Pirate Kingship
Chapter 76 - 75 The Hall of Valor, Ship Burial

Chapter 76: Chapter 75 The Hall of Valor, Ship Burial

In the interplay of light and shadow, Violet’s voice still echoed in everyone’s ears:

"Don’t you all want the legal authority of the ’Pirate Code,’ to obtain the Great Secret Treasure guarded by the Bayfolk for a thousand years? Don’t you all want to know if the prophecy of the Bayfolk’s revival is true or false? Don’t you all intend to join forces to divide every bit of profit from Iron Anchor Bay? Then, as you wish!"

She did not violate any rules, yet she had undeniably pushed what should have been a very clear martial duel towards an unknown direction. All thirteen Middle Sequence councilors, as well as the Transcendent captains who had voted for Red Beard, disappeared in succession from their pirate ships.

Byron also felt a sudden weightlessness under his feet as his body began to fall. The sound of the wind howled past his ears, mixed with a chilling cold and the stale air that had built up over the years. It was clear that the location of the treasure hunt was not in Iron Anchor Bay, or rather, it was not in the surface world where normal people lived.

In the blink of an eye, Byron’s feet touched the ground again. With just a slight crouch, he regained his balance by instinctively using the "Mountain Goat Steps." When he looked up, he found himself already at the edge of a very desolate island. Apart from stones and a muddy tidal flat soon to be submerged, there wasn’t even the slightest blade of grass, let alone birds or animals. He was standing on a piece of reef exposed upon the tidal flat, with dark-colored seawater behind him. As far as the eye could see, the only man-made object was... a black, ship-shaped coffin stranded on the desolate island!

Turning back to look up at the sky behind him, he saw only a massive anchor chain, seemingly thicker than a mountain, rising from the sea outside the island and extending into the deep clouds and mist above.

The Gunpowder Artist had once asked him a question: "Do you know what the Great Secret Treasure refers to? Why is Iron Anchor Bay called Iron Anchor Bay? What exactly does this ’Anchor’ secure..."

This was the answer. The ’Anchor’ of Iron Anchor Bay secured the sleeping ground of all traditional North Bay Folks throughout history. It was also called Valhalla of Heroes! They always believed in the prophecy and in Woden, the god of royalty and the Mad Hunt. Even in death, they would not return to the ’creator’ of the Church, or the chaotic Sea of Origin Matter (Chapters 33, 34). Instead, they would come to this ancient realm that lay between physical reality and the spiritual world. It symbolized the origin and destination of all Bayfolk, their root.

If interpersonal relationships were the ’Anchor’ individuals use to stabilize themselves, then this place was the ’Anchor’ that stabilized an entire Bayfolk group! The prototype of the modern pirate funeral, placing pirates in barrels, originated from the Bayfolk’s ’Ship Burial’ traditions. The North Bay Folks who retained their original beliefs revered dying in battle and considered it a disgrace to die of old age in bed. This spirit was much like what the generals in Byron’s previous life pursued as "to be wrapped in horsehide." However, instead of horsehide for wrapping the dead, they used ships.

Important Bayfolk figures or those who died valiantly in battle were sent to their burials with ships. Specifically, the deceased and their slaves, along with some symbols of wealth—various animals, jewels, weapons—were all placed in the ship. Then they would ignite a torch and throw it into the ship, turning the dead body to ashes along with everything else.

Without a doubt, Byron’s ancient ancestors from the Lancaster Family were also resting here. It wasn’t until their descendants came to the Continent and converted to the Church that they no longer continued these traditions. Byron, feeling the tangible yet not so solid connection to this place, slightly shook his head. He did not judge, nor did he have the right to judge, the pioneering ancestors who had achieved great feats through hardships.

"Everyone knows that the Pirate Warlord of Iron Anchor Bay possesses immense power. He can control a part of the ’Pirate Code’ and is eligible to open the Great Secret Treasure guarded by the Bayfolk. But what outsiders don’t know is that the Great Secret Treasure related to the rise and fall of the Bayfolk, as mentioned in the prophecy, is actually hidden in the deepest reaches of Valhalla, the land of the warriors’ slumber."

The Gunpowder Artist also said, unlike what outsiders imagine, there are neither the gods of legend, nor the endless pork, nor those beautiful Fairies peeling garlic for everyone while clad in furs.

There is only...

WHOOSH—!

Byron, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, dodged a rusty battle-axe with a swift sidestep. The powerful axe, failing to halt in time, buried almost half its blade into the rock. With a flash of cold light at his waist, Byron’s Bastard Sword flew out of its sheath like lightning, and he spun with the Bull Sword Style to deliver a slashing counterattack.

CLANG!

There was no smooth sensation of a blade cutting through flesh and bone, just a clashing of metal and a numbing force transmitted to his arm. His assailant, in an instant when his weapon was at a disadvantage, used the tail end of the battle-axe to block the edge of the Bastard Sword.

