Barbossa strained his eyes, trying to get a clear look at the figure who had just arrived, but no matter what he did, he couldn't see the face hidden beneath the hood.
"Hector Barbossa."
Ethan surveyed the stunned, terrified pirates, carefully sensing the strange energy entwining them, analyzing whether he could break their curse.
This process took some time, so he deliberately created a distraction. "I bring you greetings from Jack Sparrow."
"Jack... Sparrow?"
Barbossa was still struggling to make sense of the being before him. Was this even a human? He hadn't expected to hear such a familiar name. For a moment, he even wondered if Jack Sparrow had made a deal with some god or devil after his death, solely to seek revenge. "I think there's some misunderstanding. Jack and I are old friends."
Pirates rarely risk their lives for the sake of pride—quite the opposite, actually. Barbossa scrambled to think of a way to save himself, and if that meant spouting nonsense, so be it.
Unfortunately for him, his attempt was futile. Ethan had already analyzed the nature of the curse binding them. It was surprisingly easy to break, meaning they weren't truly immortal. By following the energy wrapped around them, Ethan had essentially "seen" the essence of the curse.
Simply put, the curse was similar to a lich's method of existence, storing one's "life" elsewhere while controlling a body with a spiritual form.
The key difference was that a lich's transformation was a deliberate act, achieved through intricate magical rituals. In contrast, Barbossa and his crew had passively fallen victim to the curse. When they took the Aztec gold, they had unknowingly surrendered their lives in exchange for the right to use the treasure.
Their life force had been extracted, transforming them into undead beings. Since their lives no longer resided within their bodies, they appeared immortal. However, because the curse was meant to punish rather than reward, it gave them no true advantage. As undead, they still suffered mortal agonies—hunger, thirst, and pain—but their cursed bodies could never find relief.
This was, of course, not true immortality. The curse had multiple ways of being broken, and even if Ethan couldn't lift it with magic, he could simply destroy these low-level undead creatures by brute force.
Now that he understood their condition, Ethan saw no reason to waste any more time. He didn't even bother responding to Barbossa's words. Instead, he drew the Battle Cross from his waist.
The pale yellow energy blade traced graceful arcs through the air as Ethan moved, and the moment it cut through a pirate, agonized screams erupted.
"Aaaah! I'm hurt! I'm actually hurt!"
One pirate screamed in disbelief. Then another. Then another.
The pirates, who had believed in their supposed immortality, immediately panicked. Even Barbossa, who had been prepared to charge forward, hesitated.
Ethan stood before them, wielding a sword of pure energy, his fiery wings still ablaze behind him.
"Is he... really a messenger of God?"
Barbossa had weathered countless storms and dangers, he had always believed that nothing could truly frighten him. But now, he found himself unable to stand firm. The very immortality that had once been his greatest assurance had turned into his greatest fear.
Was this divine punishment? Had God sent an angel to strike them down for their crimes?
The pirates completely lost the will to fight. One by one, they dropped their weapons, surrendering to their fate. Many even fell to their knees, praying for forgiveness, directing their pleas not to the heavens, but to Ethan.
"Should I reconsider my appearance?" Ethan mused. "I occasionally play the role of a god, but I never planned on actually becoming one."
Stepping forward, he approached Barbossa. The once-feared pirate captain of the Caribbean, now trembling, offered no resistance. He knelt without hesitation, fervently praying for divine mercy, especially as Ethan's blade hovered just inches from his chest.
The heat radiating from the weapon was searing. He hadn't felt anything in a long time. That sensation alone convinced him, without a shred of doubt, that the being before him was indeed a messenger of God.
"Stop the ship."
Ethan's command was the sweetest sound Barbossa had ever heard, filling him with an overwhelming sense of relief. As long as the other party was willing to communicate, it meant there was a chance of survival. His greatest fear was that Ethan would cut him down without another word, leaving him no hope at all.
Unfortunately for Barbossa, he had celebrated too soon. Ethan's words weren't directed at him. The terrified pirates, desperate to stay alive, wasted no time obeying the order. The moment Ethan spoke, they leaped into action and executed his command in record time.
