HoG - Chapter 1
Chapter 1: Dragging the Keel, Walking the Plank
Pain!
Indescribable pain!
Byron felt as if an iron spike had pierced his chest. Cold and weak, it was as if something precious was rapidly flowing out from the wound. Every nerve in his body violently twitched, emitting cries of unbearable suffering. Yet, he couldn't wake up, trapped in a nightmarish dream.
In that dream, two versions of himself lived two completely different lives.
The first Byron grew up in an orphanage, trapped by reality but harboring dreams of traveling the world. After only a few years of work, before he could save enough for the trip, he suddenly fell ill with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). Starting from his upper limbs, he gradually lost all bodily functions, becoming unable to move, speak, swallow, or even breathe on his own. His body became a prison for his soul, and he died alone, helpless, and in despair.
The other Byron, although he lost his mother at birth, had a strict yet kind father and a harmonious extended family. He had an uncle troubled by intermittent mental illness but usually wise and amiable. An aunt who was beautiful and gentle, treating him like her own son. A cousin who often took him hunting and practiced swordsmanship, horsemanship, and navigation. A childhood friend who always chased chickens and dogs with him, neglecting their duties. And many other loving family members; loyal vassals, dependents, and guardian knights.
Annoyingly, the two lives in the dream were like looking through thick frosted glass, blurry from the start. Like trying to see flowers in the fog, Byron couldn't recall any details no matter how hard he tried. He vaguely remembered suffering a severe injury in a recent major event. The vast "memory palace" that constituted his personality was missing a crucial piece, leading to a chain reaction of collapses.
The first life, which had always served as the foundation, barely held up the "palace" but plunged him into chaos. He was like a small boat that had lost its anchor, drifting aimlessly in the torrent of fragmented memories. Apart from deep-rooted instincts and common sense, even his self-awareness began to blur.
After an unknown amount of time, only one memory remained vivid in Byron's mind:
On a stormy night, beneath his feet was a majestic ship with a blue dragon figurehead at the bow, as large as a mountain. His father in this life spoke to him anxiously, but he could only see his lips moving, unable to hear any sound. Then the icy, bone-chilling deep sea completely engulfed everything.
Byron instinctively felt that this might be the key to the event. But the more he tried to grasp it, the faster these memories slipped away.
"Who am I? What happened on that stormy night? Where did the rest of the family go?"
A large basin of icy seawater was thrown in his face, jolting him awake from the nightmare. He didn't notice that, the moment he opened his eyes, a barely perceptible light flashed in his right eye, as blue as the sea.
Slowly lifting his head, Byron was shocked to find himself among a group of soaking wet "drowned rats," bound hand and foot with ropes. He lay in a very awkward position on the deck of a wooden sailing ship. Several ragged and fierce-looking sailors stood over him.
The leader was a two-meter-tall man with a sailor's cutlass and a flintlock pistol hanging from his waist, exuding a cold, bloody aura. He took a big gulp of rum from a bottle he was holding and said impatiently, "You swine, don't lie on the deck pretending to be dead. The captain's precious pets don't like to eat motionless corpses. Get up, don't cause us trouble."
Hearing this, Byron's heart sank as he discreetly surveyed his surroundings. The fresh marks of axes and bullets on the half-meter-high gunwale were evident, and the golden bronze cannons on the open deck still carried a strong smell of gunpowder. The gaps in the deck were stained with dirty, uncleaned blood.
As far as the eye could see, ragged but physically strong sailors were busy re-tying broken rigging, repairing the battle-damaged hull, or tending to the wounded. At the top of the mast, a black flag with a white skull riding a shark fluttered high—a pirate flag. Without a doubt, this was a pirate ship that had just experienced a fierce battle. About a nautical mile away in the stern direction, within the hazy milky white fog, a merchant ship riddled with cannon fire burned fiercely as it sank into the sea.
After launching a desperate counterattack against the pirate ship, the merchant vessel still couldn't escape the fate of being plundered and slaughtered. The blood flag raised high on the pirate ship's mast proved this point. It was a sign of no survivors after a massacre of the enemy ship. Theoretically, to deter merchant ships that dared to resist, this bloody punishment would be carried out by pirates without exception. Combining the pirate leader's words, Byron's heart skipped a beat, realizing the situation was dire.
"I've become a captive of pirates? And I'm to be fed to some pet?"
The merchant ship sailors who survived the plunder, most of whom were seasoned with years of experience at sea, had a sharper sense of crisis than him. They were also more aware of the ferocity of the pirate gang known as the "Maneater," which was active in the North Sea. Ignoring their bloody wounds, they quickly knelt and begged for mercy.
"Mr. Bones, it was the captain who ordered the resistance. We've already surrendered. Please, don't kill us!"
"Spare me! I'm a gunner from the Pelican. I'm a skilled crew member, and I'm willing to join the Maneater!"
The lead pirate, also the first mate of the pirate ship, "Bones" Myers, was unmoved. He took another big gulp of rum looted from the merchant ship and showed a chilling smile. "Unfortunately, except for your ship's chef, who supposedly served the nobility and earned a chance to prove his worth by betraying your captain, no one else is qualified to receive the mercy of our captain, the esteemed 'Blood Eye.' Enough talk, those little creatures must be getting impatient. Send them down!"
