Chapter Fifty-Four: Each Displays Their Skills

The fierce battle on the river raged on, the biting wind slashing across their faces. The Sandbird Tower ship charged resolutely toward the twenty or so centipede warships ahead; that was their only chance for survival, the sole path through.

“Hurry! Faster!”

“Cannons! Wait for my order!”

“Throw the bodies straight into the river—don’t let the dead block the way of the living…”

The ship’s petty officers shouted themselves hoarse, barking orders as gunpowder was loaded, barrels cleaned, angles calibrated, and holds reinforced. Step by step, everything progressed methodically amid the chaos—perhaps only these battle-hardened old pirates could remain so unfazed.

The Sandbird Tower ship pushed its speed to the limit, slicing through wave after wave, the spray rising like churning clouds—a magnificent sight, if not for the murderous intent hanging in the air. This time, it was a matter of kill or be killed.

If that’s the case, then you must die!

“Gunners, stand by! Ready!” Wu Zhang’s voice grew heavier, lowering with each word.

“Fire!”

A hundred cannonballs burst out like fireworks in all directions, and nearly twenty centipede ships answered with their own fiery salvo. The sky above the river became a tangle of fiery trails.

A barrage of impacts resounded—bam! bam! bam!—one after another, unending. Even the sturdy hull of the Sandbird Tower could barely withstand the onslaught, new dents appearing with every strike. The sharkskin armor was torn open in four or five places, splinters flying. The ship suffered heavy casualties; among the dead lay seven or eight renowned martial artists—heroes whose names had once struck fear in their foes, now fallen quietly in this watery grave. Who could accept such a fate? Who would willingly die here? Those who survived burned with rage.

The battle had raged for over an hour now. The thick fog began to thin, and the blurry outlines of centipede ships emerged from the gloom.

Wu Zhang nodded at Zhang Zhimeng. Zhang immediately took the hint and slipped quietly off the deck.

“Everyone! I leave the rest to you!” Wu Zhang suddenly roared.

Sixteen concealed compartments sprang open along the Sandbird Tower’s hull, and sixteen iron grappling hooks shot out with a clang like tigers leaping down the mountain, latching onto the remaining centipede ships.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

The hooks bit into the enemy hulls like crocodile jaws. The bald-headed river pirates on the centipede ships cried out in alarm, hacking and burning at the hooks, but to no avail. Suddenly, their own ship shuddered; they were being slowly reeled in toward the Sandbird Tower.

Sensing disaster, the seasoned pirate didn’t hesitate—he leapt straight into the water, trusting decades of experience to save him from whatever trap lay ahead.

Just as he fled, a dozen cannon turrets suddenly tilted up at the stern, muzzles angling down. The black mouths of the cannons yawned at the centipede ship, and in a flash, cannonballs tore through the river, sending up a geyser. The centipede ship shattered into splinters, limbs and bodies sinking slowly as a crimson stain spread across the water.

A dark silhouette dived from the Sandbird Tower into the river, swimming faster than any fish toward the wreckage, where two or three dozen bald pirates still struggled in the water.

One pirate, clutching a wooden plank, had just caught his breath when a sudden force dragged him under. After a long moment, his swollen, terrified corpse floated to the surface—no wound to be found. He had suffocated to death.

One after another, the river pirates were pulled down. Bubbles rose in endless streams, and soon the water was thick with corpses. Only then did a water-shadow shoot out from the river’s surface, revealing a handsome young man with water droplets still clinging to his face. He laughed loudly, “You sea pirates think you rule these waters? I, Whitefish Feng Fei, am the true master beneath the waves!”

The vengeance of men from the martial world was always swift and savage: you hurt one of us, we’ll wipe out your entire clan. The master thief Seven Tricks, Wandering Swordsman Tian Sansi, and the Desert Swordsman Uziel—these experts darted or floated across the chains onto the enemy ships.

Uziel led the charge. His swordplay was strange and sinister, aiming for the limbs and vital points. Those struck were crippled or dead. He moved swiftly—so fast that the eye could only catch his shadow, never his blade. Severed limbs flew, blood sprayed. Uziel fought from bow to stern and back again, drenched in blood—some his own, but mostly his enemies’. At last, he licked the blood from his thin sword, eyes wild with ecstasy, leaving a trail of gore behind him.

Seven Tricks was a master of hidden weapons, though not of martial combat. As she slid onto the enemy’s ship, dozens of strongbows were drawn, bandits eyeing her graceful form with lecherous intent. Arrows whistled toward her, but with a flick of her wrist, countless hidden weapons shot out like rain—flying coins, iron caltrops, sleeve arrows, wasp stones, willow blades, throwing darts, pearl bombs, grappling claws… Arrows were destroyed or knocked aside midair, only a few stray shafts coming close. Seven Tricks sneered, catching the arrows with a casual sweep of her hands. With a gentle squeeze—crack—the arrows snapped in two. Then her hands blurred, releasing a storm of hidden weapons targeting the neck, eyes, ears, heart, lungs, throat. The Seven Kills! Most of her darts struck these fatal points, killing instantly. Some men suffered only a scratch, but their faces turned an unnatural green, black blood oozing from the wound as their flesh melted away, leaving only a thin layer of skin, some bones, and a shriveled head like a mummified corpse. “How do you like my new Silent Butterfly Toxin?” Seven Tricks murmured with a sweet, self-satisfied smile.

Tian Sansi’s blade flashed, each stroke a killing blow. Goldenfire Guanyin struck with techniques wreathed in fierce flame, turning all she touched to charred remains. Even the most upright and mild-mannered—Grandmaster Lou Yuxiao of the Kongtong Sect—fought with ruthless skill, his Canglang Sword technique as steady as ancient roots, his lightness skill Cloud Dragon Triple Step allowing him to twist and turn thrice in midair, a feat beyond the reach of ordinary martial artists. As the centipede ships were drawn in, Grandmaster Lou slew more foes than any other.

King Jinghai’s men were no weak puppets; if the enemy wished to fight, they would answer in kind. Countless grappling hooks were hurled at the Sandbird Tower, forming a spider’s web. Under the cover of chain shots and scattered shrapnel, the “little spiders” gripped curved blades in their teeth and boarding axes at their waists, their burly, scarred arms drawing them up onto the Sandbird Tower.

Awaiting them was another band of bloodthirsty old sea pirates, the fearsome followers of the West Sea Overlord—the Sea Serpent. They were just as bare-chested and savage, but their torsos were marked with tattoos of a white-maned, horned sea dragon. In their hands, they wielded half-axes, the blades glowing with the cold, blue sheen of weapons that have tasted too much blood.

The clash between these two bands was brief but ferocious…