Chapter 11 — "The Roar of the Noctis"
(Year 288 AC, Sunset Sea)
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The wind blew strongly that night. The Noctis cut through the waters like a silent predator, its black sails flapping against a starry sky. The breeze carried the scent of salt, wet wood, and gunpowder.
On deck, Kael Dravven leaned over the railing, smoking silently, as he watched Ronnel Storm study the nautical chart.
"Captain," he said casually. "I don't like the sound of the waves."
Ronnel, standing at the helm, closed his eyes for a moment. His superhuman hearing picked up something the others didn't: sails cutting through the wind... more than one.
I opened my eyes with deadly calm.
"It's not the waves, Kael. It's ships."
Lya frowned, approaching quickly.
"Ships? Merchant ships?"
Ronnel shook his head.
"No. Pirates."
Silence fell over the deck. Only the creaking of ropes and the steady lapping of the sea could be heard. Sariah, who was in the crow's nest, shouted from above:
"Four ships to port! Black sails and painted skulls!"
The Noctis was not alone.
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The impromptu council met on deck. Surrounding Ronnel were Gareth, Kael, Kaen, Sariah, Lya, Mira, and Tymor.
Gareth spat on the ground.
"Four ships... we're screwed."
Kaen Veyra smirked, twirling his sword between his fingers.
"I call it... opportunity."
Lya glared at him.
"A chance to die, you mean!"
Mira, leaning on the railing, smiled with feline calm.
"If we die, we die together. But if we win…" She looked at Ronnel, tilting her head. "You'll be the boy who defeated an entire fleet of pirates."
Sariah, from the other side, snorted at Mira's seductive tone.
"'Boy,' he says…" she murmured bitterly.
Ronnel let them talk. She closed her eyes, activating the Transparent World: she could see the wind's trajectory, the current, the exact position of the enemy ships. Her mind processed the calculations with the precision of Sheldon Cooper, while Hector Barbossa smiled inside.
"We can sink them," he finally said, his voice low and firm.
Kael looked at him in disbelief.
"We sank four ships with one?"
"No," Ronnel smiled, turning the wheel. "We captured them."
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The pirate ships launched themselves like hungry wolves, surrounding the Noctis. Flaming arrows streaked through the air.
"Fire!" Ronnel shouted.
Sariah unleashed hell: from the crow's nest, she fired arrow after arrow, each one poisoned, each impact felling a pirate before he could jump.
Tymor lit barrels of flammable oil, throwing them into the water. The sea burned. Harrowing screams arose from the pirates who fell in flames.
At the railing, Kaen Veyra danced with his sword, each movement fluid as water, cutting through flesh and steel alike. Gareth fought like an impenetrable wall, his longsword dismembering anyone who dared to approach.
Meanwhile, Ronnel… was something else.
He leaped onto the first enemy ship like a demon, his sword gleaming in the moonlight.
Ronnel's sword is a masterpiece forged with ancient art. Its blade, a pale steel that seems to absorb the light, is engraved with arcane runes along its length.
The hilt is decorated with intricate blackened silver engravings that intertwine in spiral motifs, evoking the waves of the sea and the night winds. The hilt, wrapped in dark blue braided leather, ensures a firm grip even in rain or blood. An engraved symbol, a whirlwind, the insignia of an ancient vanished house, can be distinguished on the round pommel, suggesting the sword may have had noble origins.
The scabbard, made of deep blue leather reinforced with steel, features floral and spiral engravings that complement the motif on the blade. The straps are designed to be quickly attached to a belt or across the back, allowing the sword to be drawn in a single fluid motion.
With that, his movements were almost invisible: Sun Breathing, First Form: Phoenix Dance.
A single slash. Five men fell.
A pirate tried to fire a crossbow at him. Ronnel stared, and the man trembled. Patrick Jane and Harvey Specter worked together: a wink, a smile, and the shot missed the target completely.
In less than half an hour, the first pirate ship was under their control.
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The second ship attempted to escape, but Kael masterfully maneuvered the Noctis, cutting off its path. Ronnel activated his warg connection with a flock of crows flying above the battle. They swooped down, blinding the enemy archers as Sariah hunted them down one by one.
On the third, Ronnel summoned Raizo within himself: chains, shuriken, absolute stealth. He disappeared into the shadows, appearing behind each pirate captain to slit their throats without anyone seeing him coming.
When the last pirate flag fell, Ronnel stood on the prow of the fourth captured ship, his sword covered in blood.
"Now," he said firmly, "these ships are mine."
The survivors, half-dead with fear, knelt.
"Captain!" they shouted.
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That night, the deck was lit by torches dancing in the wind. The sea roared beneath the ship's hull, and the smell of salt, blood, and burnt wood permeated the air. The moon, pale and enormous, watched like a silent witness.
The new prisoners—twenty-three men and two women—were on their knees, their hands bound, their faces covered in sweat and fear. Some were bleeding; others stared at the ground, trying not to meet each other's gaze.
The crew formed a circle around them. No one spoke. No one moved. Only the wind and the creaking of the ship.
