Translator: CinderTL
"Damn it! What the hell is going on here?"
Lor gasped for breath, his chest heaving like a bellows. He stared grimly at the bloody scene on the deck, his face so dark it seemed to drip with water.
As a veteran guard of the Black Shell Trading Company, Lor was intimately familiar with these demonic beasts, having spent years navigating the seas.
Warsaw Fishmen.
These fish-like creatures, dwelling in the deep sea, were notorious for their cunning and ferocity. They roamed shipping lanes in packs, like ravenous hyenas, preying on passing vessels and plundering their cargo.
Yet precisely because they possessed intelligence rivaling humans, they had always targeted the weak: coastal fishing villages or small merchant ships.
Large, well-built vessels like those of the Black Shell Trading Company had always been targets they avoided like the plague.
But today...
"Behind you!"
A comrade's scream snapped Lor back to reality. He watched helplessly as another guard was impaled through the chest by a fishman's rusty trident, blood splattering across the deck in a gruesome fan.
Lor roared in fury, ignoring the deep, bone-deep gash on his left arm that continued to bleed profusely. He raised his iron sword and charged forward once more.
Clang!
The metallic clang reverberated through him, numbing the web between his thumb and forefinger.
His certain strike had been effortlessly parried by the fishman.
"Damn it! When did these beasts get so strong?" Lor cursed under his breath, preparing to disengage.
But then the fishman's scaled foot slipped grotesquely in the pool of blood, its slick, webbed claws dragging a viscous trail across the deck.
Simultaneously, the dagger in its hand suddenly shifted direction, scraping along the sword's edge in a shower of blinding sparks.
Shriiiick!
Amidst the teeth-grinding friction, the shadow of death rapidly descended. The cold, gleaming dagger loomed larger and larger in Lor's pupils.
Am I going to die here?
Just then, a silver streak flashed like a shooting star.
Thud!
After the dull sound of a blade piercing flesh, the fishman's ferocious expression froze on its face.
The scaled head slowly tilted before slamming onto the deck with a thud, splattering a pool of dark green blood.
Lor stood frozen until the familiar figure flicked the blood from his sword. Only then did he snap out of his daze and shout, "Lord Roland?"
"Don't lose focus!" Roland barked, his gaze sweeping over the Warsaw Fishmen swarming over the ship's rails, his brow furrowed in concentration.
His voice was cold and steady, carrying an undeniable air of authority.
"Gather the remaining guards and form a defensive line! These are basic tactics. I shouldn't need to teach you this, should I?"
"But Lord, you..."
"Leave this to me."
Hearing this decisive declaration, Lor's gaze lingered briefly on Roland's youthful face, a flicker of hesitation crossing his mind.
But then he recalled Colin's repeated instructions:
"This esteemed guest possesses formidable strength. Treat him with the utmost respect and courtesy, understand?"
With that thought, his hesitation vanished completely. He responded loudly, "Yes, sir!"
He immediately turned and rushed to the other side of the deck to rally the surviving guards.
The Warsaw Fishmen, unwilling to let such easy prey escape, roared and surged after him.
However, their path was abruptly blocked by a longsword that gleamed with icy light.
Clang!
The dull clang of metal against metal echoed as Roland's wrist dipped slightly, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.
"Impressive strength."
A faint smile curved his lips. The mastery granted by Short Blade Mastery allowed him to effortlessly rotate his wrist, deflecting the sword's edge like flowing water.
The mithril blade flashed a cold arc in the sunlight, slicing through the Warsaw Fishmen's tough scales as if they were mere paper.
Thwack!
Blood spurted as the fishman's massive body split in two, crashing heavily onto the deck.
Yet the death of their comrade did not deter these bloodthirsty predators.
On the contrary, the scent of blood only intensified their ferocity.
They emitted piercing shrieks, gathering in groups of three to five, and launched a relentless, storm-like assault on Roland.
Against such a concentrated barrage, an ordinary person would have been slain instantly.
But for Roland in his current state, it was utterly insignificant.
He didn't even need to use any special abilities or combat techniques. Relying solely on his raw physical strength, he precisely reaped the lives of the demonic beasts before him.
However, as he slaughtered the fishmen, a peculiar glint flashed in Roland's eyes.
"Something's wrong," he murmured, sensing an anomaly.
Ordinary demonic beasts, like the goblins, kobolds, and Hyena-Men he had encountered in the Blackwater Territory, were considered rare if they even knew how to wield weapons, let alone possess any combat skills.
During most battles, they would simply swing their weapons wildly with brute force or speed, lacking any semblance of strategy or technique.
But these Warsaw Fishmen were different.
Their spear thrusts were cunning and ruthless, their dagger strikes swift and precise. Their movements were so practiced, they rivaled those of formally trained soldiers.
Each attack targeted vital points, executed with terrifying coordination.
No wonder Lor and his elite guards couldn't hold them back. Is this another consequence of the Magic Element's resurgence?
The thought flashed through Roland's mind, but he immediately dismissed it.
No, that's not it!
Amidst the whirling sword light, he sensed a more critical difference.
Their eyes.
Whether it was a weak goblin or a powerful aberrant demonic creature, though they couldn't understand human language, their eyes always betrayed emotions humans could comprehend: fear, greed, rage, or contempt.
But the Warsaw Fishmen's eyes remained utterly devoid of expression.
Only slaughter.
A pure, cold, almost fanatical desire for slaughter.
It was as if they were being drawn or controlled by something.
This is strange.
Roland frowned slightly, but his sword never faltered.
With each whistling arc of his blade, Warsaw Fishmen fell like stalks of wheat.
Behind him, Lor had reorganized the guards and led them forward to join the fray.
Under Roland's leadership, the tide of battle quickly turned.
The Warsaw Fishmen's battle line crumbled steadily, and they were soon driven to the ship's edge.
Fewer enemies managed to climb aboard, unable to keep up with Roland's relentless slaughter.
Inside the cabin, the panicked noble guests finally breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Through the portholes, they gazed at the invincible figure, their eyes filled with reverence.
Yet amidst this sea of admiration, one brown-haired youth stood apart.
His slender fingers unconsciously plucked at the harp strings, his emerald eyes fixed on Roland with a complex expression: curiosity, astonishment, and a barely perceptible hint of excitement.
Just as everyone believed the attack was nearing its victorious conclusion...
Boom!
A deafening, muffled explosion erupted from beneath the ship, sending the entire vessel shuddering violently.
The crew on deck lost their footing, several guards even tumbling to the ground.
"Sharks! It's a shark swarm!"
Amidst the guards' frantic cries, Roland's longsword flashed in a silver arc, cleaving a Warsaw Fishmen in two at the waist.
He whirled around, following the terrified gazes of the crowd.
Beneath the surface, massive shadows swirled frantically.
Five colossal sharks, each over twenty feet long, their pale bellies gleaming faintly in the murky depths.
They were darting back and forth beneath the ship, each movement churning up murky whirlpools as they seemed to precisely target the vessel's weakest points with their relentless attacks.
This coordinated assault was far beyond the capabilities of ordinary sharks.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The successive impacts sent the merchant ship shuddering violently.
Wooden barrels rolled across the deck, crashing with dull thuds.
Several guards lost their footing and tumbled into the pool of blood.
Panic-stricken screams erupted from the cabins as the terrified passengers huddled together in fear.
"Hold steady!" Lor roared, his voice trembling noticeably.
Just then, a crewman threw open a hatch and shouted urgently, "The hull! The hull's about to crack!"
At this critical moment, an ethereal song suddenly echoed across the sea.
(End of the Chapter)
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