The pirates who had escaped far from the island still carried a spark of hope. They had seen Krieg's strength with their own eyes. No matter how terrifying that magician was, could he really have defeated their captain?
But what they saw before them shattered that hope like glass.
"This… this can't be real…"
A pirate stumbled backward, eyes wide and unfocused, head shaking again and again as if denial could change the truth. Around him, the others stared at Ron as though they were staring into the eyes of a demon. Their bodies shook uncontrollably, and cold fear clung to their skin like ice.
Ron stood calm amid the horror.
To him, this result was expected.
Wootz armor might stop a normal Wind Blade, but Gale Rend was far beyond that. Even if the armor somehow held, Krieg's uncovered head would have been sliced to pieces.
If Krieg had attacked first, unloading every cannon and gun, things might have gotten messy for a while. But to stand in front of a magician and waste time talking was nothing short of suicide.
"I say, Marines… what are you all waiting for?"
He glanced at the beach, where nearly a thousand pirates still trembled, and then at the nearby Marines frozen in disbelief. "Your duty, remember it."
He had already cut down over a thousand men. The achievements were his. Whether the rest lived or died no longer mattered. But looking at how few Marines remained, he doubted they could finish the job alone.
"Ah… yes, sir!"
His voice jolted them out of their stupor. The Marine captain swallowed hard, straightened, and barked out an order, his tone shaking but firm. "Everyone, attack! Wipe out what's left of the Krieg Pirates!"
Once broken and hopeless, the Marines reignited at his words. Their eyes lit with renewed resolve. Even though they were outnumbered, facing men who still numbered in the hundreds, the pirates were terrified. Behind them stood the man who had slain Krieg himself.
"Kill!"
Nearly a hundred Marines raised their weapons and charged.
The pirates outnumbered them, but when Ron began walking toward them as well, their will broke completely. They scattered in panic, dropping weapons and screaming as they fled.
"Where's the Sixth Branch reinforcement fleet?"
Far out at sea, a medium-sized Marine warship cut through the waves toward Chain Ball Island. A tense captain gripped the rail, sweat on his brow as he stared ahead.
"Three or four days at full speed, sir," said an officer beside him, voice tight.
"Damn it. Too late…"
The captain slammed a fist against the railing. He'd been shocked when the report came in—Krieg's fleet had gathered its full strength and attacked, overwhelming the defending Marines.
Between the two nearby branches, they had seven ships in total—two medium-class and five small. More than half had already been dispatched to defend the island. Now the latest news said that the fleet was crushed, forced to abandon their ships and retreat inland.
"Captain," another officer, a lieutenant commander, spoke hesitantly. "We only have one medium ship and one small one. If Krieg's two-thousand-man fleet really landed on the island, then the 171st Branch might already be gone…"
He trailed off, throat dry. The words hung like smoke.
"If that's the case, going there might only add to the body count."
"Silence!"
The captain snapped, face grim. He knew the man might be right, but it didn't matter. Orders were orders.
Even if the battle was already lost, even if the situation was beyond saving, they had to go. They had to confirm what had happened and bring back survivors if any still lived.
The ships drew near Chain Ball Island. Flames licked the ruins of the dock, filling the air with the smell of burning wood and salt. The deck fell silent.
"…We're too late," the captain muttered.
Through his telescope, he saw the island charred buildings, collapsed walls, and black smoke curling into the sky. But no sounds of battle reached them.
The lieutenant commander beside him exhaled. "Captain, we can't land everyone. We should send a small scouting team first. If it's as bad as we think, we'll have to withdraw and report to headquarters."
The captain nodded reluctantly.
Moments later, a six-man recon unit was dispatched to shore. Their boots crunched softly against the scorched sand as they crept toward the ruined town.
"Careful," whispered the sergeant leading them. Sweat beaded on his brow. "No noise. If you see anything, fall back immediately."
They all knew the risk. The island might already belong to the pirates, but they had to check. If even one Marine from the 171st still lived, they had to find him.
They moved cautiously among the wreckage, nerves wound tight until the silence was broken by distant gunfire.
"Shh!" The sergeant raised a hand sharply. "Hide! There's fighting ahead."
He peered through the smoke, voice low. "Get ready to help. If there's still fighting, that means someone survived."
They crept closer, weapons ready.
But what they saw froze them in confusion.
It wasn't pirates chasing Marines it was Marines chasing a pirate.
Bang! Bang!
Two shots rang out. The burly pirate fell, blood spilling into the dirt.
"What…?" The recon squad stared, bewildered. "The Marines are… killing the pirates?"
Had the pirates stolen uniforms? Was this a trick?
The sergeant's heart pounded until his eyes caught something familiar. One of the Marines in pursuit a face he recognized.
"Sergeant Moss?" he blurted.
The group of four Marines froze, rifles snapping up instinctively. The named man blinked, startled by the familiar voice.
The recon sergeant stepped from cover, confused and uncertain. "Moss…? It's me."
He stared, mind spinning.
Had Moss defected? No if he had, why would he be hunting pirates?
Something here didn't make sense at all.
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