Captain – Chapter 1 – Devil’s Island

There is a distant and ancient legend that describes the origin of the countless pirates who now roam the vast ocean south of the continent.

It is the story of one man, a… Pirate King.

Ancient scholars have deeply investigated this ethereal yet widely circulated legend, but unfortunately, due to the passage of too many years, the surname of this man has become lost to history.

The ancient scholars only knew that people of the past called him Golden-Eyed Edward, named for his pair of dark golden pupils that resembled those of a devil as described in holy texts, like smoldering lava on the verge of extinction.

Edward’s past was like a mystery, hidden in the deep darkness of the ocean depths. No one knew how he came to be, or how he created the despicable yet free profession of piracy right under the nose of the Auran Empire that once ruled the entire continent.

Even less was known about how he managed to drag that cruel and cold-blooded Imperial Majesty into an endless abyss!

What people did know was only one piece of information that remained highly consistent despite various retellings and variations—the Devil’s Treasure.

Rumor had it that Edward buried all the wealth he had accumulated throughout his life on a solitary island named after the devil, beneath the throne where his remains now sat.

Only those possessing great wisdom and courage could overcome the barriers of thunderstorms and giant waves to reach that solitary island, inherit his legacy, and take his place to become the new Pirate King.

Of course, legends are forever just legends. No one has ever truly seen that Devil’s Island hidden in the depths of the Cursed Sea.

And in these thousands of years, there has never emerged a second Pirate King as magnificent as he was.

All those rumors seemed like phantoms silently fading in the sunlight, appearing so ethereal and untouchable.

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Until one day, a three-masted pirate ship adorned with a mermaid figurehead broke through the seemingly never-ending downpour and anchored before an island never drawn on any world map, violently tearing away that veil of haziness with blood-stained and fire-forged weapons.

“Rumble…”

A flash of lightning cut through the dim sky, illuminating the dark forest for an instant, followed by deafening thunder that sounded like a warning from a deity angered by the disturbance of their sacred domain, displaying boundless rage.

Raindrops from the heavens beat against the dense branches, flowing down the green leaves, pattering onto the soil, forming muddy puddles.

They also fell upon that cheetah-like agile figure, soaking through his tight-fitting linen shirt, even drenching that once brilliantly golden hair, making him look as bedraggled as an escaped slave from the Northern Continent.

Darkness and storm erased all hope. On this solitary island inhabited only by venomous snakes and insects, where even seabirds refused to approach, that figure bounded and darted between countless trees, purposefully speeding toward a specific direction.

In his outstretched right hand, a strangely shaped pendant was emitting a faint glow.

The pendant was a skull carved from moonstone.

The weak blue-green light flowed from the skull’s deep eye sockets, strand by strand, glowing and pointing in the direction of his travel, growing increasingly brighter as he advanced.

Rapid breathing and the sound of splashing through puddles composed an urgent symphony. The trees blocking his path grew fewer, the concealing branches more sparse. Finally, after dodging a dead log, the man holding the moonstone skull stopped in his tracks. Before his eyes lay an extremely open space, clearly not formed naturally.

The clearing was paved with bright, smooth marble. Rainwater flowed in all directions through pre-built drainage channels, like crowds dispersing after a pilgrimage. But in the center of the clearing stood not a pope of the holy church, but the Pirate King—Edward’s throne.

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Upon seeing his target, the man heaved a sigh of relief, tucked the moonstone skull into his bosom, and hastened his steps, his face showing some relaxation and relief. Yet those dark golden pupils flashed with vigilance in the darkness, quickly scanning the surroundings of the clearing with his peripheral vision, his fingers somehow already hooked onto the hilt of his sword.

Fortunately, nothing happened.

The man finally stood before the throne. After confirming that the surrounding silence was not deliberately feigned, he finally had time to examine the throne that had driven countless pirates mad with desire.

Though called a throne, it actually appeared to be nothing more than a very crude stone chair. Even the edges hadn’t been polished, let alone carved or processed. Only on the backrest was deeply engraved a line of elegant small text.

“The resting place of the Pirate King.”

The man unconsciously read this sentence aloud, his low voice magnetic. With such a beautiful voice and that delicate face occasionally illuminated by the electric light, even if placed among nobles at an evening banquet, he would surely become the focus of attention—making it difficult to imagine him as a pirate who spent his days amid vulgarity and violence.

This was indeed Edward’s burial ground.

The man frowned slightly at the crudely shaped throne. He saw neither the remains of the legendary pirate ancestor nor the allegedly jewel-encrusted magnificent throne. Only a magnificent triangular hat lay quietly on the not-so-smooth grayish-white seat, with gold-trimmed patterns of wind, waves, and sails.

Countless years had passed since the legend began, yet this hat, symbolizing the beginning of the pirates’ glorious era, showed no signs of erosion or dust. It still looked brand new, as if some mysterious force had protected this hat against the flowing river of time.

Even without any treasure, simply bringing this triangular hat back to the Southern Islands would fetch a handsome reward, or perhaps even help secure that long-vacant throne of the Pirate King?

Thinking this, his eyes flickered a few times before he reached for the triangular hat. Regardless of whether Edward’s treasure truly existed beneath this crude throne, getting this immensely significant captain’s hat into his hands was the real priority—after all, his creed was “only what’s in hand is truly yours.”

Just as those fair, slender fingers were about to touch the gold-plated brim, a voice suddenly sounded behind him, gentle yet steady, impossible to be masked even by the pouring rain.

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“Excuse me, that’s my hat.”

The moment the voice came from nowhere, the golden-haired youth’s pupils suddenly contracted, his whole body’s hair standing on end. The hand reaching for the triangular hat quickly withdrew, while the one previously resting on his sword hilt gripped it tightly, with such force that several veins bulged.

No one could imagine what strength he unleashed in that moment. With just the sound of cutting wind, his blood-grooved curved blade flashed with silvery-white light, encompassing everything behind him.

Unexpectedly, though he clearly saw the blade slice through the throat of the man who had suddenly appeared, he felt not the slightest resistance, as if he had cut through empty air.

The man seemed to have anticipated the possible reaction and showed little surprise, merely smiling faintly.

He gazed at that bewitching face with his own dark golden pupils like unextinguished molten lava, whispered like a devil, and chanted:

“It’s an honor to meet you, Captain Roy.”

Translator Note

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Straight gb:

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