Translator: CinderTL
Although Roland had gained an incredibly detailed understanding of the Howling Gorge through Theresa's abilities, he didn't rush into action.
After dealing with the pirates, he instructed Hoby to dispatch elite crew members in small boats to scout the gorge's interior.
Once they confirmed the pirates showed no signs of activity, Roland arranged for the crew to rest while he used Observing the Sea to monitor the weather.
A day later, when sunlight finally pierced through the dense fog, the Seabird set sail again, heading toward the Howling Gorge.
Within moments, the treacherous terrain came into view.
But Roland, already familiar with the area's layout, showed little surprise.
With detailed information and meticulous planning, the hidden reefs and jagged rock pillars at the entrance—which had capsized countless inexperienced ships—seemed to vanish into thin air.
Under Roland's calm command, the Seabird deftly avoided these deadly obstacles.
Soon, as the waters grew calmer, the ship entered the gorge's interior.
Towering cliffs rose on either side, nearly blocking out the sunlight overhead.
The sea wind whistled eerily through the crevices in the cliff face, its shrill cries intertwining with the crashing waves below, sending a chill down one's spine.
"Cliffs, caves, and..."
Roland's gaze fell upon the sea beside them.
There, several solid landmasses jutted abruptly from the water.
Their earthen-yellow color clashed starkly with the surrounding cliffs, which had been blackened by centuries of seawater erosion.
"Hoby..."
Seeing that they were still some distance from the pirate hideout Theresa had pointed out, Roland quietly asked the halfling beside him, "When you and your Big Brother passed through Howling Gorge before, were these landmasses visible above the water?"
"I don't... think so," Hoby replied.
"But Big Brother mentioned that the terrain across the region has been changing somewhat in recent years, for some reason, so..."
The halfling trailed off, glancing at the young man beside him, whose brow was furrowed in thought.
Though Hoby deeply admired Roland's cautious approach, instilled in him by Trevor's teachings, there were times when even he felt Roland's prudence seemed excessive.
"Mr. Roland, you don't need to worry so much."
"I understand now," Roland said, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Is the resurgence of the Magic Element causing these changes in the terrain?"
He scrutinized the oddly protruding patches of earth once more, confirming there were no anomalies before slowly withdrawing his gaze.
The Seabird continued its voyage forward, and the silhouettes of three pirate ships gradually came into view.
The crew gripped their weapons tightly, poised for battle.
Yet the engagement proved surprisingly effortless.
For some reason, the pirates stationed within Howling Gorge were not only physically weakened but also pitifully few in number.
The combined crew of all three ships barely exceeded fifty men.
In mere moments, the pirates were driven off their vessels and onto the solid, yellowish-brown ground beside them.
Seeing only a dozen or so pirates still putting up a desperate resistance, Roland's taut nerves finally began to ease.
Though the pirate leader, Captain Harim, had yet to appear, Roland doubted he could pose a threat after losing all his men.
According to available intelligence, while Captain Harim was a formidable warrior, he had not yet reached the Transcendent Realm, making him at most an extraordinary strongman.
Even so, Roland stood on the deck, his hand firmly gripping the hilt of his sword at his waist.
He would not lower his guard until the battle was completely over.
Just then, a faint sound of footsteps came from behind him.
Roland glanced sideways and saw Galvis dragging his weary steps toward him.
The bard looked as if his bones had been removed. His hands rested limply on the ship's railing, his back slightly hunched, and he let out a long, weary sigh.
"What's wrong, Galvis? What happened?" Roland asked, his gaze fixed on the battlefield below, not shifting an inch.
"N-nothing," the bard replied weakly, waving his hand listlessly. His fingers unconsciously plucked at the strings of the lute in his arms, producing a series of mournful, low notes.
"I just feel... this whole thing went too smoothly. No fierce clashes, no dramatic twists, not even a chance for you to display your divine might. It's all just... so boring."
As he grumbled, he scratched his disheveled brown hair and pulled out paper and quill from his robes.
Biting the tip of the quill, he furrowed his brow in deep thought.
"How can I embellish this... hmm... utterly mundane adventure to make it thrilling and moving?"
Hearing the poet's rambling musings, Roland barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
He was about to offer some perfunctory words to dismiss this troublesome fellow back to his cabin when his pupils suddenly contracted, his gaze locking onto the cliff face.
At the cave entrance connecting to the precarious ledges, several figures staggered out.
Pirates!
But their appearance sent a collective gasp through the crew on deck.
Their movements were stiff as marionettes, joints creaking with a sickening "crunch" at every unnatural, jerky step.
Most chilling of all were their eyes.
Hollow, vacant, as if veiled by a thick layer of dust, they lacked any trace of human vitality.
Only a faint, unsettling purple glow flickered deep within.
"By the gods... what are those things?" Hoby's voice trembled imperceptibly as he instinctively reached for the dagger at his waist.
The zombie-like pirates, their grayish-white eyes gleaming with a violet light, turned in unison toward the open ground.
