---Then---
"So?" Reuben turned away from the railing, his dark eyes shifting between Edward and the eagerly waiting Caroline. The Shadow Raven drew his short sword, the steel singing softly in the twilight. "We've successfully boarded the brig, Caroline... now, let's have some fun!"
---Now---
The Atlantic Ocean - Boarding the Brig
The moment the invitation left Reuben's lips, the chaotic, intoxicating rhythm of naval warfare ignited.
Edward James Kenway did not bother drawing his cutlass. The roguish grin that had defined his years terrorizing the Caribbean flashed across his face as his pirate instincts hijacked his refined, aristocratic demeanor. Instead of leaping into the melee of swinging steel, he pivoted sharply, lunging toward a heavy swivel gun mounted on the starboard rail of The Wraithling.
With a practiced, effortless motion that defied the heavy iron's weight, Edward whipped the barrel around, his sharp blue eyes instantly mapping the enemy deck below. He didn't aim for the scurrying, panicked men; he aimed for the volatile architecture of the ship itself.
"Let's light up the evening, shall we?" Edward chuckled darkly.
He sighted a cluster of untethered powder kegs resting carelessly near the mainmast and slammed the firing mechanism. The swivel gun roared, spitting a concentrated cone of iron grapeshot that tore across the narrow gap between the ships. The shrapnel shredded the rigging and slammed directly into the exposed barrels, triggering a chain reaction of localized, concussive explosions that instantly bathed the enemy's main deck in fire, splintered wood, and the screaming panic of disorganized corsairs.
While Edward provided devastating covering fire, Caroline did not wait for a formal escort.
Shedding the last remnants of her aristocratic restraint, she vaulted over the heavy mahogany railing of the frigate, her skirts billowing around her as she plummeted gracefully toward the burning brig. She landed softly on the enemy deck, her boots making virtually no sound, looking entirely out of place amidst the blood and soot.
A trio of soot-stained pirates, recovering from the blast of the swivel gun, spotted the seemingly defenseless, finely dressed woman and charged with rusted cutlasses raised high, their faces twisted into ugly, predatory sneers.
They had absolutely no idea they were charging at a biological anomaly.
Moving with a terrifying, liquid grace, Caroline stepped effortlessly inside the sweeping, clumsy arc of the first pirate's cutlass. She didn't draw a weapon. Her delicate hand snapped up, seizing the man's thick wrist with a bone-crushing, vice-like grip. A sickening crack echoed over the roar of the flames as she effortlessly shattered his radius. Without pausing, she utilized his own forward momentum, twisting her hips to hurl the screaming pirate violently over her shoulder, sending him crashing heavily into his companion.
The third pirate lunged with a heavy boarding axe. Caroline merely sidestepped, her enhanced kinetic reflexes perceiving his attack in slow motion. As the axe buried itself harmlessly into the deck, she delivered a devastating, upward palm strike to the man's elbow, dislocating the joint instantly. She snatched the heavy axe from his failing grip, spun beautifully on her heel, and used the blunt, flat side of the weapon to club a fourth, newly arriving pirate squarely in the chest. The man was launched backward across the deck as if struck by a cannonball, his ribs shattering upon impact, before Caroline casually discarded the axe into the sea.
She fought like a noblewoman performing a lethal, flawless waltz, transforming her enemies' own weapons and momentum into the instruments of their destruction.
A few yards away, the Shadow Raven was harvesting his own grim toll.
Where Caroline was an elegant tempest of martial arts, Reuben was a cold, geometric equation of death. Wielding the Sword of Damokles, he dropped into the fray with the absolute, uncompromising discipline of an elite Vanguard commander. The legendary blade sang a high, deadly note as it cleaved through the chaotic resistance.
Reuben didn't waste a single millimeter of movement. He parried a desperate sword thrust, stepping inside the guard to cleanly sever the attacker's hand at the wrist. As the man fell, Reuben spun, the blade tracing a flawless, horizontal arc that separated another pirate's head from his shoulders. Hands, feet, and weapons were violently amputated left and right, the Damokles slicing through cheap iron and unarmored flesh with the terrifying ease of a hot knife sliding through butter.
