A whole day passed, and finally, Orimo had fallen into a restless sleep. Outside, the night bit with a freezing chill. Yura Takeda remained awake, moving silently through the shadows, attempting to gather allies — one by one — forging a fragile army of rebels against Morgan Tarek.
But fate was cruel. Almost no one arrived at the meeting point listed in the note. Worse, the four great samurai clans under Morgan Tarek's command had detected the stirrings of rebellion and were combing the island with relentless precision.
Yura stood alone in the darkness, staring up at the ink-black sky. Thoughts gnawed at him. "Maybe we can't break the chains of this rotten enslavement…"
He turned, about to retreat, when the crunch of footsteps made him freeze. He dove behind the shadow of a crumbling house, heart hammering.
A guard's flashlight swept the street.
"What was that noise?" the guard muttered.
An ally whispered from behind, tense. "Do you see anything?"
The guard shook his head. "No… maybe just a cat," he replied, moving on.
Yura let out a shaky breath, sinking to his knees.
"Finally," he gasped, the cold night air biting at his lungs.
Despair clawed at him. "Maybe no one will side with us… we've made too many mistakes… there's no way out."
Far across the island, the Ashveil Pirates' ship slid silently into the bay. The true conqueror of the seas, Ashveil Kenny, stepped ashore, his presence commanding the quiet waves.
"Return to the nearest island and wait for my signal," Kenny ordered.
Silka nodded, eyes sharp. "Got it."
The night was heavy, oppressive — yet a spark of hope lingered on the horizon.