The ashen-haired woman with a large scar across her left eye was going to die.
She was drowning.
The sea was choked with smoke as burning ships lit the horizon. Parzin razor sharks had already begun devouring the corpses of the fallen crew, the water turning red with blood. Of all those who had fought in the battle, only one remained: Captain Scarface.
A human woman in her early thirties, Scarface was now the lone survivor—adrift in the open sea of Parz. Her final stand for the independence of the seas had ended in blood and fire.
Her plan had been bold: a surprise assault launched from the jagged shores of Forgotten Eye Island. But the enemy had come prepared. The Oblivion Maker, Admiral Horror's infamous warship, annihilated everything. Every galleon, every brigantine, every sloop—shattered by its fifty cannons, its mortars, and its terrifying Parzian-augmented Gatling guns. The desperate fleet of Captain Scarface had fallen to a floating warship.
Now she was drowning. A rope tangled around her brown boots, tethered to a broken beam that dragged her down. Darkness crept into the edges of her vision. She could feel herself slipping. Her last thought before unconsciousness: failed revenge.
But fate had another plan.
Suddenly—air. Oxygen flooded her lungs as she coughed up seawater. She was still underwater… but there was a bubble of air around her head. Disoriented, Scarface looked down—the beam was still dragging her deeper.
Then, movement.
Something swam rapidly through the water. A humanoid figure wielding a trident. She couldn't see the details—only a flash of motion, strength, and purpose.
The figure clashed with the razor sharks. These mutated creatures—warped by pollution from the coastal factories—had skin as hard as steel, three glowing eyes, and maws filled with gear-like rotating teeth. Yet the trident-wielder danced among them, striking with practiced precision. Dodging, baiting, countering—like a gladiator in an arena of monsters.
But it wasn't killing them. It was driving them away. Herding them back into the depths.
All except one.
A massive shark defied the trident-wielder, lunging at Scarface. Its jaws clamped down on her stomach, forcing a scream from her lips—expelling the last of her precious air.
Before she lost consciousness, she saw the trident-wielder charge.
The weapon slammed into the shark's mouth, shattering its jagged teeth. Blood and bubbles clouded the water as the beast finally retreated, wounded and defeated.
Captain Scarface was fading fast. Blood seeped from her wound, and her vision dimmed.
Her final sight before sleep claimed her was the figure drawing near—its body lined with scales, its limbs adorned with fins, its mouth full of sharp teeth…
And then, everything went black.
The captain screamed as she lunged from the bed, crashing onto the floor.
She was alive.
Gasping, she clutched her chest, forcing deep, panicked breaths through her lungs until the storm in her heart began to calm. There was no wound from the shark or even scratch. Was it all a dream? No—this wasn't her captain's cabin.
The wooden floor beneath her was soaked and swollen from water damage. Mold crept up the walls, and the air reeked of rot and salt. Behind her, the stained glass was cracked, barely holding together. The bed she'd been lying on was bolted to the wall, thick iron chains keeping it from being tossed by the sea.
Captain Scarface scanned the room, her mind sharpening. A battered chest sat nearby, a water-logged globe rolling lazily on top of it. A table sagged under the weight of barnacles and salt deposits. A makeshift bookshelf leaned against the corner—filled not with books, but with strange junk: a broken mirror, a rusted can, a bent fork, and a child's wooden horse.
It looked like this cabin—this whole ship—had been dredged from the bottom of the ocean and stitched together by wreckage.
Her eyes landed on a bench where her belongings rested: her holster, sword, red cape, bronze gauntlets, and her tricorn hat. All accounted for. She checked her body—still clothed in her red shirt, black pants, and brown belt. No cuts. No missing limbs. Nothing sewn on or stolen.
Then—footsteps.
The door creaked open with the groan of old wood.
In stepped her rescuer.
The trident-wielding fishman.
He was humanoid in shape, but unmistakably aquatic. Blue scales covered his body, dappled with pale white spots. A long fin crested the back of his skull, pronounced enough to catch the light. His eyes were a piercing blue, and instead of ears, he bore small fins on either side of his head. He wore a tattered coat—dark, salt-stained, and shredded at the edges—and jagged, striped pants that looked on the verge of falling apart. A broad, muscular tail swayed behind him like a salmon's.
