Death to the Traitor

"What game would you like to play now?" Grayson asked, curious about First Mate Mack's intentions.

"We'll compete with what you have in your hand," Mack said, slapping a pipe down on the table.

Grayson and Seraphine exchanged glances. The mermaid noted his face, which had been flushed from the drinking, was now returning to its natural hue. When she remembered she wanted to check on his wound, she found that it had already healed.

"Thank you, dear, I'm quite all right now," Grayson said, embracing Seraphine gently before nudging her back toward Katheren.

With a furrowed brow, Seraphine rejoined Katheren just as Grayson queried Mack, "How do you propose we compete? See whose burns down faster?"

"No, that would be too boring," Mack said with a mysterious smirk, lighting his pipe. He took a puff, sending a stream of smoke upward that transformed into an archer, drawing back its bow towards Grayson.

Grayson raised his clawed hand, deflecting the smoke arrow with ease as it dissipated against his blade.

"Interesting, let me have a go!" Grayson took a draw from his cigar and exhaled two knights on horseback, charging towards the smoke-formed archer. The knights' lances shattered the archer with their fierce assault.

Impressed yet defiant, Mack exuded a smug grin and exhaled a colossal smoke-formed giant wielding a flail, which dissolved one of the knights with a mighty swing.

In response, Grayson blew a gust toward his remaining knight, who transformed into an elf with long ears. The elf danced through the air, dodging the giant's blows, and with a swift thrust, pierced the giant's head.

Mack's amusement turned gloomy. He stopped puffing smoke and stared at Grayson, who leaned forward, locking eyes with him. "In the ranger's creed, there's an old saying: All traitors must die."

As Grayson uttered these words, Mack's spectral form disintegrated. Blades that had silently pierced through his skull, neck, heart, and kidneys returned to Grayson's claw.

"This is my first gift to the captain," Grayson remarked, turning to glance at Katheren and Seraphine, who were shielding their faces from the lingering smoke. "Perhaps he'll appreciate me removing a traitor from his ranks."

"Let's make haste from this smoky chamber, my darlings," Grayson said, leading the ladies out of the cabin and back into the corridor, where the air was fresher, and they could finally catch their breath.

"How did you do that?" Katheren asked, intrigued by Grayson's display. "That smoke looked so real. Was it magic?"

"No, it's just a bit of sleight of hand," Grayson said with a smile. "For those well-versed in streetwise ways, a cigar or pipe is not just for smoking – you can learn a trick or two."

He paused and added, "But don't bother asking Morven about this, he's a good lad who wouldn't touch tobacco. And I don't recommend you try, either. You've seen how unpleasant it can be," he said, nodding towards the smoky cabin.

Katheren nodded in agreement, then asked, "What about the dice? Do you practice that often?"

"For someone like me, not knowing a trick or two in gambling means you can't survive on the road," Grayson extinguished a cigarette butt under his boot, and while moving down the corridor, he continued, "Rangers often frequent gambling dens."

He flicked his gleaming claw and said to Seraphine, "Remember when I said I won this as a prize in a gambling den? Joe's tricks with the dice were nothing compared to those professional cheaters."

"Don't just brag about yourself. Why not mention my part in it?" Elyra protested from his shoulder.

"You can tell your own tale," Grayson replied, glancing back at the little owl, who then unabashedly recounted her contribution to controlling the dice, embellishing the story with gusto.

As Katheren and Seraphine listened to Elyra's semi-realistic, semi-boastful narrative, they were amazed by her tale, even though they had seen the entire episode unfold without noticing Elyra's involvement.

"You may be surprised, but the little rogue isn't lying. We've won many things together, and we keep them stored in three large wooden chests at my place," Grayson explained. "When I'm short on cash and bounty missions, we rely on these winnings from the gambling dens."

Katheren and Seraphine couldn't help but smile at Grayson's triumphant grin, reminiscent of a mischievous child.

"And your tolerance for alcohol is impressive too. You drank so much without getting drunk!" Katheren exclaimed.

Walking alongside her, Seraphine's gaze involuntarily fell on Grayson's shoulder, where the wound used to be. She listened to Grayson's discussion about his drinking prowess yet harbored questions, recalling his words on the dock.

"Every feared warrior has a shadowed past, and it's not enemies but fate itself that can strike at their vulnerability..." Seraphine contemplated the words, feeling a strange sense of familiarity.

They continued down the corridor unimpeded until they reached a pair of doors at the end. Grayson listened at the doors, hearing nothing. He pushed them open and stepped inside.

Instantly, a burning shot whizzed towards him; Grayson deflected it with his claw. A barrage of fiery shots followed, which he fended off with his blades. One shot slipped through, advancing towards him.

With calm precision, Grayson drew his silver sword, intercepting the fiery projectile. The blade shattered, leaving only the hilt in his hand.

"Ha! You landlubbers think you've got the skill to challenge me on my own ship?" laughed a burly pirate captain wearing an old tricorne hat and the typical garb of his rank. The captain, not tall and slightly portly, had a wooden leg from the knee down and a wild beard framing a roguish smile.

"You're out of your depth, holding that broken sword. Come on, let's see if I can hack off your legs!" he taunted, brandishing a cutlass and an aged pistol.

"Just wait for it, Captain," Grayson said with poise.

The captain paused, and Grayson's broken sword erupted in a brilliant silver light, the blade reforming in a glowing display. The razor-sharp edge reflected Grayson's menacing smile.

"Try this, Captain!" Grayson thrust the sword, and a chilling brilliance tore open the ceiling. The captain blocked with his cutlass, staggered back by the force unleashed upon it.

"Is that some kind of holy sword from the Sanctuary?" the captain asked in awe.

"You're mistaken. If it were, you'd have felt its divine threat from miles away," Grayson replied, retracting the sword.

"What was that shockwave?" the captain inquired, still astonished.

"You might not know, but in the Daymoon Forest, there's a plant called Soul Eater Grass. It absorbs the soul power of nearby spirits. The elves harvest it and make a potion that can coat weapons, allowing them to reform if shattered."

Grayson stepped down from the cabin, advancing on the captain with his sword drawn. "And weapons coated with the potion can devour souls. Once they accumulate enough energy, they can unleash a force like you've just witnessed."

"Using the power of the undead against them, clever," the captain sneered, raising his blade. "But I'd like to see you face this many spirits!"

With a roar, spectral sailors materialized, encircling the three who had entered the cabin.