Chapter 33

Later that night, Aesa helped the blind boy into his quarters, gently guiding him to sit on the edge of his bunk. As she began tending to the fresh bruises and welts from his grueling training session, she recounted the tale Nathaniel had shared about Marak's origins.

"...So they followed the sounds of the struggle to the town square," Aesa continued, "and there was Marak, just a young lad, fighting off a pack of thugs with nothing but a broken sword and sheer ferocity."

She shook her head in amazement. "Nathaniel said it was one of the most impressive displays of tenacity he'd ever witnessed. Samuel recruited him on the spot after that."

The blind boy remained silent as Aesa finished applying the salve. Finally, he tilted his head toward her. "An inspiring story, to be sure. Though I must question one particular detail."

Aesa paused, the jar of salve in her hands. "Which part?"

"The notion that Samuel and his crew were mere 'snotty street urchins' who ran away to become pirates," the blind boy replied. "That simply does not align with the facts as I learned them."

Aesa furrowed her brow. As his caretaker, her knowledge was admittedly limited compared to his scholarly pursuits before his ordeal. "What do you mean? I thought Samuel's beginnings were rather humble." Aesa fell silent, her ministrations slowing as she considered his words. After a moment, she prompted, "You have doubts about Nathaniel's account?"

The blind boy gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "From what I studied; he was actually the son of a wealthy noble family. A prestigious lineage, not some pack of runaways dreaming of high sea adventures." The blind boy let out a derisive snort. "You shouldn't put too much stock in tales spun by pirates, Aesa."

Aesa sat back on her heels, contemplating this revelation. She had to admit, the blind boy's knowledge did cast Nathaniel's rousing story in a different light.

"I suppose you're right," she said at last.

The blind boy inclined his head. "Think nothing of it. I simply caution against believing everything these pirates say as gospel truth." He gave a wry smile. "They do love to embellish, do they not?"

Aesa could not argue with that. For a crew of such notorious liars and deceivers, completely separating fact from fiction was likely an impossible task. She made a mental note to apply a critical ear to any future stories or accounts they provided.

As she rose to gather her supplies, Aesa caught the blind boy's eye - or rather, the bandages that concealed his ruined eyes. "Will he keep his word?" she asked, her voice tinged with fear.

There was a brief pause as he rose from his seat. He walked over to the window, opened it, then returned to his bed without saying a word. Aesa, feeling she might have overstepped, prepared to leave. "I'm uncertain," he finally replied, breaking the silence. "But I must seize whatever slim chances I have to regain my eyesight."

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The colossal figure, encased in armor forged from an unknown, impenetrable material, stood as an imposing guardian before the vast, seemingly impregnable black barrier. His identity was shrouded by the visor that obscured his face, leaving only an aura of unyielding power and authority to emanate from his formidable presence.

In his grip, he wielded a massive greatsword of gigantic proportions, its blade etched with intricate runes and markings that seemed to whisper of ancient, long-forgotten tales. The sword's design was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, reminiscent of the legendary greatswords wielded by the mightiest warriors in the most hallowed of realms – blades so immense and weighted with historical significance that they could cleave through the very fabric of reality itself.

As the armored giant raised this awe-inspiring weapon, prepared to bring its crushing force down upon the unyielding black barrier, a figure suddenly appeared from within the darkness itself. Kneeling before the armored warrior, this entity spoke, its voice laced with reverence and trepidation, "There is no need for the mighty God of Sword to unleash his power here. May I humbly inquire as to the reason for your esteemed presence in this realm?"

The armored figure, his greatsword still raised, the blade's edge glistening with an otherworldly sheen, responded in a voice that seemed to echo with the weight of countless battles and conquests, "I have come to meet with the one known as Blackbeard, the Godslayer and Pirate God."

The kneeling figure, its form indistinct and shifting within the shadows, replied, "I understand, Lord of Blades. However, the master you seek currently slumbers. It may take some time before you can have an audience with him."

In that moment, the air itself seemed to hold its breath, as if the very fabric of existence dared not disturb the tension that hung between the God of Sword and the realm of the Godslayer and Pirate God. The armored warrior's grip on his greatsword remained steadfast, the blade poised to strike at any moment, while the kneeling figure awaited his next move with bated breath, uncertain of what cataclysmic event might unfold should the God of Sword unleash his fury.

There was fury resonating in the God of Sword's voice as he spoke, the words carrying the weight of untold ages of conflict and conquest, "You clearly do not understand who you are addressing, do you?" As those words left his lips, an unimaginable pressure descended upon the kneeling figure, a force so immense and oppressive that it seemed to distort the very fabric of reality itself.

Yet, despite the crushing weight of this unseen power, the kneeling figure remained steadfast, their stature unwavering, not a single muscle twitching or betraying even the slightest reaction to the overwhelming presence of the God of Sword.