Yet he walked on two legs. And breathed air.
He carried a golden trident with a massive blue gem embedded where the prongs met. He set it down gently on the barnacled table, then took a cautious step toward her.
She moved faster. Her sword was in her hand in a blink, its tip leveled at his chest. The fishman froze.
"Please, female," he said, raising his hands slowly. His voice was strange—wet and deep, as if echoing up from the sea floor. "I mean you no harm."
"Stay away from me, monster," she hissed
"I am not a monster," he replied calmly. "I saved you. From drowning. And from the Badhgu."
"From what?"
"Apologies," he said, bowing slightly. "My Innerworldian Common is… still developing. The sharks. My people call them Badhgu."
Scarface didn't lower her blade.
"What the fuck are you? Why did you save me? You planning to sell me? Eat me while I'm awake? Or fuck me against my will?" she spat, eyes burning. "Try any of that, and I'll cut your head off."
She meant it. But her fear was poorly hidden beneath the bravado.
"I'm not here to hurt you," the fishman said, evenly. "I saved you… because it was the right thing to do."
He took a step back, giving her space.
"Lower your weapon. I'm only here to talk. And to ask—where would you like to be dropped off?"
Scarface hadn't trusted anyone in years—not since her days as a pirate. Yet… the creature's words felt oddly genuine. There was something in its bright blue eyes. Calm. Honest. Almost human. Still wary, she lowered her sword—but didn't sheathe it. Her grip stayed firm, blade resting at her side.
The fishman responded with a small, respectful bow, then placed his hands behind his back.
"Thank you, female," he said. "My name is Captain Gend. Laumerian of the South Sea. May I ask… what is your name?"
He spoke politely, though the words came slow, like each one was carefully chosen from a language not fully his.
"Captain Minna Scarface," she replied, sharp as a blade. "So stop calling me 'female.' And I demand to know what your intentions are with me."
Gend tilted his head. "Only to talk," he said. "In my opinion, every bit of knowledge is worth having. You tell me where you wish to go, and I'll take you there. Until then, you are my… guest? Or… passenger? That I wanna talk with"
Scarface narrowed her eyes. "Interrogation, is that it?" She stepped closer. "And what kind of captain are you?"
Gend blinked, confused. "Captain… kind?"
"I mean, do you take orders? Or do you ignore 'em like the rest of us damned sea dogs?"
"Uhh… both? I think?" Gend replied, clearly unsure if that was the right answer.
Scarface groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Dear Sako, no… you fucking moron," she growled. "Are. You. A pirate? Or not?"
Gend gave a slow, uncertain nod, then walked to the barnacle-covered table and sat beside his trident.
"I… believe I am."
He leaned forward looking at ceiling. "Do you know the word perspective?"
Scarface gave him a hard stare. "What the fuck does that matter?"
"I have this thing called the Word Calendar," Gend said, calmly. "The Kurkizaanians use it to teach newcomers—those who come to Rasko realm. One word each day, I use it to understand the common language… and what it means to myself." He smiled slightly, fins twitching. "Today's word is perspective."
"You really think I'm gonna talk philosophy with a talking salmon?" Scarface snapped, slinging on her red cape. "You're out of your fucking mind."
But Gend pressed on, undeterred. "Perspective," he repeated. "The word pirate means a person who pillages and steals at sea. That's how others see them. That's their perspective."
He looked at her directly, eyes glowing faintly.
"But… would I still be a pirate if I only took back what was stolen from my people? From my perspective, I'm no thief—I'm a restorer of Laumerian heritage. A protector of memory of Old Ones. So, Captain Scarface… am I a pirate to you? Or a man reclaiming what belong to my people?"
Scarface scoffed, adjusting her gauntlets. "That's very naive of you, scale-head." She stepped toward him with a smirk, cold and proud.
"Let me tell you what pirate means to me. It means power. It means treasure. It means knowing who to betray, and who to keep alive long enough to be useful."
She fastened her sword belt and pointed the tip lazily toward him.
"It means living a life with no leash. No gods. No kings. Just fire, steel, and freedom. That's the soul of a true Parzian."