At the same time, they all bore witness to the moment their captain, the man who had led them in betraying Jack Sparrow, who had accumulated a fortune in treasure, and who had sailed triumphantly across the Caribbean—was run through the chest by the blade of a so-called divine messenger.
The instant the golden energy blade pierced Barbossa's chest, it was like a branding iron plunging into snow, sizzling with a sharp, searing sound. The human-like appearance he normally maintained was stripped away, revealing the terrifying visage that only appeared under moonlight.
Barbossa stared down at the radiant yellow blade buried in his heart, feeling—truly feeling—his life slipping away. It had been so long since he had experienced such a sensation that, for a brief moment, he felt a strange sense of relief. Looking up at the mysterious figure before him, he couldn't help but utter his final words.
"Forgive... me..."
"God will forgive you."
That was the last thing Barbossa heard. Believing he had received the promise of divine mercy, he closed his eyes in peace.
"I'm only responsible for sending you to see God."
Unfortunately, Barbossa never heard that part. By the time Ethan spoke those words, the pirate before him had already perished beneath the Sword of Holy Light. The body before him was nothing more than a rapidly decaying corpse.
After a thorough check, Ethan confirmed that Barbossa was indeed dead, proving that his direct approach was highly effective. However, he couldn't be sure whether the sea goddess Calypso still had the power to bring him back.
"She shouldn't. If she couldn't even help Jack Sparrow, there's no way she can do anything about this. I severed the connection between Barbossa's body and his 'life,' and his undead spirit was completely purified. How could he possibly resurrect now?"
Compared to his previous interventions, this change to the course of events was far more significant. If Calypso couldn't revive Barbossa, who would she turn to for help in breaking free from her seal?
Ethan turned his gaze back to the deck. The once-ferocious pirates were now like frightened kittens, heads bowed, lying motionless on the ground, not even daring to breathe too loudly.
A gentle sea breeze swept across the deck, making Ethan's cloak ripple slightly. Standing atop the quarterdeck, looking down at the pirates kneeling before him, he suddenly understood why so many people were drawn to power. The feeling was intoxicating.
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. He hadn't intentionally exerted any pressure, he was merely standing there, silent—yet that alone made the pirates even more terrified. They dreaded that, like their captain, they too might be cut down in an instant. The supposed immortality they once relied on had been exposed as a joke before this "divine messenger."
Ethan didn't linger for long.
The Interceptor, known for being one of the fastest warships in the Royal Navy, had been sailing at full speed and soon reached the Black Pearl, which remained motionless in the water.
From aboard the Interceptor, its crew—including Jack and Elizabeth—took in the scene before them.
There was Ethan, standing high above, his flaming wings still burning brightly, though they were now folded rather than fully extended. In his hand, he wielded a sword of pure light, his face obscured beneath his hood. Below him, the infamous crew of the Black Pearl, pirates feared across the Caribbean were all kneeling, heads lowered in submission. Occasionally, the sound of whispered prayers and repentance drifted through the air…
Even Norrington found himself tempted to make the sign of the cross and offer a prayer. As for the ordinary navy soldiers, some had already done so several times.
Fortunately, despite their shock, the Royal Navy did not forget their duties. They quickly secured the Black Pearl alongside the Interceptor, setting up a boarding ramp. The soldiers moved in to take control of the pirate crew, but to their surprise, there was no resistance. Every single pirate surrendered without a fight—some even assisted in their own capture.
Norrington took in the surreal sight before him, then turned his gaze toward the mysterious figure standing not far away.
He wasn't sure how to deal with Ethan now, but he found himself instinctively approaching him.
"What should I do next?"
Unconsciously, Norrington's tone had grown noticeably more respectful, as if he had already begun deferring to Ethan's judgment.
"The pirates are yours. I only want the ship."
This had been agreed upon from the beginning. Even if Norrington had any lingering thoughts, there was nothing he could do about it now. He simply nodded in acknowledgment.
"But before you take them away, there's something you need to know." Ethan gestured to the eerily obedient pirates below. "They became undead because of a curse. If they suddenly resist, your men won't be able to handle them."
"Undead?"
(To be continued.)