Knight: from Apprentice to the Almighty

Although Roland had gained an incredibly detailed understanding of Wailing Gorge’s interior through Teresa’s ability, he didn’t act rashly.

After dealing with the captured Pirates, he instructed Hobbit to first send his best crewmen to scout the inside of Wailing Gorge in small boats.

Once he confirmed that the Pirates holed up inside had made no unusual moves, he arranged for his crew to get some much-needed rest while he once again used Observing the Sea to check the weather.

A day later, when the sun finally pierced through the dense fog, the Sea Sparrow set sail once more, heading for Wailing Gorge.

In just a few moments, the treacherous landscape came into view.

However, Roland, who was already well-aware of the situation, wasted no time on idle admiration.

His detailed information and meticulous planning rendered the reefs and rock pillars at the entrance—which had capsized countless inexperienced ships—practically nonexistent.

Under Roland’s calm command, the Sea Sparrow deftly avoided these deadly obstacles.

Soon, as the current calmed, the ship sailed into the interior of Wailing Gorge.

Towering, jagged cliffs rose on both sides, nearly blocking out the sun.

The sea breeze whistled through cracks and holes in the cliffs, producing eerie shrieks that mingled with the crashing waves below, enough to send a shiver down one’s spine.

’Cliffs, caves, and...’

Roland’s gaze fell upon the surface of the sea nearby.

Several solid landmasses rose abruptly from the water.

They were an earthy yellow color, looking utterly out of place against the surrounding cliffs, which had been washed black by the sea.

"Hobbit..."

Seeing they were still some distance from the cave Teresa had identified as the Pirates’ hideout, Roland quietly asked the Half-Elf beside him.

"The last time you and your older brother passed through Wailing Gorge, were these landmasses here?"

"I don’t... think so."

"But my older brother did say that for some reason, the geography everywhere has been changing a bit in recent years, so..."

The Half-Elf said, looking at the young man beside him, whose brow was tightly furrowed.

Although Hobbit greatly respected Roland’s cautious and meticulous style—a lesson drilled into him by Trevor—sometimes...

...even he felt Roland’s caution was a bit excessive.

"Mr. Roland, you needn’t worry so much."

"I see."

Roland’s eyes narrowed slightly.

’Is the resurgence of Magic Elements causing the geography to change?’

He scrutinized the out-of-place landmasses again, and only after confirming there was nothing amiss did he slowly look away.

The Sea Sparrow sailed onward, and the silhouettes of three Pirate Ships gradually came into view.

The crew gripped their weapons, ready for a fight.

Yet the battle was surprisingly easy.

For some unknown reason, the Pirates stationed in Wailing Gorge were not only extremely weak, but also pitifully few in number.

The Pirates on all three ships combined numbered just over fifty.

Thus, in a matter of moments, the Pirates were driven from their ships and forced onto the solid, earthy-yellow ground nearby.

Seeing only a dozen or so Pirates still putting up a futile resistance, Roland’s tense nerves finally began to ease.

Although the Pirate leader, a captain named Harlem, had yet to appear, Roland didn’t believe he could still pose a threat after losing all his men.

According to the intelligence they had, this captain, while powerful, had not yet stepped into the Extraordinary Realm. He was, at best, a remarkable fighter.

Even so, standing on the deck, Roland kept his hand resting steadily on the hilt of his sword.

He would not let his guard down until the battle was completely over.

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps came from behind him.

Roland glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Galvis shuffling wearily to his side.

The Minstrel looked as if all the strength had been drained from him. His hands rested limply on the ship’s rail, his back was slightly hunched, and he let out a long, weary sigh.

"What is it, Galvis? Did something happen?"

Roland asked, his gaze still firmly locked on the battlefield below, not wavering for an instant.

"It’s... it’s nothing."

The Minstrel waved a listless hand, his fingers unconsciously plucking the strings of the instrument in his lap, producing a series of plaintive, low notes.

"I just feel... it’s all gone too smoothly. No fierce struggle, no thrilling twists, not even a chance for you to display your prowess. It’s just... so terribly dull."

He grumbled as he scratched his messy brown hair, then pulled out a pen and paper from his coat.

Biting the tip of his quill, he frowned in deep, troubled thought.

"How am I supposed to embellish this... hmm... adventure, which has been as dull as dishwater, to make it sound exciting and captivating?"

Listening to the Minstrel’s absurd complaints, Roland had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

He was about to offer a few dismissive words to send the nuisance back to his cabin when his pupils suddenly constricted, his gaze locking onto the cliffs.

At the entrance to a cave connected to those out-of-place patches of land, several figures were staggering out.

It was the Pirates!

But their appearance made everyone on deck gasp.

Their movements were as stiff as marionettes, their joints emitting a grating "CREAK," and every step was marked by an unnatural twitch.

The most horrifying part was their eyes.

They were hollow and vacant, as if covered by a thick, gray film, devoid of any sign of life.

Only a faint, unsettling violet glimmer flickered in their depths.

"By the gods... what in the hell are those things?"

Hobbit’s voice held a barely perceptible tremor as he subconsciously reached for the Short Knife at his waist.