Her voice darkened.
"Until the fucking pretender came to power and poisoned it all."
"Admiral Horror. The man who calls himself King of the Sea."
"You're damn right," Scarface snarled. "I'll gut him myself once I get a new fleet. He'll pay for forsaking the code. And it'll be me who puts a blade through his cursed heart." She strapped on her final gauntlet with a grunt. "Now move. I need fresh air."
"We can talk more on deck," Gend said, rising from the table and taking up his golden trident.
Scarface followed him with a swagger born from habit—but her hand hovered near her holster. She didn't trust him yet. If the Laumerian tried anything, she'd drop him where he stood. As Gend opened the heavy door, sea air rushed in to greet her. The sun stung her eyes, and the sharp cries of seabirds filled her ears. They were near land.
She stepped out and took in the ship—and froze.
This wasn't a ship. It was a miracle of stubborn will. One mast was completely snapped. The main deck was riddled with holes, the railing broken in half a dozen places. Mold and barnacles covered nearly every surface—sea snails crawled slowly over the planks, and dried seaweed clung to the wood like ghosts of the deep. Moss coated the rigging. How this vessel still sailed was a mystery even the gods would question.
Then she saw the crew.
More fishfolk like Gend—Laumerians, she assumed—from red-scaled to green-hued. They dressed like common sailors, but their clothes were just as worn and fraying as their captain's. One scraped barnacles from the hull. Another tried, and failed, to patch holes in the planks. A third was hammering wood together in a way that suggested he might be building something—but with very little success.
Still, when Gend stepped out from the captain's cabin, every one of them stopped and bowed—like he was royalty. Gend offered a small nod in return, and they quietly went back to work.
"You know, pirates don't usually bow to other pirates," Scarface muttered as they climbed the stairs to the poop deck.
"That's not why they're bowing," Gend replied, not turning back.
She stepped carefully, dodging both holes in the stairs and Gend's swinging tail. When they reached the poop deck, she realized it was no better than the main deck—half-rotted and barely holding together. At the rudder stood a different kind of fish-person—one Scarface recognized immediately. A Cetari.
She had known the Cetari existed. Most sailors did. They were believed to be the only intelligent fishfolk race in the seas of Rasko. This one was taller than Gend, broader too, with a powerful, imposing build. And yet, she carried herself with a kind of grace Scarface didn't expect. Her skin was smooth and thin, not scaled—marked with sleek patterns of blue and white that rippled with each subtle movement. Her head was rounded, crowned by a large back fin, with smaller fins along her arms. Her tail was massive and muscular, far more reminiscent of a whale than a bass. Long strands of blue hair flowed down her back, glistening in the sun like wet silk. And silver shining armor covering her chest and legs like some kind of knight
Gend gave a polite nod and cleared his throat. "This is Wilda, my Cetari first mate," he said, gesturing between them. "And this is Captain Scarface. She's our…"
He paused, clearly searching for the right word. He leaned toward Wilda and whispered—loudly enough for Scarface to hear, of course. "Is she a passenger or a guest?"
Wilda rolled her eyes and stepped away from the rudder. "That depends on her actions, Captain," she said coolly, walking toward Scarface. "So long as she plays nice, she's a passenger."
Scarface snorted. "Don't threaten me, shrimp-breath. Or do I need to make the Cetaris take a swim today?"
"Try it, human," Wilda growled, her voice low and sharp. "And I promise you—Makrians are gentle spirits compared to a pissed-off Cetari."
Wilda and Scarface locked eyes, both silently judging how ugly the other looked. Scarface's hand twitched, ready to cut her down if provoked. Wilda looked equally prepared to bite into the human's flesh. Tension crackled between them—until Gend stepped between.
"Please, Wilda," he said, calm but firm. "We must behave and avoid unnecessary deaths."
He turned to Scarface. "Now, Captain, where would you like me to take you?"
Scarface walked past Wilda and intentionally bumped her shoulder hard. Wilda growled deep in her throat but said nothing.
"To Pirate Port, where else?" Scarface snapped.
"There are other cities," Gend replied, puzzled. "Norule, Luulax has ports, even Kurkizaan..."
"You really need to study Parzian speak, Captain."