And in the midst of it all, Ronnel Storm walked slowly, his hands behind his back, his gaze steady and his stride firm. The nearest torch barely illuminated his face, marking the lines of tension and power.
His voice, when he spoke, was deep, gravelly, and clear. A perfect blend of the strategic authority of Harvey Specter and the theatrical ferocity of Hector Barbossa.
"They fought me," he said, his tone low and measured, like thunder before a storm. "And they lost."
He stopped in front of them. No one dared to breathe. Ronnel looked at them one by one, letting his silence weigh like a sword on their necks.
"They could have died today." He paused, tilting his head, as if savoring the thought. "In fact... I should let them die."
A murmur ran through the prisoners. Ronnel raised a hand, and silence returned immediately.
"But I don't waste resources." His tone changed, becoming colder, more calculating. "This sea is mine. Every wave, every current, every ship that crosses it. If you want to live... you'll have to deserve it."
He gestured, and two crew members tossed a corpse into the sea. The dull sound of the body hitting the water echoed like a hammer blow.
"Serve under my flag... or be fed to the sharks."
The fear was palpable. Some of the prisoners swallowed hard, others trembled. But no one responded.
Ronnel smiled calmly, almost amused. He took a step forward, lowering his voice to a whisper that forced everyone to listen.
"There are no chains here. There are no slaves. These are free men who have made a pact with the storm. And now you have a choice:
"Be part of my crew..."
"...or die tonight."
A young man with a scraggly beard, breathing heavily, raised his head and spoke first.
"I... I swear loyalty, Captain."
Ronnel looked at him, nodded once, and said simply,
"Welcome aboard."
One after another, the others did the same. Each oath sealed not only their fate, but also Ronnel's growing aura of power.
When the last prisoner spoke, Ronnel turned to his crew and raised his voice for all to hear:
"Tonight, the storm grows! This ship fears no kings, no pirates, no gods! Whoever sails with me will be rich or die trying!"
A deafening roar echoed across the deck. Sailors stamped their feet, clashed their weapons, and chanted his name:
"Ronnel! Ronnel! Ronnel Storm!"
The torches burned brighter, as if the fire itself responded to his voice.
Ronnel smiled, turned his head toward the horizon, and whispered, barely to himself:
"The sea will belong to me... Let the adventure begin."
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Later, on deck, the sea roared beneath the ship's hull, and the wind carried the scent of salt and blood. The sun was setting on the horizon, turning the sky a fiery red.
Mira approached with light steps, a feline gaze, and a playful smile. There were still a few drops of blood on her neck, but she seemed to enjoy the recent chaos.
"Captain..." she whispered, leaning slightly toward him. "I've never seen anyone fight like that. You're... fascinating."
She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the firmness beneath the sweat-soaked fabric. Her fingers drew a small circle, almost innocent, almost forbidden.
Before Ronnel could respond, a dry voice cut through the air.
"Sure," Lya said, standing by the ladder, her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. "It fascinates anyone who likes blood-stained killers."
Mira turned her head, smiling with feigned sweetness.
"Oh, Lya, my dear… I call it bravery. But I understand that maidens prefer men who hide behind their stone walls."
Lya pursed her lips, taking a step forward.
"I prefer men who don't enjoy killing. There's a difference, if you can't tell."
From the other end of the deck, Sariah chimed in, leaning against the railing. Her tone was icy, almost cutting.
"Perhaps… but at least he knows how to use a sword. Not everyone has that privilege."
Mira smiled, savoring the conflict that grew like wildfire in the air.
"Oh, I see I'm not the only one who appreciates his talents…" she said in a honeyed voice.
Lya snorted.
"Don't get me wrong. I'm not impressed by your 'captain.' I'm just not going to die because of his arrogance."
Sariah looked up, her gray eyes like steel.
"Interesting. Because, as far as I remember, he was the one who saved your life a few hours ago. Maybe you should learn to say 'thank you.'"
The silence that followed weighed like an anvil. Lya clenched her jaw but didn't respond.
Ronnel, who had remained silent until then, smiled calmly.
"I'm flattered you're arguing over me," he said, his voice both deep and soft, "but if we keep this up, the entire ship will know who wants me closest in their cabin."
The three of them looked at him, each with a different reaction:
Mira lowered her eyes and smiled wickedly, biting her lip.
Lya blushed imperceptibly, but hid it with a snort.
Sariah kept her face impassive, even as her fingers drummed on the railing.
Ronnel leaned close to Mira and whispered so they could all hear:
"Fascination... can be dangerous, Mira. Sometimes, if you get too close to the storm... you end up consumed by it."
Mira's eyes glowed like embers.
"Oh, Captain..." she whispered, brushing her fingers against his. "Some of us... aren't afraid of getting burned."
Lya snorted disdainfully, but her voice trembled barely perceptibly:
"Ridiculous..."
Sariah, for her part, turned away, muttering something almost inaudible:
"Or maybe... you're already burning up, Lya."
Ronnel remained silent for a few seconds, staring at the horizon. She smiled faintly.
In that instant, she knew one thing with absolute certainty: sooner or later, they would all fall into her trap.
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