Black Sail
Chapter 182: CLXXXII. Keep Up with the Rhythm

Chapter 182: CLXXXII. Keep Up with the Rhythm

The night was clear and the stars sparse; this hilly region was seldom traveled by men. The rolling slopes were gentle enough for horseback riding to be unrestrained. In order not to draw attention, Black Sail and his crew did not light a bonfire for cooking, merely eating dried meat instead.

The horses were all tied up in the woods.

Everyone concealed themselves amongst the trees, waiting to strike tomorrow.

"Born to poverty, illiterate, with empty coffers and mounting debts. Steady now! We’ve got everything under control!"

Liszt was in the midst of rallying the troops before the battle, dousing his head with a bottle of wine in the cold December weather.

"Everyone thinks you’re finished, your family is ready to start over with a new account, and the neighbors in your village are all laughing at you! Only Uncle Te is seriously helping you plan!

Tomorrow, we’ll slaughter the nobles and return to the island, rich as can be. We’ll be a powerful force docking in Heaven Port, changing the unfavorable market environment and controlling the entire logistics of the East Sea. By then, each person will be... the top dog of Heaven Port! Where else can you hear such a clear strategy? Keep up with Uncle Te’s pace!"

Bang!

Liszt, gripping the Big Anvil, directly split a tree trunk as wide as a basin in half, felling it effortlessly and raising a cloud of dust.

Weber’s wounds hadn’t fully healed yet, but after more than ten days of rest, he had recovered about sixty to seventy percent.

Mika’s painkiller shots were extremely potent, not only relieving pain but also staggering any foe, skating smoothly.

When the effects of the painkillers wore off and consciousness returned completely clear...

Who am I, where am I?

"You’re awake, and your hands will be stained with blood tomorrow."

Rein handed the Frost Rhododendron Blood-crying to Weber, who was not in a state to wield the Big Anvil, weighing upwards of two hundred pounds.

Liszt’s own physical strength was nearly at the human limit, but he couldn’t wield an oversized weapon as adventurers versed in special magic could.

With his own strength, he could barely lift it, gripping the back end of the iron anvil Warhammer, but had difficulty swinging it; merely holding it up for a while was insupportable.

But the reason he could lift the Big Anvil at all was due to several days of training; he had mastered the technique of using the newly acquired Junlin Sword in his right arm.

Without summoning the sword blade, it acted like an additional limb, responding to thought and moving at will, just as naturally as controlling his own body.

The Blood-red Netherworld Ghost Shadow could adhere to his body just by thought, perfectly mimicking his movements.

In theory, he could let the Ghost Shadow fight separately from himself.

But Liszt was not accustomed to that; he could only use it effectively in battle when it was completely overlapped with him.

He could not multitask, sending the Ghost Shadow to fight independently unless he remained completely still.

However, with prolonged practice, perhaps he could manage to operate on two fronts.

His right arm faintly overlaid with a crimson mist, under the power of the Junlin Sword, the Big Anvil, weighing more than two hundred pounds, felt as light as a feather, as if there was no weight at all in his hand.

It was an unbelievable level of strength.

With a casual swing, it seemed as though ten thousand jin were being smashed; Liszt decided he would arm-wrestle Ox upon returning and bet twenty Golden Dragons—he was sure this Merfolk saint was saving all his money, and he had to take a good chunk of it.

Gawain was speechless. Could such a mobilizing speech truly inspire anyone?

But this group of pirates, born to hardship and with no formal training, were truly inspired; they were fired up and bellowed savagely, keeping up with the Captain’s pace!

Liszt looked at the anvil in his hand, pondering that this weapon was indeed quite good.

"I shall call it, ’Flame Scholars Promotion.’"

Liszt nodded in approval, thinking it was very fitting and matched well with the Frost Rhododendron Blood-crying.

"Such craftsmanship," Rein remarked with a sigh.

Flame contrasted with frost; promotion with the rhododendron, each with its own classical allusion, in good poetic contrast. The rhododendron’s blood-crying evoked a sense of extreme sorrow, while promotion to scholar was cause for ecstatic madness.

Liszt waved the Flame Scholars Promotion in his hand, and because of the excessive force, as he brandished it, there was a faint rumbling sound of wind and thunder, a heavy and forceful momentum. A mere touch meant certain death, and a strike sent one to Hell; if hit just once, not to speak of being smashed to pieces, it could be said that one’s brains would be splattered meters away.