An expert!

Byron recognized the difficulty of his attacker. He immediately pushed off the ground to retreat, using the force transferred from his foe to quickly create distance. Only when he had retreated seven paces to the very end of the reef did he have time to closely observe the enemy that had appeared before him.

He wore a horned helmet, a rough suit of armor, and his dirty, long hair mixed with his thick beard, exuding an air of dominance and savagery. Below the helmet, a pair of standard Bayfolk azure eyes peered out. Through his shattered armor, one could see a ghastly, penetrating wound in his pale chest, visible from one side to the other. Such a terrifying wound was most likely caused by the heavy lance of a knight. If he was injured like this, he naturally couldn’t be alive.

A Heroic Spirit who endlessly battles in Valhalla?

The Sailing Logbook also displayed the life story of this Heroic Spirit: "First Rank Bayfolk Berserker Sigurd, died two hundred years ago in a raid against the Irisflower Kingdom on the Continent. The one who killed him was a now-rare [Heavy Armored Lancer]. As a brave warrior who died in battle, after receiving the unique ship burial ceremony of the North Bay Folks, he arrived in this afterlife."

The Gunpowder Artist had already told him that Valhalla, the Hall of Heroic Spirits, was in fact made up of countless ship coffins from ancient times to the present. Even in ancient legends passed down through generations, Valhalla itself is said to be a massive ship coffin. Inside, naturally, roamed countless Dead Souls, or Heroic Spirits, as one might call them. They kill each other without rest, only to resurrect again the following day. The one before him was one of them.

God knows what you went through when you were alive. As a Bayfolk Berserker, to think that your strongest battle instinct after death turned out to be ambushing? That’s quite cunning of you.

From his current vantage point, Byron could see where he had been standing moments before—a dark corner of a ship’s hull barely visible above the waterline. Obviously, it was an old, submerged ship coffin, and its occupant had been lying quietly inside. Like a stone, he had no breath and no body temperature, blending perfectly with his environment. Upon detecting the scent of the living, he had slowly risen from the water, revealing his hiding place only when he launched his attack. Byron, with his exceptional sensitivity to the sounds around him, had seen through his movements in advance.

At that moment, the Pirate Code, which methodically advanced the election rituals, also issued a prompt to all the captains who entered Valhalla: "First trial of the Great Secret Treasure: obtain three burial artifacts from the Heroic Spirits. The maximum power level of the Heroic Spirits on the island where each captain arrives is of the same rank. Defeat three Heroic Spirits to prove you are among the elite of pirates. Captains who pass this trial may summon their pirate ships and crew here, and take a sailing ship into the Middle Court of Valhalla’s Second Layer."

As Byron received the prompt, the Heroic Spirit pulled his battle axe out of the rock. He struck a pose, [Stance·Window], remarkably similar to the longsword’s Bull Sword Style, his body slightly crouched, ready to charge at Byron. Despite being dead for who knows how long, the fierce and battle-hardened aura about him was almost tangible. Among all Attendants of his rank, he was clearly no weakling. A fierce battle was about to erupt.

At this moment, however, Byron calmly moved the tip of his sword downward, pointing at the ground, leaned forward toward the Heroic Spirit, and gave a slight bow, performing the Bayfolk’s dueling ritual. The Heroic Spirit hesitated for a moment, then followed his living instincts and made the same gesture. Just as he was preparing to resume his charge, Byron had already casually discarded his Bastard Sword and swiftly drawn the Flintlock Gun from the bandolier across his chest.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Four blazing trails viciously burrowed into the Heroic Spirit’s head.

The art of the quick draw, once again the art of the quick draw!

As the Spirit stumbled backward, Byron flicked his sword up with the tip of his foot, rushed forward with a stabbing step, and chopped off his head with a single blow.

The Heroic Spirit fell to the ground and crumbled into a heap of ashes. All that remained was a gold bracelet, which Byron tucked into his waist pouch. That was the burial artifact placed in his ship coffin those many years ago.

As he reloaded his four Flintlock Guns, Byron couldn’t help but mutter, "Two hundred years ago, even matchlock guns hadn’t been invented. Only in fighting such antiques does one truly feel the discrepancies of time."

Although Valhalla in reality lacked the mead and maidens, these warriors’ combat skills during their lives were not watered down in the slightest. In the endless battles over a long time, the Heroic Spirits here die and are resurrected the following day. Within their souls remains only the purest fighting instinct. A head-on confrontation would be pointless.

Since he’ll be resurrected tomorrow anyway, it’s not like I’m profaning the ancestors... right?

Byron looked a bit uneasy as he gazed upward, feeling as if an eye was watching him.

"No, no, no, surely the ancestors would be gratified to know how adaptable I’ve become—it must be so!"

Just as he stepped from rock to rock, heading toward another ship coffin within sight, he suddenly heard a familiar, pitiful, and desperate scream echoing from within the island.

"Help—!"