Who was that mysterious figure? How could he wield such overwhelming power?
Rens' classmates, though some were stronger than others, shouldn't have been outmatched to this extent. Yet, in mere moments, someone had defeated Rens effortlessly and vanished without a trace.
From the moment they received word to the instant they arrived, precisely one minute had passed. That was what truly unsettled them.
"In other words, this person took less than a minute to bring down Rens and his subordinates."
A Marine Commodore paced around the scene, his expression grave.
"Rens only managed a single exchange before he was already on the ground."
Another Commodore spoke up, his voice steady but tense.
"There's no sign of the assailant on the ground, but look at the far wall, those are Rankyaku slash marks."
"This means that whoever did this wasn't injured at all."
"He used a sword, fast and precise."
A Marine crouched beside the fallen soldiers, examining the clean cuts on their weapons. His tone was somber.
In just a few sentences, the Commodores pieced together the events with methodical precision, a testament to their expertise.
Once the initial investigation was complete, the Marines swiftly cleaned up the scene and departed to report their findings.
---
At the Marine base, the atmosphere in the office was tense. The Lieutenant Commander's expression darkened, and seated beside him was an even higher authority, a Vice Admiral.
"You're telling me a powerful pirate infiltrated Baterilla Island and struck down our men without mercy?"
Vice Admiral Moya arched an eyebrow, her voice cool yet laced with an undercurrent of pressure.
"Yes, Vice Admiral Moya."
A Commodore took a deep breath before responding.
Moya's fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as she regarded the officers before her.
"Commodores, are you telling me that not one of you could handle a single pirate?"
The Commodores exchanged uneasy glances before collectively lowering their heads in silence.
Moya exhaled sharply and shook her head.
"You're making me question the caliber of this batch of Marine officers."
Her words struck deep. The Commodores clenched their jaws, frustration evident, yet none dared to refute her.
"That man… he was too strong," one of them muttered, unable to suppress the thought.
Moya's gaze sharpened as she leaned forward slightly.
"Do you understand, Commodore? You, young Commodore."
The officer in question lifted his head, meeting her stare with defiance.
"Perhaps you're fresh out of training and still naïve about how the Marines operate."
The weight of her gaze bore down on him like a crushing tide. His pulse quickened, and an unfamiliar fear crept into his mind. His breath hitched.
"Then let me make it clear to you. To all of you."
Her voice thundered through the room like a crack of lightning. The Commodore flinched under the pressure, his knees buckling as he collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. His face had gone pale.
"The Marines care about one thing and one thing only, results!"
Moya's voice rose, cutting through the air like a blade.
"And your result for this mission?"
She slammed her hand against the table.
"Failure!!"
The word echoed in the chamber like a death knell.
Failure.
The weight of it settled on their shoulders, heavy and suffocating. Some clenched their fists; others simply stood in rigid silence, their shame palpable.
"Perhaps your opponent truly was strong."
Moya's tone turned mocking, her lips curling slightly.
"After all, he slaughtered your men right under the noses of you so-called elite Marines and vanished without a trace."
Her words stung like salt in an open wound.
"…Of course, he was strong," one Commodore admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
The others lowered their heads further, the bitter taste of failure searing itself into their very souls.
"I don't have time to waste on rookies."
"Right now, pull yourselves together and get moving."
"Search thoroughly, stay sharp, and gather intel from your injured comrades."
"I don't care where you get the information, just find out who that guy is and bring him to justice."
Moya swept a cold gaze across the room before adding,
"The Marines have real work to do. We don't have time to play training simulations with you kids."
With that, she cast one last piercing look at the Lieutenant Commander before striding out.
The Commodore rubbed his head with an awkward smile, then turned to face the recruits who had just been chastised by the Vice Admiral.
"You all know what to do now."
The young Marines, once shaken, now had fire in their eyes, anger, determination, and the deep-seated shame of failure. Seeing their resolve, the Lieutenant Commander smirked in satisfaction. Just last night, he had seen these same soldiers return with fear etched across their faces.
Unacceptable. A Marine, the future of the Navy, afraid of a mere pirate?
"I won't let that guy get away!"
"Mad, Rens should be waking up now. I'll get the information we need from him. I have to take that guy down myself."
"Disgrace must be erased! The Marines never admit defeat!"
Their voices rang through the air, their conviction palpable. The Lieutenant Commander's smirk widened.
With renewed determination, the Commodores dispersed, each preparing to continue the hunt. Quietly, the Marines began mobilizing toward the northern district.
---
In a secluded alley, a masked figure lingered in the shadows, watching the Marines move with newfound purpose. A smile played on his lips.
But moments later, his expression darkened.
"Not enough… still not enough."
---
Three days passed. The Marines reinforced their patrols, yet no attacks came. An uneasy calm settled over them. No battles, no sightings. The silence gnawed at their nerves.
If the mysterious figure had fled, then what? Where would they seek redemption?
Then came the fourth day.
In broad daylight, the masked figure returned, his black cloak billowing as he wielded his blade.
With ruthless precision, he tore through two squads of elite Marines before vanishing once more, unbothered, unhurried.
But the Marines didn't falter. If anything, their blood boiled hotter. The truth was clear: their enemy had not run. No, he was challenging them outright. Mocking them.
Day five arrived.
The figure reappeared, this time cutting through three teams, leaving behind a battlefield of battered and broken Marines before disappearing yet again.
Day six.
Five Marine squads finally intercepted him, their fury reaching a boiling point. They attacked with everything they had.
Three minutes later, the masked figure walked away unscathed. Behind him, a crimson pool spread across the ground, the Marines left groaning in pain.
By the seventh day, the northern district was swarming with Marine forces.
And on this very day, in a hidden corner of Baterilla, Jason, who had been guarding Rouge, suddenly trembled all over.
(End of Chapter)
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