On the fourth day, the faint light of dawn struggled to pierce the gloomy sea fog hovering over Skull Island.
The pirates, who had kept watch all night by the jagged reefs and rotting docks, had long since exhausted their patience. Their initial vigilance and tension had dissolved into crude mockery and raucous laughter.
"Ha! Ironborn bastards!" A pirate missing a front tooth spat, making a lewd gesture toward the gray sea in the west. "All they know is hiding under their mothers' skirts and blowing hot air! Wasn't there a three-day deadline?"
Another burly man with a scarred face slammed his fist on the wooden railing, eliciting a groan from the decaying wood. "Damn it! Made us feed the mosquitoes for a whole night for nothing! Not a ghost in sight! What 'Euron of the Skull Crown'? More like 'Euron the Turtle Head'!"
Obscenities and waves of mocking laughter spread through the crowd, as if they had already won this standoff. The tense atmosphere completely relaxed; some were even packing up their crossbows, intending to head back to their shacks for sleep.
Amidst the clamor of ridicule, a sharp-eyed guard on the shore narrowed his eyes.
The morning mist flowed over the sea like a treacherous gray veil. Behind that veil, a blurry silhouette was slowly emerging, drifting unhurriedly toward the dock with the tide.
"That... what is that?" he mumbled, instinctively tightening his grip on his spear.
It wasn't the massive warship they expected. It was just a crude raft, seemingly lashed together from a few rotting logs. No sails, no oars. It broke through the fog silently, as if pushed by the hands of the dead.
An ominous feeling seized the guard. He held his breath, staring intently. The raft drifted closer, close enough for him to see what it carried—it wasn't cargo at all. It was two twisted, stiff corpses. Even more hair-raising was that above the necks of these corpses, there was nothing.
The heads were gone.
Dark blood had soaked their ragged clothes, appearing an ominous purple-black in the pale light. Their postures spoke of the agony and terror of their final moments.
The color drained instantly from the guard's face. His previous arrogance and mockery were crushed by cold fear. He spun around, scrambling and crawling toward the camp, his voice tearing and cracking from extreme horror: "They're here! They're here! ... Heads! No heads! On the boat... only bodies!!"
Under the gray light of dawn, the two headless corpses were dragged ashore and roughly thrown onto the wet planks of the dock. Pirates crowded around, their whispers filled with poorly concealed terror.
The leader of Skull Island, "Skull King" Mor Bones, pushed through the crowd. His rough hand rested on the hilt of his curved sword as his gloomy gaze swept over the bodies. At first, there was suspicion, but then his pupils contracted violently.
He recognized the markings.
One of the corpses was inhumanly large, with a twisted, deformed spine protruding like a mast. Even without a head, that mountain-like physique and the familiar battle scars on the skin announced his identity—aside from Thor "Bone-Smasher" of Blood Sail Point, there wasn't a second giant like him in the entire Stepstones.
His gaze snapped to the other body. It was relatively lean, but the scar on the throat—a terrifying gash like an abyssal rift—was shocking to behold. On the exposed chest, a tattoo of a wild deep-sea octopus was clearly visible—the mark of Dag "Split-Throat" of Serpent's Tooth Island.
A cold chill instantly climbed up Mor Bones' spine. The strength of Thor Bone-Smasher, the cunning of Dag Split-Throat—they were both feared fiends of these waters. Yet now, they were silent wrecks, thrown back at his feet like trash.
The meaning behind this "gift" was self-evident.
Blood Sail Point and Serpent's Tooth Island... could they already be...
Mor Bones looked up sharply, the last trace of color gone from his face.
Fear and rage intertwined in his eyes, turning into a deafening roar that tore through the morning silence of Skull Island:
"Quick! Send ships immediately! Go to Blood Sail Point! Go to Serpent's Tooth Island! Find out what the hell happened there!"
---
The midday sun hung high, baking the Skull Island dock until it scorched. Even the sea breeze carried a salty, burning heat. Finally, the fast ships sent east and west returned, one after the other.
The returning scouts looked deathly pale, like bloated corpses soaked in seawater. They didn't even wait for the gangplank to be secured before stumbling off and throwing themselves before Mor Bones, their lips trembling, almost incoherent.
