Magical Soul Parade - Chapter 231: Pirate Attack

Chapter 231: Pirate Attack

They’d entered waters where legitimate trade ships were preyed upon by vessels flying no flags and respecting no laws. Vara had known this was coming. These passages were unavoidable if they wanted to maintain their cover of charting new trade routes.

The attack came at dawn, three sleek vessels emerging from the early morning hazy fog in silent coordination. They moved with extreme efficiency, like crews who’d completed countless successful raids.

Vara was quick to respond, though. “All hands! Battle stations! Archers to the rails! Prepare for boarding!”

The crew burst into a flurry of action. Finn found himself swept up in it, his navigator’s duties temporarily forgotten in favor of more immediate concerns. He grabbed a boarding pike someone thrust into his hands and took position along the starboard rail.

The pirate ships closed fast. Their crews were visible now. Hardened-looking men and women with their weapons drawn, calling out threats and demands while spewing jeers and foul language.

Then the first grappling hooks flew.

The pirates boarded, swinging across on ropes or scrambling up the Tidebreaker’s sides. Steel rang against steel as defenders met invaders. Shouts and screams filled the air.

Finn fought with his pike, keeping attackers at bay while trying not to use any abilities that would make him stand out, at least not visibly…

In reality he was perfectly safe, and in fact, but outwardly he looked just as in danger as everyone else… everyone else besides Althea, that is.

Across the deck, he glimpsed her reaping lives like a mower. Pirates fell before her. One, two, five, eight. She flowed between them expertly, without wasted effort, slicing and piercing through throats, hearts, and lungs like a dancing grim reaper.

The pirates recognized her as the greatest threat quickly. More converged on her position, trying to overwhelm through numbers what they couldn’t match in skill.

But it didn’t matter.

Althea’s skill with the blade, even without her Transcendent powers, was practically superhuman.

Within minutes, the remaining pirates were fleeing back to their ships, cutting their grappling lines and shouting panicked orders. They’d boarded expecting an easy prize and found a nightmare instead.

The Tidebreaker’s crew cheered as the pirate vessels retreated, their formations broken, several bodies left behind on deck.

Althea stood amidst the carnage, her blade dripping red, breathing steady despite having just killed more than a score of men. She wiped her sword and sheathed it with a flourish, then turned to stand by the Blessed.

Ailin stood exactly where she’d been before the attack began, untouched and untroubled. The pirates had apparently recognized something in those black-abyss eyes that warned them away from that particular target.

The crew mobbed Althea with gratitude and awe. Even the most hardened sailors looked at her with new respect. Without her, many lives would have been lost today.

Finn caught her eye across the deck. For just a moment, their masks slipped. She gave him the tiniest nod that said: I’m handling my part, you handle yours, before returning her attention to the sailors thanking her.

Vara appeared at Finn’s side. “Well,” she said quietly, “I’m very glad she’s on our side.”

“As am I, Captain,” Finn agreed. “As am I…”

.

.

The third week brought storms.

Not the supernatural tempests that Ailin usually predicted and they avoided, but natural fury that couldn’t be circumvented. The kind of weather that reminded Finn viscerally that for all their preparation and planning, they were still tiny specks of wood and flesh challenging an ocean that had swallowed countless ships before them.

The first storm hit at midday, darkening the clear blue sky to a deep, ominous black in less than an hour. The winds that had been favorable minutes before turned vicious, tearing at the ship’s sails and rigging with intensity.

“Reef the mains!” Vara shouted over the rising wind. “Secure everything! Battle the hatches!”

The crew scrambled to comply. Finn found himself hauling on ropes alongside seasoned sailors, his hands burning despite the calluses he’d built up during his dock work. Rain began pouring heavily, reducing visibility to an arm’s length.

The Tidebreaker pitched and swayed like it would capsize, caught in swells that were impossibly large. One moment Finn was looking up at walls of water, the next he was staring down into valleys of churning foam. His stomach lurched with each motion, but the seasickness he’d expected never came.

He didn’t even have to use any form of [Invalidation] spell to dispel nausea because he simply didn’t feel it. Around him, several newer crew members weren’t so fortunate. They clung to rails and masts, retching miserably as they attempted to perform their duties.

Finn helped where he could, keeping them from being washed overboard while more experienced sailors managed the critical tasks.

The storm raged for eighteen hours.

Eighteen hours of unrelenting violence. Eighteen hours of wondering if the next wave would be the one that shattered their hull or snapped their masts. Eighteen hours of fighting exhaustion and terror, of simply trying to keep yourself alive on a ship trying to shake you into the sea.

Finn found himself genuinely impressed by the sailors of old. The ones who’d done this in vessels far more primitive, with navigation methods far more rudimentary, facing storms just as deadly with nothing but skill and stubbornness between them and the deep.

What the hell were their balls made of?

When the storm finally broke, the crew collapsed where they stood. Some slept on bare deck, too exhausted to drag themselves to bunks. Others wept with relief. A few broke into the kind of manic laughter that comes from surviving something that should have killed you.

Vara stood at the helm throughout, refusing to move from that command spot, as if to fill her crew with courage. Her hands were raw and bleeding from gripping the wheel, her voice hoarse from shouting orders. But she’d done her part spectacularly and they’d scaled through.

Finn approached with water and food. “Captain, you need to rest.”

“I need to assess the damage,” Vara replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need to also check the crew… calculate our new position.”

“I can handle that,” Finn said firmly. “You’ve held us together for a day and a night. Let someone else carry the weight for a few hours.”

She looked at him with exhausted eyes. Then, finally, she nodded and allowed Slick Jones to guide her to her cabin.

Finn set about organizing the crew recovery and ship repairs. Checking for injuries. Assessing what damage the storm had inflicted. Running calculations to determine where the hell they were now.

Althea appeared beside him, hair plastered to her face, clothes soaked through. “The Blessed says another storm approaches. Smaller than this one, but we should adjust course to avoid it entirely.”

“Of course she does,” Finn muttered under his breath, before loudly responding:

“Thank you. I’ll incorporate that into our navigation.”

She lingered for a moment, and he sensed she wanted to say something more, a heartfelt supportive remark, most likely. But crew members were nearby, and the performance had to continue.

So she instead nodded curtly and walked away, returning to Ailin’s side.