"I know very well who you are, my lord," the figure responded, their voice steady and resolute. "But the master has specifically instructed not to wake him unless it is a situation of true urgency."

At this defiance, the pressure increased several fold, the sheer force of the God of Sword's will causing cracks to splinter through the very space around them. Even the ancient black barrier, a construct that had stood impervious for countless millennia, began to show signs of strain, fissures snaking across its surface as if the barrier itself might shatter under the immense strain.

It was then that the kneeling figure finally reacted, their form shifting ever so slightly as they raised their gaze to meet the piercing stare of the God of Sword, unflinching even in the face of such overwhelming might. "My lord," they spoke, their voice tinged with a hint of warning, "please do not attempt to brute force your way through here. Though your standing as a guardian is higher, I will have to ask you to leave. We do not appreciate such foolish behavior–"

Before the figure could complete their utterance, the God of Sword moved with the swiftness of a striking viper, his armored boot lashing out and catching the kneeling figure squarely in the face, sending them hurtling backwards to smash against the unyielding surface of the black barrier with a resounding impact.

"Do not think I am just some being you can speak to in such a disrespectful manner," the God of Sword thundered, his greatsword still gripped tightly in his gauntleted fist, the blade seeming to thrum with barely contained power. The air crackled with tension, the force of the God of Sword's presence causing the very boundaries of the realm to tremble and distort. It was a display of sheer, unadulterated might.

The defiant kneeling figure, refusing to back down from the God of Sword's powerful display, mustered their strength and let out a loud, resounding call that seemed to shake the very foundations of the realm. In response, countless shadowy figures began to take shape, forming orderly ranks behind the kneeling figure, a vast army of entities summoned to challenge the might of the God of Sword.

At the same time, the massive black barrier itself seemed to twist and distort, as if reality itself were being reshaped by an unseen force. From within the depths of the barrier, more figures emerged, coalescing into physical forms that ranged from towering, hulking brutes to lithe, ethereal beings that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly radiance.

The God of Sword remained calm and composed, his grip on the ancient greatsword firm as he surveyed the gathering forces arrayed against him. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent the blade swinging through the air, cutting through the ranks of the first wave of attackers with effortless skill and precision.

Where the blade passed, reality itself seemed to part, the very fabric of existence torn asunder as the greatsword carved through the substance of the realm. Entities were split apart, their forms dissipating into wisps of energy as the God of Sword's blade sundered their physical manifestations with each graceful sweep.

Yet, for every foe that fell, more emerged from the depths of the barrier, an endless tide of beings summoned to halt the God of Sword's relentless advance. Blades of pure energy lashed out, only to be deflected by the impervious armor of the God of Sword, while swirling magic gathered and hurled bolts of raw power that he simply brushed aside with ease.

The battle raged on, the God of Sword cutting a path through the ranks of his opponents, his greatsword weaving intricate patterns as he moved through the melee with a grace that belied his immense stature. Forms were torn apart, limbs and ethereal appendages scattering in his wake as he methodically defeated the forces arrayed against him, one by one.

Finally, amidst the aftermath of the battle, the God of Sword stood alone, the last of his opponents reduced to mere wisps of fading energy. With a casual gesture of his blade, he cast aside the remnants of his fallen foes, his attention once more fixing upon the kneeling figure who had defied him.

Striding forward with purpose, the God of Sword reached down and grasped the figure by the throat, lifting them up until they were face-to-face. His voice resonated with absolute authority as he spoke, "When the God of Sword declares that he wishes to speak, it is always an urgent matter of great importance."

With those words, the God of Sword tightened his grip, and the figure's form began to unravel, their very essence dissipating into nothingness as the life was crushed from their being. The God of Sword had proven, once again, that his will was not to be denied or disobeyed.

Just as the God of Sword was poised to continue his relentless and devastating onslaught, a clear voice called out from within the swirling depths of the barrier, cutting through the chaos and mayhem like a clarion call. "My friend, please, you must stop this."

The words hung in the air, spoken with a commanding yet gentle tone, and from within the twisting vortex of the barrier, a figure emerged into view. He stood at a modest height of five feet and three inches, yet his presence seemed to dwarf and overshadow the surrounding scene of wreckage and devastation. His features were striking and memorable, with a neatly trimmed beard framing a face etched with the lines and wisdom of a life well-traveled. A mischievous, almost playful smile played upon his lips, as if he found amusement in the very heart of the chaotic maelstrom that had engulfed his realm.

The God of Sword, his monumental greatsword still gripped tightly in his gauntleted fist, turned his imposing form towards the newcomer, the sheer weight and intensity of his gaze alone enough to make lesser beings tremble and quake in fear. "Blackbeard," he rumbled, the name itself carrying a profound weight of recognition and familiarity.