to his knees. A beat later, he collapsed face-first into the dirt, unmoving. Ryan stood over him, chest rising and falling with controlled breath, eyes already scanning for the next threat.
The camp was lit with terror now.
And then came the captain.
From the far end of the clearing, the pirate captain stepped forward. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a weathered coat, two pistols at his sides, and a jagged sword strapped to his back. A scar split his lip, giving him a permanent sneer.
Ryan froze, his blade lowered slightly. His heart thudded, cold and heavy. He remembered that face. The man who'd laughed as his crew torched the fishing village. The one who called his mother's screams entertainment. And more than that—he was the one who had ordered her burned alive, standing with a smirk as the flames consumed everything. He'd made sure she suffered.
"You've got guts, boy," the captain said, voice deep and scratchy. "Too bad you won't leave this island alive."
He drew his sword and lunged.
Ryan met him mid-charge.
Their blades clashed, echoing through the trees like cannon fire. The captain was strong, heavy-handed, swinging with brute force. But Ryan was quicker—more focused. Every movement was deliberate. He ducked one swing, countered with a slash across the captain's shoulder. Blood sprayed.
The captain snarled, backhanded him hard enough to send him sprawling into the dirt.
Ryan rolled, narrowly avoiding a downward slash meant to cleave him in two. He scrambled to his feet, breathing hard, blood trickling from his lip.
"You're fast," the captain grunted. "But you bleed just the same."
Ryan's grip tightened. He exhaled. Kendo is not about strength. It's about precision.
He stepped in again. The swords met, clashing like thunder. But this time, Ryan shifted his stance at the last moment, parried low, and twisted under the captain's guard. The blade found its mark—deep across the abdomen. But not before the captain's sword grazed Ryan's ribs, leaving a sharp, burning line of pain. Blood spilled freely down his side, soaking his shirt. He stumbled for half a second, breath catching—but he gritted his teeth and surged forward, pushing through the agony. His focus didn't waver. Not now. Not this close.
The captain staggered.
Ryan didn't give him a chance to recover. He surged forward, blade arcing once more—cutting high this time, across the neck.
The pirate captain gurgled, his sword slipping from his fingers. He fell to his knees, then collapsed into the dirt. Silent. Still.
Ryan knelt beside the body of captain, chest heaving. Blood dripped from his blade and chest.
It was over.
The remaining pirates—only four still breathing—who had initially backed away, now had their eyes flickering with desperate hope as they saw Ryan stumble, bloodied and weakened. Two of them mustered the nerve to creep closer, blades drawn, intending to strike him down while he was vulnerable. But before they could close the distance, Unohana stepped between them and Ryan—silent, swift, and calm. Her presence alone froze them in place.
They never had a chance. Unohana moved with clinical precision, each step measured, each strike deliberate. There was no waste in her motion—just the calm, exact efficiency of someone who had ended lives more times than she had drawn breath. With a graceful flick of her wrist, her blade shimmered in the moonlight, slicing through the air and the pirates alike. One after another, the four remaining enemies fell, her sword cutting clean and precise. There was no pause, no hesitation. She moved with the cold certainty of a storm.
When the final body hit the ground, the clearing fell into eerie silence. Not a cry remained. Not a breath of resistance. Only the wind stirred the leaves, as if mourning the dead.
In the quiet aftermath, Unohana stepped into the clearing. Her gaze swept over the scene, calm as ever.
"You did what you set out to do," she said simply.
Ryan nodded, eyes still fixed on the captain's corpse. "For my mother. For the ones they killed."
She looked at him for a long moment. "And for yourself."
Then, without a word, she stepped closer and knelt beside him. Her hands moved with quiet precision, assessing the gash along his ribs. She whispered an incantation, and a gentle green glow bloomed at her fingertips—a healing Kidō, woven with practiced care. The energy radiated warmth as it spread through his wound, cool and soothing, easing the sharp pain. Ryan winced at first, but the bleeding slowed down almost immediately. The flesh began to mend itself, the agony ebbing with every breath. Her expression remained calm, focused—like a seasoned medic lost in her element.
He exhaled shakily. "Thanks."
Unohana gave a faint nod as she rose gracefully, the silver-green light from her healing Kidō fading from her hands. Her eyes lingered on Ryan for a brief moment—silent, measuring—but whatever thoughts she held remained locked behind her calm expression.
He turned away and sheathed his blade.
They gathered what little supplies remained from the pirate camp—food, clean cloth, a few spare tools. In the captain's coat, likely stripped from the camp before the attack, Ryan found a weathered compass and a silver locket. Inside was a tiny, faded portrait of a woman and child.
He stared at it for a moment.
Some devils wear the faces of fathers and lovers—but it never makes them less damned.
He dropped it into the fire.
The flames roared. The night grew quiet once again.