“With all due respect…” Vini pants, shifting his weight as he avoids another hit, “what do you think I’m doing?”
“Talking,” I shoot back, my tone sharp.
“That is how I focus!” he whimpers, his voice hitting a new pitch as he stumbles again.
I can’t help but snort, even as chaos churns around us.
We carve through another five minutes of this madness before a pirate turns, locking his gaze on Gypsy. His eyes go wide, a finger jabbing in her direction.
“Wait… I know you.” His mouth drops open in shock. “You’re Silverbeard’s daughter.”
Gypsy freezes, her eyes narrowing into something deadly. I see the gears turning, her mind cutting through the implications as quickly as mine. If this one knows of the Serpents, there’s a damn good chance he knows the Marauders too. If he’s got enough sense to recognize her under that cloak, he’s dealt with Serpents before.
In other words? This is very, very bad.
Gypsy’s grip tightens on her weapon, her posture turning rigid. I see the danger in that flicker of recognition in the pirate’s eyes—it’s a dynamite waiting to go off.
And worse? The bastard doesn’t stop there.
“Oi, the Serpents are in league with Rancour!” he bellows, loud enough for the whole damned sea to hear. “They’ve broken the treaty!”
Gypsy mutters, “What fucking treaty…?” eyebrows drawing tight as she tries to make sense of the accusation.
She’s trying to piece it together, but this is Silverbeard we’re talking about—a man with secrets as thick as his beard Gypsy knows he’s kept things under wraps, alliances she was never part of. Pirates are built on treachery and shifting loyalties; whatever twisted deal this pirate thinks he knows, she’s in the dark on it.
But explanations don’t matter to men with blood on their minds.
“Traitors!” Another pirate bellows, lunging at her with murder in his eyes.
“Gypsy!” I bark, but she’s already moving, blade flashing as she sidesteps the strike, leaving her attacker crumpled on the ground. No time to admire her work—the rest of them are nearly on us.
Fabien keeps swinging his sword like a demon, mowing down anyone who dares get close, but there’s too many of them, and the smell of blood’s only made them more dangerous.
“We’re getting out of here. Now.” My voice leaves no room for argument—this time, it’s a command.
She’s been recognized, and word will spread whether we survive this skirmish or not. Some of these bastards are bound to slip away, and Silverbeard will hear of it. When he does, he’ll know exactly where to find her.
Gypsy’s eyes meet mine, and I can see the realization dawning on her as well. The situation has spiraled beyond anything we could have anticipated. The pirates’ cries of betrayal echo in the narrow street, and I know that we’re moments away from being overwhelmed.
“Gypsy, we need to leave—now!” I shout again, and in my rush, I let my guard slip—just for a second too long. A pirate lunges at me, seizing my cloak and wrenching me back, his dagger slashing through the fabric from shoulder to waist.
He grins, dagger poised to finish the job. But instinct kicks in—I twist, tearing free, and my blade’s already swinging up, catching him in one clean, brutal strike. He drops, eyes wide, taking in the Marauder tattoo on my chest.
“A Marauder,” he mutters, voice barely a whisper before he crumples. “Serpents and Marauders fighting together—“
I don’t have time to think. My body moves on its own. My weapon darts toward him, aiming to kill. The blade doesn’t find its mark, but it slashes across his arm anyway.
But the bastard gets away, shouting the whole damn thing—“Marauders!”—like a broken record with no off switch.
“Fuck.” And here I thought it was bad before.
No, this is worse. Way worse.
Roche is going to have my head for this, I already know. But as the word “Marauder” passes through the crowd, I catch a glint of fear in their eyes, and it’s spreading. Even among the boldest, the ones who might actually stand a chance against me, there’s hesitation. They know Roche’s reputation—hell, everyone in these waters does—and nobody with any sense wants to go up against him.
Of course, no Marauders are going to swoop in to save my ass. This fight’s on me, and I’ve just managed to stoke a whole other fire, one that Roche will want to put out. And if there’s one thing I know about that grey-haired monster, it’s that he’ll take down anyone who stands in his way—doesn’t matter how long it takes.
The more that thought sinks in, the quicker the rest of them start to back off, uncertainty creeping over them like the plague. It’s almost laughable—the shift from bloodthirsty determinationto pure, naked fear. They’re looking at me like I’m the devil himself, and, well, maybe I am. Just not in the way they think.