Surrounding their commander, the Vanguard crew flooded the deck of the brig. They did not shout; they did not break rank. They fought like a singular, synchronized organism, their Ashura's Crest enhanced strength allowing them to systematically and silently dismantle the pirate resistance, turning what should have been a prolonged boarding action into an efficient, one-sided slaughter.
Standing behind the smoking barrel of his swivel gun, Edward leaned against the railing, taking a moment to admire the absolute carnage unfolding below. His blue eyes locked onto Caroline as she effortlessly flipped a burly corsair over a rum barrel with a mere flick of her wrist.
A profound, incredibly proud smirk touched Edward's lips. 'She is absolutely terrifying on a battlefield,' he mused fondly, his chest swelling with affection. 'Gods, I love that woman.'
Noticing that his wife, his friend, and the Vanguard crew were more than adequately managing the slaughter of the foot soldiers, Edward's keen gaze swept the burning vessel for the true prize.
Through the thick, acrid smoke of black powder, he spotted the Pirate Captain.
The man was a coward, scrambling frantically up the wooden stairs toward the raised quarterdeck at the stern. Realizing that his ship was lost and his crew was being effortlessly butchered by literal monsters, the captain was making a desperate, breathless sprint toward the rear railing, fully intending to dive into the dark ocean and take his chances with the sharks rather than face the demons boarding his vessel.
"Oh no, you don't," Edward chuckled, vaulting over the railing of The Wraithling.
Instead of landing on the main deck, Edward utilized his monstrous, enhanced leg strength to leap directly toward the brig's quarterdeck. He plummeted from the sky, his heavy boots landing squarely… with a sickening, muffled crunch,,, on the head of a hapless pirate attempting to man the stern chasers. Using the collapsing body as a springboard, Edward sprinted across the polished wood of the quarterdeck.
The Pirate Captain had just slung one leg over the wooden railing, the dark, churning waters of the Atlantic beckoning him to safety.
He didn't make it.
Edward grinned, reaching out with blinding speed. His calloused hand clamped fiercely around the heavy, velvet collar of the captain's coat. With a sharp, effortless yank that completely halted the man's forward momentum, Edward hauled the captain backward, slamming him violently onto the hard wooden deckboards.
"Going somewhere, mate?" Edward asked pleasantly, dusting his hands off as he looked down at his prize.
The Pirate Captain groaned, the air forcefully driven from his lungs by the brutal impact. He blinked through the stars swimming in his vision and slowly tilted his head up.
Towering over him against the backdrop of the burning rigging were three figures. Reuben, his sword dripping with fresh blood; Caroline, her pristine dress immaculate despite the slaughter; and Edward, grinning with the predatory satisfaction of a successful hunt. The sheer, overwhelming aura of the three demigod-like figures pressing down upon him was too much for the mortal man's fragile psyche to bear.
The captain's eyes widened to an impossible degree, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. A pathetic, strangled squeak escaped his throat before his eyes rolled completely to the back of his head, and he fainted dead away from the sheer, paralyzing shock.
Reuben stared down at the unconscious man, a low, genuinely amused chuckle vibrating in his chest. "Well, that was certainly anticlimactic."
As Reuben sheathed his blade, the heavy sound of approaching boots drew their attention. A Vanguard operative stepped onto the quarterdeck, offering a crisp, silent salute to his commander. Draped over the operative's arm was a heavy, impeccably tailored coat. It was a distinctive, grayish-white woolen garment, lined heavily with deep, royal blue facing.
"Sir," the operative reported, his voice even and professional. "We have secured the lower decks. The resistance has been neutralized. However, we discovered several crates filled with these uniforms hidden beneath false floorboards in the cargo hold."
Reuben's amused expression vanished instantly. He reached out, taking the heavy coat from the operative's arm, his dark eyes narrowing as he ran his fingers over the thick fabric and the distinct, brass buttons.
His brow raised, and then his eyes widened in sudden, grim realization. "Damn!"
Edward, recognizing the cut and color of the cloth from his countless engagements in the West Indies, felt a cold, sinking feeling in his gut. He knew exactly what colony commissioned uniforms of that specific, arrogant hue.
