Sea Reaper: The Legend of the Black-Eyed “Boy”

These masked men were clearly escape professionals, diving into the crowd and slipping through it like slick catfish. Nick was too short to see where they went, so she leapt up and dashed along vendor carts and tent poles. By the time Karl had roughly treated Victor's wound, her figure had already disappeared.

Nick chased for quite a while, only to find the group had scattered after leaving the marketplace, fleeing toward the southern residential area of Algiers. That area was home mostly to the poor — the buildings were low and cramped, and the sewage-filled alleys were perfect for hiding. Nick had chopped off one man's hand back in the market, and now followed the trail of blood toward the slums.

The blood trail was spotty but never completely lost. Nick delved deeper into the maze of houses. The narrow alleys were dark as night, and the few people she saw were wrapped in filthy robes, avoiding her eyes.

Just one catch would be enough. Nick thought to herself, uncertain how deep Victor's wound was.

The terrain was complex. Her back was taut like a cautious leopard as she scouted her surroundings. Suddenly, a flash of white at the corner ahead caught her eye — the hem of a robe. She lunged forward instantly. After several turns in the labyrinth, the man finally stopped in a dead-end alley.

"Captain Nick of the Assault Squad..."

The deep, muffled voice came from under the mask.

"You recognize me, and still dared to run." Nick gripped her scythe tightly, her voice cold. "You're not getting away. Give up your boss, and I'll spare your life."

"Heheheh... Who's the one who won't get away, I wonder..."

The man sneered grimly. Nick's heart jumped — shadows appeared behind her. Overhead, a massive fishing net came falling down.

Nick reflexively drew her blade to slash, only to realize a fatal problem. The space here was too narrow — her long weapon couldn't swing. The net seemed made especially for her, threaded with fine wire. Her scythe got tangled instantly.

"Hold the net! Catch him!!"

Enemies swarmed from front and back, trying to take Nick alive.

Her advantage became a liability. Nick twisted the scythe to wrap it in the net and tossed both aside, slipping free and pulling a dagger from her boot. She was ready for close combat — her weakness. Petite and lacking brute strength, grappling in tight spaces was especially dangerous. Once pinned, escape would be nearly impossible.

As soon as the sea-witch revealed her blade, the attackers gave up on taking her alive and drew their swords. In a space less than a meter and a half wide, blades clashed wildly. Nick's speed was unmatched. She ducked low and lunged into the nearest man's arms, thrusting her triangular dagger under his armpit and twisting. Blood poured from the three grooves, splattering her head to toe.

Close combat favored the brave. Years of struggling at the bottom had taught Nick how to endure beatings and strike back — especially when outnumbered.

She rolled out, kicking another man's knee from the side — the most vulnerable part of the human leg. A precise strike, even without great force, could cause massive damage. The man screamed as his ligaments tore, collapsing in pain. But the alley was too narrow and the enemies too many. After taking two down, she was kicked hard in the stomach.

A moment's hesitation meant death. Nick braced herself, retreated with the blow to absorb the impact, then drew another dagger from her thigh. Its thin blade flashed and sliced through the next enemy's Achilles tendon — muscles and all.

Blood sprayed from the artery with a hiss like wind. The blood-soaked sea-witch was a merciless sprite of the night. Every strike she made dealt an irreparable, deadly wound.

By the time Karl found her, the narrow alley was a hellscape of blood and flesh. Intestines spilled onto the ground, the scene more brutal than anything Michelangelo had imagined for Hell. Nick sat slumped against the wall amid the corpses, her body drenched in blood.

"Yo, you're late."

She greeted him from the shadows. Thick blood dripped from her hair, her shirt was torn open, baring a shoulder and part of her chest. The blue hexagram tattoo had turned a fierce crimson. Karl's heart nearly burst as he rushed forward, shouting:

"Where are you hurt?"

Nick shook her head slightly, voice faint: "Just exhausted. It's not my blood."

Karl's trembling hands wiped the gore from her — indeed, no major wounds. His eyes turned red.

He had sworn to protect her, but he was always too late. Too late on the day of that terrible tragedy years ago, too late again today.

"Stop. Just stop this..." The knight buried his face against her chest, his voice shaking like a leaf in autumn. He would never behave so improperly unless utterly overwhelmed.

"I'll take care of you, I'll protect you. Please, don't do this anymore! It's dirty, sinful, dangerous... You should be wearing beautiful dresses, dancing every day..."

Nick said nothing, gazing up at the thin strip of sky above the alley. And suddenly, she understood why she didn't like Karl.

