The incarnation was still a latent threat. Even now, it left behind a trail of bluish blood, though it quickly vanished into the depths. I wouldn't place any bets, but it didn't seem impossible that it might bleed out down there—or something like that. The plan had worked because Roberts, somehow, had already trusted me before the fight even began. I took control of the ship almost as if it were a videogame vessel, as if I were manipulating the air itself.
I'd simply been lucky.
I extended Search V to confirm. The creature had vanished into the depths of the ocean for now. I couldn't afford to lose track of it. Three tokens appeared in a small quadrant: two white and one black. Mine, Roberts's, and—
—Shovell… you're Sir Cloudsley Shovell…
—For fuck's—
It came out naturally, from the depths of his soul. Shovell started kicking the deck in frustration while the captain, still at the helm, burst into loud laughter.
—Wait, you're that Shovell. By all the sea demons! The admiral who lost an entire fleet because he mistook the stars for fishermen's lanterns? The one who drowned off the coast of Scilly because he refused to listen to his own navigators? An honor.
Sarcasm echoed across the ship while poor Shovell covered his face in shame and rage, muttering a defense as sad as it was pathetic.
—Anyone could mistake stars for lanterns.
—No. That never happens —Roberts shot back, laughing again.
I was trying to catch my breath. For some reason, the moment had relaxed me enough that I didn't notice the black token appearing out of nowhere beneath us.
A dull thud, like something embedding itself into the prow.
Another.
And another.
And another.
I pressed the token slowly, already knowing what I'd see. When I turned around, climbing up from below—shirtless now, his massive chest and biceps exposed, bruised and bloodied—there he was. The red-bearded man I both respected and feared, almost in equal measure.
He carried his gigantic axe, now nearly three times larger than the last time I'd seen it. He wore only his pants, cut down into makeshift shorts, barefoot—like some improvised swimsuit.
His face burned with rage. He had eyes only for me.
—Crew, what's going on?
—Nothing to report, Captain. Just a stowaway.
—Shit… I thought he was dead.
—I'm sure you did —Paul spat.
Shovell didn't hesitate. He ran in terror, hiding among the ship's barrels. Paul began his hunt. Like a feral wolf studying its prey, he started circling the deck.
I… wouldn't let it happen.
Not again.
I matched his pace, both of us slow, weapons in hand. His axe made mine look like a toy, but I had to stay calm. I trusted myself to buy time. Besides, on a ship, it would be easy to throw him overboard again… or even ask for Roberts's support.
Right?
—I'm leaving him to you, kid. I've got a crab to cook.
Of course. I saw that coming.
Somehow, this fight had to be mine. From the very beginning, Paul had always been on the opposite side of the stage. Ever since the day Gerónimo and I faced him, I'd seen the edge of his axe aimed at me more times than I cared to count. And even now, as it swung with fury, I wasn't afraid.
I couldn't retreat.
For some reason, Gerónimo's image formed in front of me.
Yes… like that time.
My body moved on its own. Legs spread, torso leaning forward, knife angled outward. Both hands steady—the blade forward, the other guarding my body.
Gerónimo's stance.
Paul's face twisted when he saw me, as if he were holding back tears. He charged. His axe had no strategy, no plan—just rage.
My body responded in ways completely different from my early days. Almost as if someone had placed a controller in my hands, I could visualize my limbs as buttons and levers. With precise guidance, I dodged the first swing, which slammed into the mast behind me. The mast endured the blow as if it were nothing.
I propelled myself forward—not to flee, but to attack.
I caught the mountaineer off guard and landed a brutal kick.
Pushing off the deck, adding a tilt of the ship predicted by the system, I delivered a powerful kick straight to Paul's face. His nose began bleeding instantly. He dropped his axe and staggered, struggling to keep his balance.
I didn't stop.
I lunged at him—
Too bad we were on a damn ship.
A massive impact shook the entire place, and like butter, a jet of water burst up from below, stopping right between Paul and me. The mountaineer didn't hesitate and rushed me. I knew it—no need to see those massive arms to understand that one hit would be my death.
Search V went berserk, calculating nonstop. And though my mind begged me to use Pause, I knew that using it wrong would mean losing my final card.
The crab, conspiring in my favor, fired a second shot that slammed into Paul's thigh, piercing it without mercy. I didn't hesitate either. Driving my body forward, I threw the first punch of my life. I felt my knuckles crack against Paul's already-broken nose.
Combined with his imbalance, he went flying, rolling across the deck.
The moment I pulled my arm back, I felt it. Cold. Painless. But piercing.
A jet of water had punched through my right arm, from forearm to shoulder—two clean holes that numbed my limb more than they hurt. My arm twitched violently.
Paul wasn't doing much better, but the constant threat of the incarnation was something that would catch up to us sooner or later.
—Captain Roberts!
I shouted to the man desperately trying to evade the crab's shots. It hardly needed saying—this was hell. Aside from the hits we'd taken, every ten seconds another jet ripped from port to starboard across the ship.
—Kid, if you've got something, you'd better play it now.
—Unfortunately, no, Captain. Not until we've got the crab in our sights.
—That… sounds complicated.
—How dare you? —Paul snarled as he painfully stood.
I didn't see when, amid the chaos, he'd crawled back to his axe and yanked it free from the mast. Both legs and his abdomen had been pierced, yet he stood stoic, as if he felt no pain.
—How dare you!
He jumped.
A huge leap.
There were nearly fifteen meters between us, and he cleared them.
One step.
I only needed to take one step.
But the crab's jet punched clean through the sole of my foot, straight through my palm. I felt that, without a reinforced, custom-made shoe, all my toes would've been blown off.
But the real terror was Paul.
Falling toward me with his axe—
Until he wasn't.
The same jet had pierced him from the right knee, tearing through his entire body and exiting through his left shoulder, skewering him clean through.
I said nothing.
He said nothing.
I only watched as his body was dragged by the water and pulled off the ship.