The Crimson Serpent fleet sailed through deep, dark waters—seven large vessels and a handful of smaller ones cutting through the sea like knives through silk. Sharks came. Schools of Krakhan attacked, their metallic bodies gleaming beneath the waves, their hunger a thing that had been given and was using it. A few small ships were lost, their crews swallowed by the dark, their names forgotten before the water closed over them.
The fleet sailed on.
Under pale crescent moonlight, they halted. Dark islands loomed ahead, lit by orange-yellow torches that flickered in the cold night. The water around them was still and waiting.
Toric lowered the spyglass, his breath fogging the lens, his hands steady despite the weight of what was coming. "There. That's the loot."
Dunstan emerged from the cabin, his steps silent on the deck, his presence a shadow among shadows. He leaned close, his voice barely a whisper. "The Captain says wait. Big signal. Flashy. Then we attack."
Toric turned to the crew, his face catching the moonlight, his eyes gleaming with something that was almost anticipation, almost hunger. "Listen up! We wait for the signal. Then we move."
Pirates murmured with anger.
"You're wasting time! Attack NOW!" "Yeah! Stop dragging your ass!"
Toric's smile stayed pleasant. "Patience, brothers. Just a little."
Dunstan watched the crowd—the tension building, the violence barely contained. His hand found the hilt of his sword. Captain. Please be fast. Or the battle starts here.
.....
On the first island...
"Tch. Why are we on guard duty?" "Because we were ordered." The speaker took a long drag from his chilim, the ember glowing, the smoke curling into the night.
"I hate those Suryazar bastards. Acting like they own everything. Why partner with them?" "Complain to the head tribe chief. I'm sure he'd love to hear it."
Embarrassed silence. A cough. "Anyway. Heard about that new pirate island? The one everyone's talking about?" "Ogefil." Smoke drifted. "Yeah, that one. When do we—"
Splash.
Both men froze. Hands went to swords. Eyes met—silent communication. They moved toward the sound. A fish flopped on the ground, its fins flapping, its gills working. "Ah. Just a fish." "Let me—"
He bent. Reached. Something slithered. "What—" His neck hit the ground before he finished the word.
The other guard's eyes went wide. [Life Sense] erupted—scanning, searching, terrified. Rakshasa? Ghost? What— Something hot spilled from his abdomen. Blood. He tried to run. His legs tore off. He tried to scream. His tongue vanished.
A figure materialized before him. Grey-white whirlpools where eyes should be. "Hold still. I need your memories."
[Viksana: Memory Drive]. Ashan plunged into the depths of the man's consciousness—sifting, searching, stealing. Fragments flickered past. Patrol rotations. Base layouts. Captain names.
There. He plucked the strands. Watched. Learned. "Hmm. That's enough."
"Gawwseh—" The man tried to speak. Beg. Curse. Something. A blade ended it.
Ashan dumped both bodies into the sea, watched them sink, and watched the water close over them. Their vestiges—spatial rings, weapons, valuables—vanished into his storage ring. Don't need them now. The Order will buy them later.
His presence vanished. The Suryazar forces and Hunter Union have been busy. Captured pirates. Killed many.
I can use the prisoners.
First—the watchtowers. He moved. Silent. Invisible. Terror.
.....
The first watchtower loomed ahead. Platoons of soldiers marched below—bronze-skinned men in deep red cloth, spears and shields gleaming in torchlight. Suryazar naval forces.
Other groups mingled—fairer skin, loose tunics of deep blue and black. Hunter Union.
Ashan leapt. Silent as death. Atop the watchtower, a single soldier scanned the horizon through a massive spyglass. Ashan's hand clamped over his mouth. The blade worked. The soldier thrashed—once, twice—then stilled. A fireball charm reduced him to ash.
Ashan took the spyglass. Surveyed. Good. The ships aren't visible from here. The tree line blocks them.
He shifted the view downward. I was there. The trees hid me. But the soldiers... they're visible. Too relaxed.
He removed the lens and pocketed it. "Store those boxes in the warehouse! The Lord's festival approaches!"
Festival? Ashan's eyes flickered. Lord of Light's birthday? After the Storm Lord's? He did not linger. Vanished into the night.
Can't take watchtowers one by one. Too slow. Need a distraction.
He slithered through the platoons—unseen, unfelt, and unreal. The Crimson Ghost had arrived.
.....
"Why keep them alive? Why feed them?" "They have their uses. Here, take this chilim." "Sure."
Swish. Swish. Two bodies hit the ground. Behind the cage bars, prisoners shuddered. Eyes wide. Breath caught. "Ghost..." The word escaped like a prayer. A curse. A plea.
A boy materialized before them. Grey-white eyes. Terrible. Knowing. Absolute.
"Want freedom?"