She made her living with her own skill, bold and proud. But this man always assumed she was pitiful, fragile. Her hard work and existence were unnecessary in his eyes.

Nick lowered her head. Her bloodied face was blank, her eyes hollow.

"Karl, we were never the same kind."

"How long were you going to leave her here?"

A red shadow fell over them. Karl was pushed aside.

Hayreddin looked quite angry. He took off his white robe and wrapped Nick in it, scooping her into his arms.

"Never chase desperate enemies! No one taught you that?! Fishing nets, dead ends — they had this planned!"

"No one taught me... Usually I'm the one being chased." Nick muttered. She noticed his chest heaving, and added, "Captain, didn't you come chasing too?"

"I came with backup to take out their whole nest. Not like you charging in alone like a brute. If you die, it's just stupidity." Hayreddin backed out of the alley, letting his men in to collect bodies. The whole slum was surrounded. Every house and shack was searched. They did indeed find remnants of the assassins.

"Captain, they're Europeans."

An old sailor showed him the dead men's weapons — broad straight swords, unlike the curved blades common among North Africans. Lifting the masks revealed pale European faces.

"Ah, can't beat me head-on, so they resort to sneaking in the dark. I just wonder if it's the old Pope himself or one of his lapdogs." Hayreddin laughed. His pale blue eyes were cold. "Get them on the prison ship. Interrogate carefully. No suicides. Don't kill them either."

With that, he strode toward the palace with Nick in his arms.

Nick asked quietly, "I'm tired. Can I sleep before the meeting?"

Hayreddin didn't look at her. "From now on, you sleep on the hill. Even my lions are smarter than you. You need re-education."

Nick opened her mouth to speak, but Hayreddin glared viciously.

"Talk back again, and I'll dock your pay and skip your meals."

She shut up immediately. After a while, she mumbled, "My gold's still at Sera's..."

And so, Nick moved into the Captain's palace. Not that she was the only one — with assassins still unidentified, all senior crew members were "invited" to stay.

...

"Hey! Don't say I'm not special! Everyone else got 'invited' — I was forcibly relocated!" Nick complained. Without Sera around, her sleep quality had plummeted.

"Are you an animal? Do you need to mark your territory with pee before you can sleep properly?" Victor muttered, one arm bandaged thickly, flipping pages with the other. "Hey, hey! Don't drop crumbs on the floor! I'll have to clean that up… You call this visiting a patient?! You're just making my life harder!!"

Nick tossed the last piece of cake into her mouth, clapped her hands, and said shamelessly, "I brought fruit! I'm here sincerely to see you."

"Hmph. That fruit tray? You just grabbed it from the hallway! You're so stingy you'd split a single copper into seven pieces. You think I don't know you?"

She shrugged. "Where it comes from doesn't matter. Victor, why does the Captain's place have so many treats if he doesn't eat any? And the fountains! In the city, people wait in long lines for water, but here, every few steps there's a stream. His bathroom has a huge pool — how much water does it take to fill that?"

"Show-off. That's what it is — pointless luxury. One person can only eat so much. It's about impressing others, flaunting wealth and power."

"Everyone already knows he's rich..." Nick muttered. Even the pillars were embedded with gems.

"Knowing isn't enough. People are vain — seeing is believing. Only such extravagance commands true awe." Victor snorted. He'd seen it many times before. Then he asked:

"Where's your golden retriever?"

"No idea. Haven't seen him since the alley fight. Probably went back to Europe. Peace and quiet at last."

Victor nodded. "Good. That kind can't handle piracy — too full of loyalty, patriotism, and Jesus. Might as well let him kill himself instead."

"Jesus, huh..." Nick scoffed. Then asked, "Victor, you don't look like a pirate either. How'd you grow up?"

Ship doctor: "In embroidered silk, dancing every day."

Nick: "Sounds boring."

Doctor: "Exactly. Good thing I turned out wrong."

At that moment, in the reception room—

"They're Spaniards."

The prison ship warden, Alonso, reported to Hayreddin: "We interrogated them separately. No mistake — the accent matches. Orders came directly from King Charles V. Their leader said the Pope's envoy had even visited the palace."

"So it was the Pope..." Hayreddin stroked his chin. All of Catholic Europe was nominally under the Pope. He'd raided many European ships and harmed many interests. Spain sending assassins at the Pope's request was no surprise.

Yet, it was almost too simple.

"Nothing else?" Hayreddin asked.

