Pirate of Darkness (si)

Loya watched the scene before her, and tears began to stream down her face uncontrollably. Covering her mouth, she sobbed, her sorrow so deep that her tears soaked through her clothes.

Doyle remained silent, his clenched fist gradually loosening beneath his sleeve.

Outside, onlookers were stunned by the events unfolding inside. They sat cross-legged, enjoying their food with unobstructed smiles, yet the contrast of Luoya's weeping and the shocked expressions of the Mad Knife Pirates painted a stark picture.

Teach, having finished every last grain of fried rice on his plate, slowly stood up. He reached for the bag containing two bottles of rum that had been placed on the table earlier.

Waving toward Doyle, he laughed. "Haha, Doyle, today was a good day. I ate well, drank to my heart's content. If I have time, I'll come back to drink again."

Doyle nodded warmly. "Well, Teach, come again next time."

As Teach turned to leave, a machete suddenly slashed across his path, its jagged edge halting just before his neck. "Damn it, kid, I've had enough. I'm in a bad mood. You'll pay for it—with your head."

Schiller glared at Teach, expecting him to panic. But there was no fear in Teach's eyes—no hesitation, no trembling. Just indifference. Schiller's frustration boiled over.

"Schiller is angry—this kid is dead!" someone muttered from outside. Even from a distance, they could feel Schiller's rage.

"Is it a pity for such a man to die?" another mused, recalling what had just transpired. The presence of the infamous Schiller was enough to send a chill through the hearts of men.

"I have a feeling there will be an unexpected surprise," someone whispered.

Teach stopped and turned his head toward Schiller, a slow smile forming on his lips. He raised a finger to the blade near his neck. "This thing isn't meant for threats."

"Of course it isn't for threats. I'll kill you, make you kneel, hear you scream and wail for mercy." Schiller licked his lips, exhilarated by the anticipation of blood. He was a murderer—a terrifying, frenzied blade.

"So I can take this as your declaration of war?" Teach's smile deepened. "Then, are you ready to die?"

"What?" Schiller's mind stuttered at the absurdity.

The people around them were equally dumbfounded. Mostima, watching from a distance, nodded in understanding, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The moment he had been waiting for was about to unfold.

"A pirate who declares war should be prepared to fight to the death," Teach said slowly, his body still motionless.

"Damn it! Do you think you're stronger than us? Kid, if you're going to look down on someone, at least do it with an attitude! Die!" A pirate from the Mad Knife crew roared. Drawing his pistol, he pointed it directly at Titch's head and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

"Wha—what happened?" The bystanders' pupils shrank in disbelief. The expected gunshot never came. Instead, the pirate who had fired the shot collapsed, his head exploding in a spray of blood.

In that instant, they noticed a faint wisp of smoke curling from the barrel of a black pistol in Teach's hand. No one had seen him draw it.

The dead man's hand, once gripping his own gun, fell limply. His eyes remained wide open in shock.

Boom! His body hit the ground, a deep bullet wound marking his forehead. The surrounding pirates shivered at the sight, instinctively stepping back. Their eyes now bore traces of fear—they weren't fools. The man before them was far beyond their ability to handle.

"When did he even move?" Cold sweat dripped down Hardno's brow. His mind went blank. "A shooting speed like that…"

"Is he a gunman? A top gunman?!"

In the New World, gunners weren't terrifying. But a top gunner? That was a different story. In battle, such a person could change the tide, supporting and suppressing enemies with deadly precision.

"No, he's not just a gunman. Didn't you notice the three swords at his waist?" Mostima's gaze remained fixed on Teach. The hilt of a blade peeked out from beneath Teach's coat, catching the light. Mostima, a swordsman himself, could tell—the quality of those swords was extraordinary.

He stroked the hilt of his own saber, intrigued.

"It's just raw speed, but his marksmanship is exceptional," Mostima murmured. His trained eyes had caught the seamless motion—Teach drawing his gun and firing with fluid, practiced ease, as if it were second nature.

Teach glanced at the remaining pirates. Their arrogance had vanished, replaced with tension.

"Don't take yourselves too seriously," he said coldly. "A bunch of low-level pirates—if you want my head, you'll need an entire warship."

The remaining Mad Knife pirates erupted in rage.

"Dare to provoke us? Die, you bastard!" "I'm taking his left hand!" "His right leg is mine!"

Their shouting filled the air as they rushed forward.

Schiller swung his serrated blade in a vicious arc, aiming for Teach's neck. The force of the swing whistled through the air.

Titch instinctively stepped sideways, tilting his head just enough to let the blade pass harmlessly by—a movement so smooth, it seemed almost choreographed.

To the spectators, it looked like he had barely escaped. But for some, the way he moved was unnatural, as if he had anticipated the attack.

Teach's patience wore thin. He sighed, growing irritated by their noise. These weaklings weren't worth his attention.

"Pay the price for offending someone you shouldn't have," he said, pulling off his coat.

With one swift motion, he drew his sword—purgatory. A sharp gleam of light flashed across the room.

Teach sheathed his blade as if nothing had happened.

Schiller sneered. "That's it? Your swordplay is laughable, brat! Who do you think you're trying to scare?"

Silence fell.

Mostima's eyes widened. "How… how did he do that?" he whispered in disbelief.

Then, one by one, the Mad Knife pirates collapsed.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Schiller turned his head slowly. His crew—all of them—lay dead.

His breath caught. His heart pounded. He hadn't even seen what had happened.

Teach smiled faintly.

For the first time, Schiller felt true fear.

His legs trembled. His body wanted to flee, but his anger flared, clouding his judgment.

"You… killed them… my companions…" His voice broke, and to everyone's surprise, tears fell from his bloodshot eyes.

"Companions?" Teach smirked. "Don't make me laugh."

Schiller roared, lifting his serrated blade. "I'LL KILL YOU!"

Titch stepped forward. With a single punch, he disarmed Schiller, the blade clattering to the ground.

Grabbing Schiller's throat, he lifted him effortlessly. "Don't act like a clown in front of me."

Schiller struggled, but it was futile.

Teach's voice was eerily calm. "Now, thank me."

He tightened his grip.

Schiller's body went limp.

The infamous Crazy Knife Schiller was dead.