[Leviathan's deck]
The Leviathan was not massive, hence its speed. Still, it had been pretty stable over the years.
A crew of 80 members or so. A dozen dwarven slaves to attend the chores. Cooks, bards, sailors, fighters...The Leviathan had them all. Under James Steel and Arthur Will's leadership, they had not suffered any large loss in the past decade. A mix of luck and prudence.
Targeting undefended villages and fishermen settlements made the raids easier, and just as rewarding as high-paying jobs.
"Remember, son. Your goal is to stay alive. I only have you and the ship in this world, and I would hate to lose either one of you", James said. It was only a few words, but it was still warming to know that there were people that loved you...in their own ways.
Besides his father, no one loved him. Some feared him, like most crew members. Some saw potential in him, like Arthur. Others were curious, like Helena. But love? That was scarce on a pirate ship.
As the ship was moored to a couple of large rocks and trees, roughly half of the crew descended onto the land. It was quite a surprise at first. Lewis assumed that all the crew members would join in, but after thinking about it, it did not make any sense. Some of the cooks were teenagers with no training. They would only get killed if they joined. The bard (in name only)? A weakling who pissed himself while fishing. Definitely not fit for combat.
Lewis nodded, forcing the knot of unease to settle in his stomach. But there was something else, too—something that lurked just under the surface.
"Right." His voice was quiet, but it carried weight. "Steal, kill, and leave."
"Aye," James replied. "Don't hesitate to kill. Hailey's a small village. They resisted us last year. This is time to remind them of what happened"
"Keep sharp," Arthur said as they walked together toward the shore. "I'll cover you."
Lewis only nodded, his gaze drifting back toward the distant village, now even closer. The church bell rang a final warning.
The Leviathan's crew, though reduced in number for the raid, moved with practiced precision. They swarmed the shore like wolves, setting to their work in the same brutal way that had earned them their reputation. There were no smiles, no laughter, no excitement. Only purpose.
Arthur and Lewis were among the first to reach their destination, making their way toward the town's entrance where the guards had already gathered. The mayor's spyglass had given them all the warning they needed. But it had only fueled their panic.
"Don't go too far," Arthur murmured to Lewis as they crossed the dirt road toward the outskirts of the village. His tone was sharp but measured.
"I'll be fine," Lewis responded, his voice low but filled with an unspoken challenge. He could feel the weight of his father's presence behind him, but he didn't need constant watching. Not anymore.
An arrow grazing his leg, however, made him think otherwise.
'The fuck was that?', he thought, realising that a woman had just drawn an arrow onto him. She probably aimed at his father next by, but he had been grazed by it. Killing intent swarmed.
But even as he spoke, Lewis felt his blood heat in his veins. There was a strange excitement building—something that had always simmered under the surface but had never quite risen. The sound of the town's defenses rattling in the distance, the quiet murmurs of villagers clutching their weapons, the knowledge that this was another raid that would leave scars behind—his pulse quickened.
He didn't know if it was the rush of battle or something deeper, but he wanted to move faster. To run at the heart of it.
Pirates did not kill indiscriminately. That was a fact. The arrow, however, decided otherwise. Blood would definitely be drawn. James was the first to charge. And soon followed the rest of the crew. A couple arrows was aimed at the army, but were deflected by the wooden shields and blades of the crew members. One did hit the knee of a sailor, but he did not die from it, not yet at least.
"Stay with me," Arthur added, his voice sharper now.
Lewis didn't respond. He was already moving forward, his boots cutting through the mud with silent intent.
Inside the village, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the empty streets. People had hidden in their homes or fled to the woods, but a few still lingered, gathered near the church or the market square, clutching pitchforks and whatever weapons they could find.
The villagers were nervous, untrained, but they were brave. Their homes and families depended on them. They would not run. They would stand.
And in that moment, as the first few pirates entered the village, Tamsin stood at the threshold of her cottage, her hands trembling but her resolve hardening.
Her father had been among those killed in the last raid. He had never come home. But she was not going to be like those who had fled.
The pirates might take her village, might take her family. But they would not take her dignity.
She turned, grabbed the rusted scythe from the corner of the room, and stepped into the growing darkness of the approaching threat.