Chapter 85: A Battle Fought Alone (Part Two)

Of course, this was not an answer to Qiubai’s question, but a command issued by the captain to his subordinates. The moment his crew heard the order, nearly every matchlock fired without hesitation.

Was the captain’s order absolute? Was this pirate crew immune to threats from anyone? Or was this simply their way of survival? In any case, it seemed that the Red Wolf Captain was prepared to stake everything if he could take down the two before him.

“To show no mercy even to your own? Interesting, but… isn’t this a bit much? After all, I only asked a simple question,” Qiubai remarked, shaking his head, disappointed by their lack of cooperation.

Yet, up to this point, it was really he who was overstepping. Still, the pirate captain must have realized something: often, people like Qiubai, who spoke so nonchalantly, were actually the hardest to deal with.

The smoke from the continuous gunfire began to dissipate, and the sharp tang of gunpowder filled the air. But contrary to the pirates’ expectations, the two standing before them were not riddled with bullets; in fact, they hadn’t even sustained the slightest scratch.

A strange defense had blocked every attack: a round, shield-shaped, layered structure, semi-transparent, with seven concentric rings, each radiating pale red, flame-like petals from the edge. To be honest, Qiubai was reluctant to use this kind of defense—it drained his energy considerably.

Moreover, using the conceptual armament “Seraphic Sevenfold Halo” to stop mere bullets felt like wielding a sledgehammer to kill a fly—such overkill would make anyone weep.

Nevertheless, Qiubai’s “armor” was so far beyond the pirates’ understanding that, faced with this bizarre phenomenon, their only response was… to keep firing.

Before the church, the muzzle flashes blazed even brighter in an instant, but no matter how many times they tried, their attacks remained fruitless. In fact, even if they’d hauled their entire pirate ship over and fired its cannons, it would have made no difference.

“Cease fire!” came the order.

With the captain taken hostage, command had fallen to the older and even more sinister-looking first mate. Realizing at last that they were only wasting ammunition, he issued the order to stop.

It was clear that breaking through such strange defenses was impossible in the short term, so he decided to strike at a softer spot.

“Release the captain, or we’ll execute every hostage here!” he threatened.

At that, the pirates once again aimed their guns at the defenseless townsfolk, hoping to use them as leverage.

Qiubai tilted his head as if considering the threat, then replied, “Hostages? That seems like an effective tactic, but I refuse.”

“What—”

“You seem to misunderstand something. I have no connection to these people. How could someone worthless to me be used as a bargaining chip?”

“I’m no hero, nor a savior. I just happened to pass by and came to see an acquaintance…” He glanced at the trembling townsfolk lying on the ground.

“But… in general, when you kill, you should be prepared to pay with your own life. ‘A life for a life’—that’s fair exchange, isn’t it? Only life itself can be traded for life.”

The first mate, of course, didn’t believe Qiubai’s words. He thought this was just a bluff; the only way forward was to press harder.

He flashed a cruel grin, the kind that made anyone want to stomp him, then jerked his head at a nearby pirate.

The pirate understood—and without warning, he shot one of the hostages.

Iron pellets scattered, the hot shot striking the hostage’s back. The victim fell silently into a pool of blood.

Qiubai shook his head again, but now his expression was cold. “Do you not understand human speech?” he said.

He then gave a chilling demonstration of his words: the pirate who had fired was struck by a flashing blade, and in the next instant, exploded into a gruesome cloud of blood.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life.

Yet even this did not make the first mate back down. He gritted his teeth and retreated, all the while barking, “Continue! Continue! Continue!”

Each shot from a pirate claimed a hostage’s life, and each pirate who fired was instantly obliterated. Inevitably, the first mate could not persist.

No one obeyed his orders anymore. In a rage, he seized a matchlock and aimed it at a hostage—but no matter what, he couldn’t pull the trigger.

He was afraid.

The pirates realized something chilling: the man before them could have acted before they fired to save the townsfolk, but he chose not to. He simply waited for the townspeople to be killed, and only then did he exact retribution.