With a wave of his hand, a group of fierce pirates immediately stepped forward to drag the captives, who were almost wetting their pants, off the deck. Sentenced to death without mercy by the pirates, many sailors broke down.
"You sea scum, and that despicable traitor, will not end well!"
"I pray for the legendary ghost ship to take my soul. The sea's spirits will one day seek revenge on the living! God will not forgive you!"
Some cursed loudly, others uttered curses, and some seized the time to pray to God. An old sailor walking next to Byron was trembling. "Al... Almighty Creator! We shouldn't have listened to the captain's orders and set sail at this time. What does the succession war between the two great families of the Hastings Kingdom, with their red and white roses as emblems, have to do with us lowly sailors? Even if the Red Rose Lancaster family is defeated, our Pelican Company is just a vassal of their vassals. With your great power protecting us, the victorious White Rose York family will surely not harm us."
Byron, who had been unclear about the situation, finally pieced together the story from the sailors' emotional outbursts before their deaths. This all-too-common maritime plunder took place in the coordinates of the North Sea, near the Old World's coast. The nearby island nation of Hastings Kingdom, with its two great families bearing the emblems of red and white roses, had been fighting a succession war for thirty years. Recently, these two branches of the nobility with claims to the throne once again clashed on land and sea, causing rivers of blood to flow.
Five days ago, in the dead of night, a rare and violent storm suddenly struck the battlefield of their naval war, the Strait of Dover at the southernmost tip of the North Sea. The succession war between the White Rose and the Red Rose for the throne was thus decisively concluded. The Red Rose Lancaster family, which had held the throne of Hastings, saw its male members all disappear in the storm. Even the first-rate ship "Blue Dragon King" that the former King Henry VI was aboard sank into the sea.
The nobles and merchants who had been aligned with Lancaster, fearing retribution from the new king, fled in droves. Some escaped to other countries on the coast of the North Sea, while others went to the bustling overseas colonies. The Pelican merchant ship, carrying part of the estate of Lord Crawford, a Lancaster supporter, set sail from Hastings two days ago. Its destination was the southern colony of the Bantaan Islands. However, it unexpectedly encountered the "Maneater," and was suddenly captured by this group of ruthless pirates, bringing the escape journey to an abrupt end.
Byron himself was a "castaway" picked up from the sea when the Pelican passed by the battlefield—the waters around the Strait of Dover. No one, including the now-deceased captain, knew his identity. At this moment, he was confusedly captured by pirates along with the Pelican's crew.
"Red and White Roses, Blue Dragon King, Lancaster." Hearing these words, Byron's eyes began to lose focus. The drifting, chaotic memories in his mind seemed to be anchored by these words. Faces, some clear and some blurry, gradually appeared before
his eyes. Especially in the midst of blood and fire, a burning red rose emblem was particularly striking. Feelings of warmth, affection, love, and regret surged, causing his heart to ache.
"Ah!"
A piercing scream suddenly shook his eardrums. Byron's body shuddered, and he came back to his senses. Looking up abruptly, he saw that the pirate ship's bloody execution had begun. On the forecastle of the pirate ship, a group of burly, fierce pirates were working together to drag a sturdy rope from the starboard to the port side. A bare-chested sailor was also being dragged under the ship, passing through the keel covered in sharp barnacles, and then violently pulled out of the water on the other side.
The process was like being cut a thousand times, inflicting countless bloody, bone-deep wounds on his body. The sailor had just screamed once and couldn't catch his breath before being dragged back under the water to the other side. After two or three rounds, his body was mangled beyond recognition, and even the water near the bow turned a deep red. This was one of the most feared punishments at sea for sailors, Keelhauling.
Even more horrifying, as if summoned by the scent of blood, a large number of black shark fins, like blades, suddenly appeared on the surface of the sea. They drew white lines on the surface, and in the blink of an eye, they swarmed over. These were obviously the pets kept by the captain of the "Maneater," as mentioned by First Mate Myers. At the same time, a long plank was extended from the ship's side.
A group of pirates wielding cutlasses drove several merchant sailors with their hands and feet bound to the end of the plank. They didn't forget to slash them with cuts. Whether praying or cursing, the sailors eventually all stepped into the air and fell screaming into the churning waves. After a bloody scramble, they all disappeared from the surface of the sea. Seeing their companions one by one fall prey to the sharks, despair spread among the remaining sailors.
This helplessness, having to watch as they awaited their own execution, was enough to drive one mad. Some experienced sailors realized that these pirates were not simply executing them but were conducting an extremely cruel blood sacrifice ritual.
"Compared to that rubber boy who played like it was child's play, this is the true face of pirates!" Standing at the back of the sailors, Byron, whose face was equally grim, unconsciously uttered words that left others, including himself, somewhat puzzled.
He was then roughly pushed onto the narrow plank. Just inches from his feet were churning, bloody waves and dozens of gaping mouths with sharp teeth. The pungent smell of blood made Byron's scalp tingle. If nothing unexpected happened, he was afraid he would never have the chance to regain his memories and uncover the lost truth.
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