Salt and Blood [A Pirate LitRPG]

Gods raised themselves from the world, but it is mortals who elevate them to the heavens

-Excerpt from 'Studies of the Pantheon' by Archbishop Professor Alathanor

Prince Everyn roared as he swung his colossal sword. Despite the mockery he faced for using such an unwieldy blade and the embarrassing loss he'd faced at the hands of Commodore Foulter, he refused to lay it down.

He knew that this was his path and giving it up would be a betrayal of his pride and honour. However, this new commodore was a tricky foe.

He didn't even wield a weapon, using only his body to fight off Everyn and his guards. Said body glowed with golden light, an energy which felt both familiar and foreign to Everyn.

It reminded him of his father's aura when he channeled his divine skills. However, the flavour of it was different.

That meant this commodore was using divine energy or the ability of a blessing to fight. The golden light coating his body was proof, the heavy blows of his fists that sent them reeling undeniable evidence.

Rose's friends Jason and Daniel were nearby, but focused on holding back the ordinary soldiers while they took on the commodore. It was a tough battle but the two boys fought well for their age.

The one who'd been a bandit was ferocious, swinging his blade like a berserker as he carved the navy apart. He hadn't escaped unharmed.

Even after all the training Rose had put them through they were in the end, untested boys. Vicious cuts and bruises covered his body and he seemed to be flagging.

They wouldn't hold forever. It fell to Everyn and his two guardsmen to bring down the commodore so that they could join the effort to clean up the riff raff.

Until now their opponent had barely moved from where he'd landed on the deck. None of their strikes had moved him from his firm standing position.

He swayed like a willow tree, dodging and parrying their blows as though they were leaves in the wind. Aaron roared, his lanky frame snapping into shape as he lunged at the commodore with his sword extended.

Golden light flowed down their enemy's arm as he moved to guard his chest, but Reece wasn't standing idle. The shorter guard dashed in from the other side, trapping the commodore in a pincer attack.

What happened next defied belief. The man's body seemed to turn liquid as he slapped Aaron's blade away as though swatting a fly, the force of the blow knocking the man himself back a few steps.

In the same motion he swept his arm around as his hips turned beyond the normal range of motion. He closed his palm into a fist and buried it in Reece's chest as he weaved around the man's awkward cutlass.

He was blasted backwards, smashing against the wall of a cabin and going straight through with a crashing of splinters and debris. Everyn heard a crash from within, then silence.

A few seconds passed and there was no sign of Reece. He cursed, lifting his sword above his head. He needed to exceed his limits.

He was the crown prince of the Emerlan Isle. If he couldn't find the strength and resolve to defend his nation, why should anyone else?

With two steps he crossed the distance between him and his foe, his blade glowing with arcane power as it descended like the justice of the heavens. Everyn didn't worship any god over the others, even though his father was blessed by Thoramir and held the god in high regard.

All that Everyn worshipped was strength, honour, and discipline. The way of a warrior. There was probably a god out there who held similar principles, but he preferred the struggles of mortal men as the object of his worship.

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The commodore narrowed his eyes as the blade fell. For the first time since the battle began he took a step backwards, planting his feet and rooting his hips as he raised two arms to block Everyn's strike.

Even if this swing failed to draw blood, he would not be disappointed. Making the bastard move was already a win. This was a war of attrition, not one that would end in a day.

The ringing of steel sounded across the deck as his blade met the crossed arms of the commodore. Even though he was striking flesh, it had the sturdiness and power of metal.

Golden light glowed brightly at the point of impact. Everyn forced the momentum of his swing downwards into the hull of the ship, but he found himself stuck.

A flash of golden light burst forth and his arms went sailing back over his head, his sword blown away. The next instant the breath was sucked from his lungs as the heaviest fist he'd ever felt struck him under his ribcage.

The commodore was relentless. Now that he'd been forced to move he had decided to go all out. As his vision returned he saw the man's stern face as he raced after Everyn.

Another fist was already flying at his head and he raised the crossguard of his sword to parry the strike. His arms trembled from the force of the blow.

He was pushed on the defensive. All he could do was struggle to reach the endless strikes of his foe as they fell on him like rain.

If this continued he would fall soon. However, Everyn had only scratched the surface of his own abilities. He pulled on his core, arcane energy racing to fill his circuits as his muscles swelled in size.

Skill up!
Arcane Attunement 23 > 24

It was his highest skill apart from Blades. Those were the two he'd been drilling rigorously since childhood and his endless devotion showed in every swing of his blade and flow of his energy.

When the next golden fist struck out at his jaw, he met it with equal ferocity. The edge of his sword flashed and blew the fist to the side.

Even as the man's arm was falling, Everyn moved to strike again. He had begun the dance of blades and it wouldn't end until one of them fell.

The commodore was quick to recover, his leg exploding in a sharp kick aimed to break Everyn's wrist. However, the prince had been watching the movements of the man's body and as the fist landed it didn't meet the vulnerable bone but instead the sharp edge of a sword.

A golden flash burst from his knuckles, deflecting the sword. Everyn wasn't thrown off kilter. Everything was incorporated into his dance, from the subtle shifting of his opponents feet and shoulders to the flying debris and bullets from the surrounding battles.

It was a state of pure battle instinct, where his arcane senses and his mortal ones blended seamlessly to feed information directly to his muscles. It used his arcane energy as a medium, skipping the brain and cutting out the delay in movement.

This was why he was able to read his foe's movements as though psychic, blocking strikes before they were thrown and slashing at weak points even before they presented themselves.

It was far from perfect. Everyn was still weak compared to the powerhouses of the Bluestone Sea, but with every battle his edge was honed. He had turned himself into a weapon, the enormous sword an extension of his body.

He swung his sword upwards as the commodore kicked at his thigh, carving a vicious gash down the length of the man's inner thigh from his knee. Blood sprayed across the deck as he fell backwards and stumbled.

For the first time the golden light had failed to protect his body. He frowned as he stared at the flowing rivers of blood, touching a single finger to the wound.

"To draw the blood of an ordained is an unforgivable sin. I had been lenient until now, given the innocence of your soul. However, the hand of divine justice is swift and unstoppable. Prepare yourself, sinner," the commodore uttered, his tone rising to a shout as he spoke.

At the climax of his speech the most potent burst of golden light yet burst forth from his chest. It expanded to cover the deck, forming a hemisphere that sealed Everyn and Aaron inside with the furious commodore.

His skin turned gold, from his feet to the top of his head. His eyes burned with a luminescent glow and when he stepped, golden sparks danced around his feet.

"No sinner has laid their evil eyes on the Ordained Vessel of Thielar the Redeemer and lived to tell the tale," he declared. "You will not be the first."

Everyn had paused his dance momentarily as the man went through his strange transformation. Halting it produced a small backlash in his arcane circuits, but he had trained to mitigate the damage.

Skill up!
Arcane Resistance 12 > 13

As he lifted his sword once more and stepped towards the golden bastard, he had a wild grin on his face. "Is that the best you've got? Turning yourself into a glittering statue? You've got the wrong idea, dog of Minenblum. I'm not trapped in here with you," he chuckled. "You're trapped in here with me."