Gend handed his trident to Wilda and stepped to the rudder. He exhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and the ship began to move. The sails were still furled, yet the vessel drifted forward smoothly. Scarface squinted at the water. The sea wasn't pushing the ship—it was almost like it was pulling it. Like the ocean itself was carrying them. Soon, they were sailing at full speed.
Gend breathed steadily, guiding the rudder with precision. Then he opened his eyes. "We'll reach Pirate Port soon enough."
Scarface glanced around. "How is this ship moving? I mean, it looks like a Colossal chewed it up and spat it out. No sane captain would call this a ship."
"Perspective, again," Gend said. "To you and others, it's a wreck. To me, it's all we have… and I didn't have gold for a proper one."
"But how does it move? If it's not the sails, then what?"
"I learned something from other pirate captains: never share your secrets."
"That doesn't make you a pirate," Scarface muttered, staring at the waves.
A long silence followed until Gend coughed loudly. "You mentioned something earlier—the Code. What is it?"
"The Pirate Code," Scarface said, her voice lighter, almost fond. She looked toward the horizon. "Honor among pirate captains of Parz. Might be the only thing we ever shared. It was made after the Luulaxian Sea Act—when those bastards started targeting pirate vessels across all Innerworldian waters. Especially Parzian pirates."
She looked at Gend. "The Code was created to make sure we'd never die out."
Gend nodded as he guided the wheel. "And what is this code?"
"It has five parts: One—never plunder Parzian villages near the shores. Two—always answer an emergency marked by a black skull. Three—if war is declared on Pirate Port or Parz, every pirate becomes navy. Four—treat prisoners well. And five—all spoils must be shared equally… except for special treasures. The kind no one's ever seen. Those get taken to No Blade Bay, and the captain becomes a legend."
"No Blade Bay?" Gend asked.
"The carrot instead of the stick. A neutral zone. No guns, no swords. Just rum, stories, arguments, and bragging rights. You get to see the legends, their loot, their names carved in wood and stone."
"And every pirate captain is bound to this code?"
Scarface laughed. "Hell no, fishbreath. It's a choice. But if you do sign it, you're bound by it 'til death. Only pirate captains can enter No Blade Bay. If you have a ship and call yourself 'Captain,' you can sign it."
"…Even I could sign it?" Gend asked.
Scarface scoffed. "Didn't you say you weren't a pirate?"
"I did."
"Then don't think about it. Only the honorable and fearsome captains sign the Code—those who protect pirate life from Luulaxian rustbuckets. The Code ain't gold or jewelry. It's something we value. Could you see yourself signing it, Captain?"
Before Gend could answer, Scarface continued, her tone darker.
"Not that it matters. Admiral Horror usurped No Blade Bay. Killed every captain who wouldn't kneel. Fired the rest. Handed our ships to Ivan the Merciful's armada."
"…He doesn't respect the Code?"
"Fuck no. That bastard's not a real captain. Not even a pirate. Just some Kuurkizaan lackey who thinks one ship makes him King of the Sea, King of the Pirates, and master of all."
She paused, then studied Gend's expression—he was tense. Angry.
"You're asking a lot about him," she said slowly. "Why? You're not working for him… are you?"
"I want to know my adversary."
The words clicked something in Scarface's head. She smirked. "You were watching when I led my ships against his flagship."
"That's correct. I wanted to witness Oblivion Maker's strength. Study its weakness. I… sensed you in the water. Still alive. So I came."
"You son of a bitch! You could've joined us! Maybe we—"
"We would've died too," Wilda cut in. "The 50 cannons and mortar fire crushed your fleet in seconds. It wouldn't have changed the outcome."
"So you hid in the islands instead?"
"With the knowledge I needed to one day defeat him," Gend said, calm again. "To your dislike, Captain… you won't be the one to kill him. My trident will."
"…Why do you hate him, Gend?"
Gend's grip on the rudder tightened. His jaw clenched, but he spoke with control.
"Perspective, again. You hate him because he broke your Code. Subjugated your people. I hate him because he's a liar. An arrogant, prideful fool. Claiming a title that's not his. A legacy that's not his. And stealing everything from my people out of greed."