"Ah, just some court scandals, Church corruption... unrelated stuff. I really tried, Captain. Their leader didn't know much either. Died insisting it was a royal order. We Red Lions are a thorn in Europe's side."

"Mm. Good work, Alonso. Handle the prisoners as usual." Hayreddin smiled. "Without you, my intel would be half as good."

"Oh, I only followed orders..." Alonso was a bit emotional. The Captain rarely gave praise — but when he did, rewards always followed.

"Our fleet's growing, tactics evolving — we need more talent. If you work hard, there are many chances to rise." Hayreddin smiled broadly, painting a grand vision.

As Alonso basked in it, a cheerful shout echoed from the courtyard:

"Hyah! Go, Hamm! Left! Not right — I said left!"

He looked out. A small figure rode the Captain's lion, steering it by its mane. The beast looked annoyed but didn't throw her off.

"Whoa, Captain Nick's amazing." Alonso whistled. That lion, though tamed, still treated everyone but Hayreddin as food. No one else had ever ridden it.

It also meant something else — only someone deeply trusted could behave like that in the palace.

"Little rascal, acting like she owns the place..." Hayreddin chuckled, bemused by his own indulgence.

A beautiful woman, a sharp blade, a skilled warrior — great to have, but easy to replace. Yet this girl was different. He kept thinking about what weapons she needed, what helpers suited her. Even the fleet's combat style changed around her.

Hayreddin figured it out: he was afraid of sunk costs.

With so much invested, losing her would be worse than replacing a lion.

Just simple business logic. He was sure of it. His investment was more than gold — it was heart and soul.

Whoever had sent the assassins, the fleet's plans moved forward. Days later, the Red Lions added two new ships, and Nick, as assault leader, was to select the crew.

She stood in the square with her scythe, testing the recruits. A ten-meter radius around her was ringed with wary pirates. Only those called dared step in.

This one? Useless — she heard their lifeline snap before they got close. That one? Maybe okay — might last a few months...

Nick removed the blade from her scythe, whacking at them with the pole. She had no formal training and didn't hold back. If she'd used the real blade, there'd be casualties. As the sun climbed, person after person limped away. She was getting bored.

Then, a tall figure stood before her, backlit.

Golden hair still dazzling, longer now, messily tied in a ponytail. Tanned face, sleeves rolled up, shirt loose — just like any pirate in Algiers.

Nick stared at the tattoo on his wrist and blinked.

"Karl? Am I seeing things? Did something dirty possess you?" The man who'd obsessed over neatness and etiquette... now this?

The young man shook his head. "Captain Nick, I'm here to apply."

"This is for pirates, not servants. Especially not nagging ones."

"I'm here to apply as a pirate." Karl revealed his weapons — a knight's broadsword and a dueling rapier.

Nick's eyes grew cold. "Are you sure? We kill, steal — we show no mercy, no forgiveness, no honor."

Karl gripped his swords and met her eyes. "Yes. This is exactly the job I want."

"Fine. Draw your weapons and let me see." Nick reattached her blade. The pole spun in her hand, whistling.

In front of everyone, Karl proved he had earned a place on board.

He would never show mercy again.

His pity had endangered her. His forgiveness had nearly killed her. He could no longer dream of shielding her with some pure, innocent paradise.

Her enemies were many. Her allies too few. It had always been this way, and always would be.

From this moment on, the name Hellhound Karl spread across the sea — a silent golden pirate following the sea-witch, their twin blades reaping countless souls.

Late at night, Victor closed his medical book and stepped out for air.

After a few steps, he saw a figure kneeling at the end of the corridor.

Moonlight spilled through the porthole, turning golden hair to silver frost. The young man clasped the cross at his neck, bowing in prayer.

"Praying for forgiveness? For killing the innocent? Or to restore your knightly honor?" Victor sneered. "People like you — upright, pure — never change. You still see us as filthy criminals."

"I'm no longer a knight," Karl replied without turning. His beliefs remained, but now bent to purpose.

...

I swear to protect the weak.

I swear to fight against wrong.

I swear to defend the defenseless.

I swear to never harm the innocent.

I swear to love with undying faith...

...

"I've broken every vow. No one can forgive me."

"Oh? Then you're praying for Nick to regain her status? So she can become what you want — wearing pretty dresses and dancing every day?"

"...No. Her life is hers to choose."

The young man kissed the cross at his lips, as softly as if kissing a lover's eyelash.

"I only pray that all her sins fall on me, so she may have everything she truly deserves."

Amen.