"Chief... dead... all dead!"
When they saw Blood Sail Point and Serpent's Tooth Island from afar, they thought a mirage was deceiving their eyes. At the highest point of both islands, where banners used to fly, now stood a massive, hideous "crown"—a Jingguan built from layers of countless heads. Hollow sockets stared collectively at the sea, radiating an aura of death and terror under the blazing sun.
Seagulls circled and screamed but dared not land, fearing the stench of death that reached the sky.
The distance was terrifyingly quiet. No sign of living activity, no cooking smoke, no horns. Just a suffocating silence.
They hovered at sea for a long time before summoning the remaining courage to steer their small boat tremblingly to shore. The islands reeked of heavy blood and rot mixed with sea salt, a nauseating stench.
Inside and outside the fortresses, the streets and houses were empty.
No signs of battle, no guards, no women, no living things. Only large patches of blackened, dried blood splattered on walls and floors, silently testifying to the scale of the slaughter that had occurred.
They searched every corner, shouting familiar names. Only the howling wind and the echo of waves crashing on the shore answered them.
All the bodies had clearly been disposed of cleanly, thrown into the sea to feed the fish. These two once-boisterous pirate dens had, in a single night, been completely turned into giant graveyards where only the sea wind whimpered.
---
The midday sun seared the dock, and the air was thick with the salty tang of fear and blood.
"Skull King" Mor Bones' gaze was like a poisoned blade, pinned dead on the face of the subordinate who had collapsed on the ground, babbling incoherently. The pirate was still immersed in the horror of the two dead islands, shaking like a leaf, the sound of his chattering teeth clearly audible.
"Ch-Chief... they... they all..."
Before he could finish.
A cold arc of light flashed suddenly! The curved sword at Mor Bones' waist was drawn, slashed down, and sheathed, the movement so fast it left only a blur.
The head that was still trying to speak had already separated from the neck, extreme terror frozen on its face. It rolled onto the hot planks with a dull thud. The headless torso sprayed hot blood, spattering the surrounding pirates.
Mor Bones didn't even look at the corpse. He just sneered, his voice raspy and cruel.
"What's with the panic? Pissing your pants over nothing, bones softer than a woman's! With guts that small, what kind of pirate are you?" He suddenly raised his foot, his heavy boot kicking the headless corpse's chest hard, sending it plummeting off the dock with a splash into the murky water, leaving only a rapidly spreading circle of crimson. "Go back to your mother's belly and learn how to be a man!"
Dead silence fell all around. Even the sound of the waves seemed cut off by this sudden brutality.
All the pirates stood frozen in place, not daring to breathe loudly, not daring to wipe the blood specks from their faces.
Mor Bones turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over his terrified subordinates. The rage on his face gradually faded, replaced by a chilling, twisted grin. Instead of anger, he laughed, a cackling sound like a night owl rising from his throat.
"If they had attacked us directly, I might have feared them a little. After all, they have numbers and are battle-hardened sea warriors." He sneered, analyzing like an old wolf scenting an opportunity. "But now? They stormed Blood Sail Point and Serpent's Tooth Island back-to-back. Even if they won, how many living men can they have left? Do blades not dull? Do men not break?"
His voice suddenly pitched up, carrying a hint of excited cruelty. "More importantly! They've put the noose around their own necks! Do they think slaughtering two islands will scare us? Idiots! They just slapped 'Bloodhand' Marlin in the face! They've poked a hole in the sky!"
He seemed to already see the ending, grinning savagely as he issued orders. "Go! Send the fastest ship immediately! Report everything here exactly as it is to our King—Pirate King 'Bloodhand' Marlin!"
"Let them be arrogant! Once King Marlin's great army arrives, we'll attack from front and back. Those Ironborn bastards will be turtles in a jar!" He clenched his fist abruptly, knuckles cracking, a fierce light burning in his eyes, confident of victory. "When that time comes, it won't be us who fear. We'll catch them one by one, skin them, pull their tendons, and hang them from the masts to dry like jerky! In this war—our odds of winning just got bigger!"