Caroline, noticing the sudden, severe shift in the atmosphere between the two men, frowned. She stepped closer, eyeing the coat with suspicion. "What? What is it, Reuben?"
Reuben held the coat up by the shoulders, his jaw tight as the geopolitical puzzle pieces violently snapped together.
"These uniforms," Reuben explained, his voice dropping into a cold, dangerous register, "are standard issue for the Kingdom of France. Specifically, they are worn by the marine infantry and naval soldiers of the French colonial fleets."
He looked down at the unconscious captain, the disguise suddenly making horrifying sense. "They aren't corsairs. It seems they deliberately stripped off their military uniforms and hoisted the black flag to combat The Wraithling, knowing full well that our ship flies the colors of the Vanguard of Pennmere."
Caroline's amber eyes widened in profound realization, her brilliant mind instantly grasping the strategic implications of the discovery before Reuben even had to finish his thought.
"They are masquerading," Caroline deduced, her voice laced with aristocratic disgust as she completed his speech. "French naval ships are deliberately disguising themselves as stateless pirates to attack Pennmerian shipping lanes and naval assets. It allows them to cripple our trade and test our military strength without officially declaring an open, formal war against the Commonwealth."
She crossed her arms, her lip curling in disdain. "That is an exceptionally underhanded, cowardly tactic."
"Cowardly or not, it's effective," Reuben shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he folded the coat over his arm. "And it doesn't matter what specific tactics they employ to hide their hands. This is a sanctioned act of hostility against the Crown. We have to report this intelligence to King Penn Sr. immediately."
Reuben turned to the waiting Vanguard operative, shifting smoothly back into the role of a fleet commander. "Strip the captain of any remaining navigational charts or coded ledgers, and execute the prisoners. I want our men back on The Wraithling in five minutes. Once we are clear, set the powder magazines and sink this brig to the bottom of the Atlantic. Leave no trace."
"Understood, Commander," the operative nodded, immediately pivoting to carry out the grim orders.
Reuben turned back to Edward and Caroline, the weight of the coming conflict settling over his shoulders. "I'll be sequestered in my cabin for the rest of the evening. I will be quite busy drafting separate, highly encrypted dispatches for Alaric and William Penn. They need to know that the French have officially made their move in the shadows."
"Do what you must, mate," Edward nodded his head, his expression grim and supportive. Caroline offered a similarly serious nod in agreement.
Reuben turned around, preparing to descend the wooden stairs and cross back over to his own ship, but he paused. He looked back over his shoulder, his dark eyes locking onto the elegant, seemingly fragile woman standing beside the former pirate.
A genuine, deeply respectful smile touched Reuben's lips.
"By the way, Caroline," Reuben complimented, his tone dropping its military edge to offer honest praise. "You are incredibly, terrifyingly strong on a battlefield. You fight with a precision that almost rivals my own. With your physical parameters, you really should consider picking up a dedicated weapon someday. A rapier or a short sword would suit you perfectly."
Caroline blinked, offering him a serene, perfectly poised smile as she smoothed the unblemished fabric of her skirt, entirely ignoring the fact that she had just brutally shattered the limbs of three grown men with her bare hands moments prior.
"I appreciate the sentiment, Reuben," Caroline replied, her voice the absolute picture of high-society elegance. "But it is terribly unbecoming of a woman of my station to carry weapons into a brawl. That is exactly what Edward is for."
Edward, who had just spent the last five minutes watching his wife systematically beat trained killers into a bloody pulp without breaking a sweat, raised a thick blonde brow at her incredibly ironic, aristocratic reasoning.
A loud, helpless chuckle escaped his chest, echoing warmly in the cool evening air.
"Right. Perfectly unbecoming," Edward laughed, wrapping a fond, secure arm around his wife's waist before turning his attention back to the Shadow Raven. The humor faded, replaced by the pressing urgency of their mission. "Given this new complication, Reuben... we might have to significantly speed up our journey to Nassau. If the French are bold enough to attack a Vanguard frigate, the pirate republic is going to be a powder keg."
Reuben nodded his head, his dark eyes flashing with the promise of absolute, unyielding speed as he looked out over the darkening ocean. He offered a sharp, confident smile.
"Of course."
.
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