His eyes burned now. Scarface saw something in him she hadn't before—real fury.
"To you, he's just a man. To me…"
Gend's voice dropped, low and dangerous.
"…He's a walking insult I can't ignore."
Scarface didn't press the matter—she recognized the hatred in Gend's eyes.
The ship picked up speed, gliding through the water as if by magic, heading toward the crossing between the islands. It was the safest route to Pirate Port. Avoiding the crossing would mean either a longer detour or sailing into treacherous waters where sea monsters waited. As the ship sailed on, Scarface quietly plotted her own revenge against Admiral Horror.
She spotted a few islands up ahead. Smoke rose from one of them—she recognized a Doll Father factory there. Still, the island had trees and wildlife, the greenery covering half of it like a mossy tablecloth. They were getting close. Scarface recognized the area near Pirate Port and began to consider her next moves—who she might rally to her side in the fight against the Admiral. But her thoughts were interrupted by loud bangs.
Cannon fire.
Scarface knew the sound well.
Two brigateers emerged from behind the island, their masts concealed behind factory pipes until now. Black wood, white sails—Admiral Horror's flags. They were lying in wait, blocking the crossing. Their cannons were already trained on Gend's ship, and they were in far better condition than the rotten husk she was sailing on.
Gend's crew shouted in a foreign tongue and rushed to their stations. Wilda barked orders, and Gend stood calmly at the helm, as if ready for a confrontation.
"We need to arm the cannons!" Scarface shouted.
"We don't have any," Gend replied, with no hint of concern in his voice.
"WHAT?! You've got to be fucking kidding me! How the hell do you plan on fighting two warships then?!"
"Something far more magical," Gend said with a smirk. He didn't change course. In fact, the ship was speeding up.
Wilda tossed Gend's trident to him. He caught it and pointed it at Scarface's head. Just like before, a magical air bubble formed around her face—the same kind she had when she nearly drowned. Before she could object, Gend grabbed one of her hands and placed it on the rudder.
"Hold it. Whatever you do, don't let go. And save your air this time—slow breaths. Don't panic," he added.
Then he leapt from the poop deck to the main deck and moved to the ship's center. Without a word, he knelt and slammed the trident down through the wood, its spikes pointing at the sky.
"You're about to witness something really cool in your short human life," Wilda said, grinning deviously.
Scarface braced herself for another round of cannon fire. This time, they'd surely be hit. She cursed the Laumerians and Captain Gend for not having any proper weapons. And the captain himself—he was meditating! Meditating! In the middle of battle!
Curse him to Ulfom's grave!
Then she saw it—the trident began glowing with a pale blue light, the same light now flowing through Gend's scales. Wind-like dark blue lines began to emanate from the trident, stretching across the ship.
Then came the thunder. Both enemy ships fired a barrage of cannonballs.
As the projectiles hurtled toward them, the blue wind strands wrapped tightly around the ship. When the final strand locked into place, Gend shouted something in a strange language, and—
—the ship dove.
Like a great beast diving into the depths, their ship submerged into the sea.
Gend, Wilda, Scarface, and the rest of the crew were now underwater. Scarface was dumbfounded. She saw fish, coral, rocks, seaweed, and even sunken ships. But their own vessel swam through it all as if it were alive. That's when she finally understood what had happened.
They were under the sea. That is how Gend observed Oblivion Maker last time.
She gripped the rudder tightly, the water's current threatening to tear her away. Wilda and the others swam alongside the vessel, as if it were perfectly normal. Ahead, Scarface saw the hulls of Admiral Horror's brigateers, looming above.
Still gripping the trident with one hand, Gend raised the other. His fingers began to glow with the same blue light, and he traced a circle in the water—clockwise. The glowing motion left a spiral trail of energy, swirling like a whirlpool beneath the enemy ships.
They passed under the warships undetected.
Once they were far enough from the danger, the ship began to rise again. Breaking the surface. Scarface slammed onto the soaked deck, coughing as the air bubble around her popped. Panic hit her, then awe. She looked around, soaked and wide-eyed.
Had this ship just swam?
Scarface coughed a few more times before rising to her knees, still confused by what had just happened. She looked up and saw Gend walking back toward the poop deck, trident in hand. He was gazing over the stern, toward the sea they had just emerged from.