The walking corpses’ gray-white eyes, glinting with purple light, swiveled in unison toward the open ground.

There, the crew of the Sea Sparrow, fresh from their victory, stood on alert.

"Look out!"

The piercing warning shook the crew from their horrified stupor, and they roared as they swung their weapons.

Blades hacked into the stiff bodies, making dull thuds.

But the fight was unnervingly bizarre.

The Pirates’ movements were clumsy, yet they possessed shocking strength and seemed to feel no pain.

A crewman hacked into one of the Pirate’s shoulders with all his might, cutting deep enough to reveal bone.

But the Pirate only swayed. Its mangled arm continued to choke the crewman, while its other, uninjured hand stubbornly clawed for his face, its fingertips mere inches from his eyeball.

The crewman’s eyes bulged from suffocation and fear as he watched in despair, the filthy fingernails drawing ever closer.

In the nick of time!

A flash of cold steel, like lightning tearing through the air, sliced in with unerring precision.

CLANG!

The sharp clang of metal was piercing.

Roland’s figure had somehow appeared in the center of the chaos.

His Secret Silver Longsword steadily blocked the desiccated arm that was about to gouge out the crewman’s eye.

An immense Power came through the blade, causing his arm to dip slightly, but his stance remained as solid as a rock.

The bizarre Pirate seemed to "sense" the obstruction. Its grayish-white eyes swiveled with excruciating slowness, "staring" blankly at Roland.

An inhuman, wet gurgling came from its throat, as if something were squirming inside it.

The air seemed to freeze, leaving only the wind whistling through the holes in the cliffs, its shrieks growing ever more shrill.

Faced with several hollow gazes locked onto him, all glinting with an ominous purple light, Roland’s eyes showed no hesitation, only ice-cold resolve.

He knew all too well that hesitation meant death.

"Back!"

He barked the order. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable authority that instantly stopped the crewmen who were trying to move forward to help.

The next instant, he moved.

No flashy moves, only pure speed and precision.

The Secret Silver Longsword became a band of light in his hand, tearing through the gloom as it aimed straight for the bizarre Pirate’s neck.

Seemingly sensing the mortal threat, the Pirate stiffly tried to raise a hand to block.

But it was too slow.

Roland’s sword was faster than the signals traveling through its decaying nerves.

The blade flashed.

There was no loud clash, only a sickening thud, like an axe splitting rotten wood, that made the scalp tingle.

The discolored head flew high into the air, tracing a short arc through the murky atmosphere.

The headless body swayed, its hand finally releasing the crewman’s throat, and collapsed onto the earthy-yellow ground with the heavy thud of a sack of rotten meat.

The rescued crewman coughed violently, scrambling away in a panicked crawl.

The severed head rolled several times on the ground before coming to a stop, the stump of its neck facing upward.

Time seemed to freeze.

On the deck, Hobbit let out a choked, strangled gasp. His face turned white as a sheet, and his small body began to tremble uncontrollably. He subconsciously gripped a nearby rope, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

But right next to Hobbit, the Minstrel Galvis’s reaction was the complete opposite.

His hands, which had been resting on the rail, clenched into tight fists. His eyes, bloodshot from weariness and long nights, were now wide, burning with an incredible, manic light.

He stared intently at the severed head, a strange, guttural sound rattling in his throat. It wasn’t fear, but the kind of ecstasy that comes from discovering a priceless treasure.

Inside the Pirate’s skull, visible from the severed neck stump...

...where the brain and skull should have been, a nauseating, writhing mass was coiled.

It had slick, grayish-purple skin, like that of a flayed frog, and was covered in a viscous slime that shimmered with a faint violet light.

Several thick tentacles covered in nerve-like bumps, like malignant roots, were plunged deep into the base of the skull, anchoring the creature firmly in place.

The tentacles still twitched and writhed unconsciously, as if still trying to absorb any remaining nutrients.

At the center of this slimy mass, one could faintly discern a circular, beak-like structure similar to an octopus’s mouth. Lined with tiny, sharp teeth, it opened and closed, greedily sucking at the air, perhaps at the lingering traces of life essence.

No eyes, no nose—just a purely primitive, parasitic form that exuded a soul-shaking malevolence.

"A Brain-Eating Monster! By the gods, it’s really a Brain-Eating Monster!"

Galvis’s voice was sharp with excitement, even trembling with a rapturous joy that completely drowned out Hobbit’s suppressed, fearful whimpers.

He suddenly straightened his previously stooped back as if instantly infused with boundless energy, his finger pointing excitedly at the writhing mass of flesh below.

"Roland! Look at that thing! They burrow into living hosts, devour their brains, and turn their victims into soulless puppets!"

"I’ve heard of them in the ancient ballads of the Northern Tundra and seen them in the forbidden murals of the Southern Jungle Tribe! Heavens, I thought they were only legends, just bedtime stories third-rate minstrels tell to scare children!"

And from deep within the cave, as if in answer to the Minstrel’s words, came a denser, more horrifying skittering sound.

The next moment, more Pirates controlled by Brain-Eating Monsters appeared before them.