Flood Dragon Island, a colossal island of jagged stone situated in the heart of the boundless sea, stood tall like a primordial behemoth. Flanked on all four sides by sheer, vertical cliffs and crashing waves that sprayed pristine white foam, it could only be breached via a handful of secret, winding waterways. It was a natural fortress—easy to defend, nearly impossible to attack—and had served as the centuries-old lair for the most notorious pirates of the southern seas.
Yet today, this impregnable bastion welcomed a new master.
When the mighty fleet of warships returned, bearing the corpse of the former Island Master and the mysterious New King, the entire island quaked. However, the anticipated chaos never materialized. Under the absolute suppression of the Vice Island Masters—who had witnessed that heaven-shaking, earth-shattering saber strike with their own eyes—and beneath the towering prestige of the New King who had vanquished the Black Flood Dragon King, all resistance and mutinous intent were ruthlessly snuffed out in the cradle.
The transition of power was swift and drenched in blood. Those who remained loyal to the Black Flood Dragon King to the bitter end, as well as those who openly defied the new rules, were dealt with cleanly and decisively. Tran Kien did not strike personally. He merely sat in silence within the Assembly Hall, allowing the pirates to conduct their own internal purge. He was employing the stratagem of "using the enemy to defeat the enemy," borrowing the hands of those eager to establish merit to eradicate the most stubborn dissidents.
After three days of bloody purges, Flood Dragon Island fell entirely into Tran Kien's grasp.
He was in no rush to revel in the luxurious life of a king. Instead, he initiated a comprehensive reformation—a process of "tempering" the entire island in accordance with his own will.
First was the military. He completely disbanded the old hierarchy. All one thousand-plus pirates were stripped of their ranks, reduced to ordinary foot soldiers. Following this, he established a gruelingly brutal selection process to form a new vanguard: the "Sea Dragon Guard."
The selection did not rely solely upon one's cultivation base. It was a crucible that tested willpower, ironclad discipline, and the capacity for seamless teamwork. Tran Kien utilized the very methods of bitter cultivation he had personally endured, drawing upon the teachings of the Iron Thrust mnemonic, to temper them. Day after day, they were forced to submerge themselves in the freezing, bone-chilling ocean currents, scale slick, treacherous cliffs, and face off against ferocious marine demonic beasts.
Initially, many could not endure the torment and wished to desert. But when they saw their New King donning the same coarse garments, eating the same rations, sleeping in the same quarters, and personally participating in the most agonizing training exercises right alongside them, all murmurs of dissent evaporated. In their place, a profound, soul-deep reverence took root.
He did not merely teach them how to kill. He taught them how to wage war like a true, standing army. He instructed them in joint-strike array formations, the exploitation of terrain, and the paramount importance of scouting and intelligence gathering. He was slowly forging a pack of feral, wild wolves into an army of wolves possessing both ironclad discipline and cunning intellect.
Concurrently, Old Kinh, leveraging his vast experience and prestige, took on the mantle of Grand Steward, assisting Tran Kien with all internal affairs. He enforced the newly established rules with draconian strictness. The plundering of civilian merchant vessels was absolutely forbidden. Instead, the crosshairs of Flood Dragon Island shifted toward other, vicious pirate gangs and the smuggling ships belonging to corrupt, avaricious officials.
Initially, this transition was fraught with difficulties. But gradually, its efficacy became glaringly apparent. Flood Dragon Island was no longer a thorn in the eyes of the orthodox merchant guilds. On the contrary, several guilds, hungering for maritime protection, began engaging in clandestine transactions, supplying the island with necessary resources and provisions. The stratagem of "sustaining battle through battle" had begun to display its miraculous effects.
One month later.
Upon the training grounds of Flood Dragon Island.
The first one hundred members of the Sea Dragon Guard, clad in light black armor and gripping their sabers, stood in immaculate silence like statues of solid stone. The killing intent radiating from their bodies had been completely restrained, yet the sharpness gleaming within their eyes resembled newly whetted blades, ready to be unsheathed at a moment's notice.
Tran Kien stood before them. His bamboo hat had been cast aside, revealing a youthful face brimming with undeniable majesty.
"You," he projected his voice, "are no longer pirates. You are the guardians of the sea. You are the very saber in my hand."
"Today marks your inaugural mission. It is not an act of pillaging. It is an act of conquest."
He unfurled a maritime chart. Marked upon it was a small island situated not too far from Flood Dragon Island.
"This is Wolf Fang Island, the lair of the Black Wolf pirate gang. They are notorious for their cruelty—murdering and plundering without sparing even women or children," he said, his voice dropping to a glacial chill. "Your mission is to raze it to the ground. Bring the head of Chieftain Black Wolf back to me."
"YES, LORD!!!" One hundred voices roared in absolute unison, their martial aura soaring to the heavens.
That night, ten small, exceptionally agile warships silently slipped away from Flood Dragon Island, merging seamlessly into the ink-black night.
Tran Kien did not accompany them. He stood atop the highest crag, quietly watching them depart. He had sown the seed. Now, it was time to see exactly what kind of tree it would grow into.
Beside him, Old Kinh approached.
"Exalted Lord, everything has fallen into its proper orbit. Should we... return to the mainland?"
Tran Kien remained silent for a long while. He gazed toward the distant north—toward the Imperial Capital, where unresolved grudges and karmic debts still awaited him. He knew the legacy of his ancestors was still waiting to be claimed. But he also knew that this Flood Dragon Island, this Sea Dragon Guard, was an absolutely indispensable piece on his future chessboard.
"There is no rush," he shook his head. "This knife is not yet sharp enough. Let us wait a bit longer. Wait until it has been thoroughly tested in blood, until it has truly transformed into a blade capable of rending the very azure heavens asunder."
He knew that before seeking out the past, he first had to firmly grasp the present. On this chessboard of the sea, he did not merely wish to play the role of a king. He intended to forge it into the most unshakeable stepping stone, one that would allow him to vault onto a chessboard vastly larger and far more magnificent.