The two brigateers were already turning—ready to give chase to the broken ship that had just swum beneath them.
"Did… did the water just swallow us?" Scarface asked, eyes still wide, her voice a whisper.
"To their perspective? Yes," Gend replied with a grin, extending his arm toward her.
Scarface took his hand, and he pulled her up from the slick, soaked deck. She stood beside Wilda and Gend, all three watching as the brigateers raised their alarms, sails unfurling in haste. Despite the shock, the enemy ships would recover quickly—they still had masts and would be able to catch up.
This ship didn't.
No masts. No visible propulsion.
Just old wood, magic—and the impossible.
"Now," Gend said, pointing his trident at the distant ships, "watch this."
The trident pulsed again, faintly this time—no glowing strands, no winds—but something stirred. Then they saw it.
A geyser.
A colossal column of water burst from the sea beneath the enemy vessels. It rose like a fury, so tall it reached the smoking chimneys of the nearby factory. The surge struck both ships from below, lifting them violently off course.
One crashed against the island's shore, scraping across the rocks and sand with a metallic groan, its hull cracking. The other tilted, barely avoiding a full capsize, but now lodged sideways near the beach.
It would take them at least half an hour to recover. Maybe longer. By then—they'd be long gone. Gend laughed. Wilda joined in, hooting like a mad pirate watching divine justice rain down. Scarface just stared—stunned.
The power of that trident… it was immaculate.
"Shall we continue, then?" Gend asked, casually.
Scarface gave a slow nod. She didn't know what kind of creature Gend really was.
But she was glad—for now—that he was on her side.
It was evening in Pirate Port—the most distant and least-used harbor of the infamous city. The ship had docked far from the bustling center, where the heart of Pirate Port throbbed like a wounded beast: factories made from steel, markets built on the bones of wrecked ships, temples of rust, and the constant chorus of cannon fire, drunken songs, and dying groans.
From her vantage point, Scarface could spot the flag of Admiral Horror flapping above one of the central ports—No Blade Bay. She had no intention of docking there. That was Admiral territory. Gend's ship had been brought to a forgotten dock near the edge of the city, choked by mold and overgrown forest, a short jog from the main streets, but far enough to stay out of sight.
The Laumerians were preparing to leave. Scarface and Gend walked side by side across the boarding plank that bridged ship and shore.
The air hit her like an old friend—gunpowder, rusted steel, blood, shit, and smoke.
She smiled.
"Ah, Pirate Port. My sweet home."
"Yes... I lived here too," Gend replied, trying not to sound too judgmental. "This city is… something else."
"Thanks for the rescue, fish-breath. But can we have a small talk?"
"How can a speech be small?"
Scarface smirked at that. As she stepped onto the port, leaving Gend on the plank, she turned back and said:
"Just a bit of advice."
"Sounds good."
"Name your ship, captain. It's bad luck if you don't."
Gend nodded slowly, then gave a bow—graceful and almost regal.
"Very well. Thank you for your cooperation, Captain Scarface. I hope we meet again… under better circumstances."
He turned, walking back to the ship. Wilda and the other Laumerians pulled the plank back aboard. The ship creaked as it prepared to leave, looking every bit the ruined vessel it was—yet still magical.
Before Gend could fully vanish into the crew, Scarface called out:
"What kind of power did you use? Sinking the ship, swimming beneath cannonfire, and summoning that geyser from a spin of your finger… That's not normal magic, is it?"
Gend only chuckled.
"Can't say. A pirate never reveals his secrets for free."
Scarface gave a slow nod.
"You know, Gend... When the Admiral is dead and the Pirate Code is revived—sign it. You'd make a great pirate… one who actually follows the code."
Gend said nothing.
But he smiled.
"Farewell. Perhaps we'll meet again—at No Blade Bay."
The ship sailed off, slowly disappearing into the dying sun, its broken hull gliding over the waves as if nothing in the world could stop it. Scarface turned back to her city, smiling.
Gend was strange. No doubt about that.
But strange or not—his wit, his secrets, and that unholy trident of his… they made him a pirate in her eyes.
A good one?
Well, that's a matter of perspective.