There stood the crew of the Seabird, fresh from their victory and now bracing for another attack.
"Watch out!"
At the piercing warning, the crew snapped out of their shock, roaring as they swung their weapons.
Swords and blades crashed against the stiff bodies with dull thuds.
But the battle was eerily chilling.
Though clumsy in their movements, the pirates possessed astonishing strength and seemed utterly impervious to pain.
One crew member, straining with all his might, cleaved open a pirate's shoulder, the bone laid bare.
Yet the pirate merely staggered, his severed arm still clawing relentlessly at the crew member's throat, while his intact hand clawed stubbornly toward the crew member's face, its fingertips just inches from his eyeball.
The choking crew member's eyes bulged in terror as he stared helplessly at the grime-caked nails drawing closer.
In that desperate moment!
A frigid, razor-sharp blade sliced through the air like lightning, striking with pinpoint accuracy.
Clang!
The metallic clash rang out with a piercing, ear-splitting clang.
Roland's figure had materialized at the heart of the chaos, seemingly out of nowhere.
His Mithril Longsword held steady against the withered arm poised to gouge out an eye.
Tremendous strength surged through the blade, causing his arm to sink slightly, yet his stance remained as solid as bedrock.
The eerie pirate seemed to "sense" the obstruction. Its gray-white eyes swiveled with agonizing slowness, their hollow gaze locking onto Roland.
A guttural, wet gurgle erupted from its throat, as if something were writhing within.
The air seemed to freeze, leaving only the wind whistling through the cliffside caves, its cries now even more piercingly desolate.
Facing the multiple hollow gazes locked onto him, each radiating an ominous purple light, Roland's eyes showed no flicker of hesitation, only icy resolve.
He knew all too well that hesitation meant death.
"Fall back!"
His low command, though quiet, carried an undeniable authority, instantly halting the crew members who had been about to rush forward to help.
In the next instant, he moved.
No flashy techniques, only pure speed and precision.
The Mithril Longsword in Roland's hand transformed into a streak of light, tearing through the gloom and aiming directly for the pirate's grotesque neck.
Sensing the lethal threat, the pirate stiffly attempted to raise its hand in defense.
But it was too slow.
Roland's blade moved faster than the signals could travel through its decaying nerves.
The sword flashed past in an instant.
There was no violent clash, only a sickening thud, like rotten wood splitting under a sharp axe.
The pallid head flew high into the air, tracing a brief arc through the murky air.
The headless body swayed for a moment, its grip on the crewman finally loosening, before collapsing onto the ochre-colored ground like a sack of rotting meat.
The rescued crewman coughed violently, scrambling away on all fours.
The severed head rolled across the deck, spinning several times before coming to rest with its severed neck facing upward.
Time seemed to freeze.
On the deck, Hoby let out a strangled gasp, as if his throat had been squeezed shut. His face drained of color, turning as white as paper, and his small body trembled uncontrollably. He instinctively grabbed the nearby rope, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it tightly.
Beside Hoby, the bard Galvis reacted in stark contrast.
His hand, which had been resting on the ship's railing, suddenly clenched into a fist. His bloodshot eyes, strained from sleepless nights and exhaustion, now widened into round, feverish orbs, burning with an almost manic excitement.
He stared fixedly at the severed head, his throat emitting a strange, guttural "heh-heh" sound—not of fear, but of an ecstasy akin to discovering a priceless treasure.
Above the severed neck, within the pirate's skull, where brain matter and bone should have been, a nauseating, writhing mass had taken root.
Its skin was slick and grayish-purple, like that of a skinned frog, coated in a viscous, faintly luminescent purple mucus.
Thick, nerve-like tentacles, resembling malevolent roots, pierced deep into the base of the skull, anchoring the creature firmly in place.
These tentacles twitched and churned unconsciously, as if still drawing sustenance from the lingering remnants of life.
At the center of this gelatinous mass, one could barely discern a ring-shaped structure resembling an octopus's mouth, lined with rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. It opened and closed greedily, greedily sucking in the air, perhaps drawing in the lingering essence of life that permeated the atmosphere.
Without eyes or nose, it existed solely as a pure, primal parasitic form, radiating a soul-shattering sense of malevolence.
"Brain Eaters! By the gods, it's really a Brain Eater!"
Galvis's voice rose to a sharp, trembling pitch, his manic excitement completely drowning out Hoby's suppressed whimpers of terror.
He straightened his hunched back as if suddenly infused with boundless energy, his trembling finger pointing down at the writhing mass of flesh.
"Roland! Look at that thing! They burrow into living beings, devour their brains, and turn their victims into soulless puppets!"
"I've heard of them in ancient ballads from the northern tundra, seen them depicted in forbidden murals of southern jungle tribes! Gods, I thought they were just legends, bedtime stories told by third-rate bards to frighten children!"
As if in response to the poet's words, an even more intense, spine-chilling rustling echoed from the depths of the cave.
In the next moment, more pirates controlled by Brain Eaters emerged into view.
(End of the Chapter)
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