Was this truly just a “life for a life”? No; at this moment, feelings of disgust, hatred, and anger would have been natural, but Qiubai’s behavior—seemingly “impartial” yet actually cold and indifferent—made even pirates feel a chill in their bones.

The more they thought, the more horrifying it became. At this moment, Qiubai seemed almost inhuman… He would not act unless there was cause, even if his enemies were the vilest of pirates.

So he watched as the pirates slaughtered hostages, because only then did he have reason to strike back.

This mechanical, emotionless logic brought an eerie silence over the scene. The pirates had no doubt: when the two hundred hostages were dead, so too would they all be.

This was something none of them had anticipated…

As for Qiubai, even though using projectile weapons hardly counted as swordsmanship, this was what it meant to deal death.

“Is the mayor here? You should know the boy named Eren—where is he?” Qiubai finally had to ask.

No one answered. Perhaps the mayor had already been killed, or perhaps he was hiding among the crowd, too afraid to speak.

“Qiubai, I’ve found him.”

Just as he was about to ask again, Ai’en seemed to have located Eren. She walked past Qiubai into the church.

A moment later, she emerged, carrying Eren in her arms—the very child they sought.

But compared to last time, this lively boy was now a shadow of himself. In fact, he now resembled Edward… Not “Edward Newgate,” but “Edward Elric” at a certain point in time.

Eren’s face was ashen and he was unconscious, most likely from blood loss—he had lost both his right arm and left leg.

Such wounds could not be healed by Ai’en’s abilities, and given his age, he could not withstand having his life rewound twelve years. Even if it were possible, she could not do it.

“He’s still breathing.”

Even in this state, the son of Captain Grisha clung tenaciously to life… or at least, for the moment, he was alive.

“Put him down. Hold him steady,” Qiubai instructed.

Ai’en gently laid Eren down—not so much supporting him as pinning him in place.

The shield still stood guard, the two moved as if alone, while the terrified pirates dared not so much as twitch.

“Eren, can you hear me?” Qiubai gently patted the boy’s face.

For someone gravely wounded and bleeding out, this was hardly humane, but the vitality of people in this world often defied belief.

So Qiubai kept at it, persistent and unrelenting, until Eren’s cheeks swelled from the repeated slaps and the boy finally opened his eyes.

“Qiu…” he struggled to utter a single syllable, then could say no more.

“Listen to me. Do you remember what happened earlier?”

Eren’s gaze told Qiubai that he had not lost his memory from the shock, and understood the current situation.

“Good. Now, let me tell you: Captain Grisha is dead. Do you understand?” A final, crushing blow.

“Look over here.” Qiubai guided Eren’s gaze to the Red Wolf captain. “Honestly, what I’m about to do to them is not my place—it has nothing to do with me. But you’re different. Whatever you wish to do, you have every reason for it. So what you need now is a bit of courage and the will to overcome your pain.”

Qiubai was right. Regardless of age or strength, this was Eren’s own battle. Qiubai was merely an outsider meddling in affairs not his own.

He took a matchlock from Ai’en and placed it in Eren’s hand. In his condition, Eren had no strength to lift the weapon; he could not move even a finger, so he could only let Qiubai arrange his grip.

Once Eren’s hand was set, Qiubai grasped the barrel with his own right hand, raising it together with Eren’s remaining left arm.

The muzzle pointed directly at the pirate captain’s brow.

“Can you do it? You should be able to, right?

‘What’cha do?
what’cha do?
I do Private Wars.
All you need in life is a little courage and passion, right?’”

Qiubai had done everything for him. Now, all Eren had to do was move his index finger back one centimeter and pull the trigger.

Reason would say that such a feat was impossible for someone in a half-conscious state, but at moments like this, who could judge by reason alone?

Humans, when driven by emotion, can surpass their physical limits—and if ever there were a time, it was now. At least, Qiubai believed he could do it.

Otherwise, he would be a failure as a human being.

And so, Eren’s finger began to tremble.

At this point, he could hardly hear anything, not even Qiubai’s words; his vision was blurred, and he could not see clearly.

Yet somehow, he seemed to understand everything that was happening.

So he kept his eyes open, not knowing how much time passed, until at last, he seemed to glimpse something like a firework blooming in the air.