Meanwhile, Weber, looking at the Frost Rhododendron Blood-crying in his hand, was utterly confused, noticing Gawain and Meredith, he hurriedly inquired about the situation.

Gawain had no faith in this wise man’s understanding and did not bother with him.

Meredith, who knew all too well about Weber’s intelligence, thought it was all the same for their kind of robbery—the more the merrier.

Under Meredith’s intense desire to see his "wife," he wheedled Weber, mentioning only that there was money to be made and that Liszt would give a commission—a lot more than the bounty. She believed him.

Weber actually believed it. She said so; there must be no problem, but he still had some concerns.

"Wait a minute... Robbing a train, nobles... Isn’t that a capital crime?"

"We are not in Aran; we’re in another country, so don’t worry."

"So that’s how it is, having slept so long, to think we’ve left the country."

Weber, who had grown up in an orphanage, lived by the belief that if something could be resolved with fists, there was no need for knives. He had always lived carefree, a pure brute, satisfied as long as there was money to be made, incessantly eating dried meat he had requested.

It was already deep into the night.

A group settled directly on the rock-strewn forest floor with blankets as their beds. Every pirate carried a large backpack for storing loot later, and there were spare horses—just in case.

They would also take hostages, maximizing the profits.

Liszt leaned against a tree trunk and fell asleep while sitting.

The rest were nervous; it goes without saying. This job was beyond the scope of their usual work in Londen City; it was tough work. But they were all used to living dangerously—what was losing a head? Death was just an early release. They gradually fell asleep.

Weber began to snore.

Gawain couldn’t sleep, and Meredith was thinking of his "wife."

"Tomorrow, whatever I say, you do. You must stay by my side, understand?"

Fen reminded Izumi.

As long as they secured the Netherworld Stele, this ultimate weapon would exhibit its power, and nothing could withstand it.

Izumi had no choice but to agree.

"You were supposed to prepare to find another vessel to buy an identity. Since you have nowhere else to go, if this works out, Heaven Port will have a place for you."

Fen believed it was still necessary to have some initiative.

Not just the Stele, Fen had prepared enough materials this time to perform "Great Magic," ensuring the plan’s success the following day.

A complete Stele naturally did not need a medium.

But fragments were intrinsically flawed. Until they were collected, Izumi was indispensable and irreplaceable. Hopefully, the Holy Daughter associated with the Miracle of Suffering would be reliable.

Izumi just smiled and said nothing. Would she just drop dead if things didn’t go well tomorrow?

Fen had Lu stand on top of his fingertip; the elf also knew some Elemental Magic, but not greatly refined.

He gave her a ring that could amplify the affinity with fire elements.

Of course, Fen himself did not need it.

To Lu, the ring could be used as a belt; she could only just hang it around her neck.

"Aren’t you afraid I’ll run?"

"With your level... you won’t make waves."

After explaining everything, Fen reviewed the plan for a moment, ensuring nothing was missed. The route for the return journey was also planned.

By that time, a crowd would want to use the same underground tunnel they had before, especially if they were escaping with hostages—it was impossible.

Claude pointed out a secluded path at the border, guarded by a tiny squad of about a dozen guards, a poorly defended outpost. They could break out directly from there.

With immense wealth in hand, this would be the best year for Black Sail to date.

Because of the vast influence of the Holy Spirit Church, the Western Continent celebrated every January 1st as the Holy Presence Festival, the day when all things revived, the Start of Spring.

"Is that situation normal?"

Gawain couldn’t sleep anyway; his wound was healed. There were people tailing them at night; leaving now would not be wise. He decided to slip away tomorrow on a fast horse before the plan commenced amid the tense atmosphere. He planned to get ahead of the train, alert them of the bandits, and perform a great service.

Liszt, sleeping while sitting, occasionally swayed as if he wanted to throw a punch, but in his sleep, he seemed to be restrained by some invisible force; only his shoulders twitched as he broke into a cold sweat. Even in the night, the moonlight revealed his face to be extremely grim.

"It’s fine, quite common."

Fen’s face grew dark, and he spoke no further, his expression cold-blooded as he closed his eyes, using meditation in place of sleep.