ALL NOVEL Chapter 527: Who Are You?
Chapter 527: Who Are You?
Northern didn't know which he was more embarrassed by: the fact that he had made a poor sailor pee his pants or the fact the man was peeing his pants helplessly like that.
His lips curled in a barely perceptible smile as he watched the sailor, frozen with fear and incapable of any further movement.
Without wasting another second, he stepped forward and firmly placed a hand on the man's shoulder, gently pushing him aside.
The sailor stumbled away, collapsing to the floor with a dull thud, eyes wide and chest heaving, but Northern paid him no mind.
His fingers wrapped around the ship's wheel, and as soon as his hands touched the worn, wooden surface, a strange calmness swept over him.
The wind howled around them, clouds thickening, but Northern's focus narrowed.
He tugged at the wheel, feeling the ship respond beneath him with a slow groan of resistance. "Now, let's see how you handle this," he muttered, his voice low, almost to himself.
The ship trembled as the enormous sails caught the wind, but instead of moving forward, Northern's hands worked skillfully to steer it backward, an action that would have bewildered most of the crew, had they not been so consumed by fear.
The vessel wasn't designed to reverse, not in the midst of the skies, but Northern's intuition took hold, guiding him in a maneuver that bent all the natural laws of wind and balance.
He cast his gaze toward the cloud cover ahead, his Chaos eyes flickering for just a moment.
A faint silhouette, imperceptible to normal eyes, floated within the mist-the other ship, where the rifleman had made his move.
Northern's grin widened, colder now, calculating.
The rifleman probably thought he was safe, hidden in the clouds. He had no idea what was coming for him.
With a sharp twist of his wrist, Northern jerked the wheel sharply.
The ship lurched, tilting dangerously as the stern angled downward, yet he maintained perfect control as if he had sailed a ship before.
The thing he did, the memories felt inherent in him, begging to be let out.
The vessel groaned under the sudden strain, wood creaking ominously, but it heeded his command.
The wind caught the sails in just the right direction, and the hijackers' ship swung in a wide arc, moving backward with a speed unnatural for its size.
The hijackers, still perched on ropes, scrambling to descend, now lost their bearings completely.
The hijackers that were descending down the rope screamed and scrambled for survival but were helplessly being swayed by the strong wind, parted by the roguish movement of the ship.
Their cries were buried in the clouds as they lost grip and plunged into the white abyss below them.
Northern spared no thought for the carnage.
His eyes remained fixed ahead, zeroed in on the unseen rifleman.
The clouds parted briefly as the soul vessel cut through them, gaining momentum, the creaking of the wood now turning into a growling roar as the ship powered toward its mark. "Almost there..." Northern's voice remained a whisper, lost to the gusts of wind.
Then, in an instant, the other ship appeared-hovering lightly above the clouds, the outline of the rifleman and the man in a shadowlike cloak, barely discernible on the deck, still hidden behind a mounted scope.
He didn't see it coming.
With an ear-splitting crash, Northern's vessel slammed into the enemy ship's side, the impact shattering its hull with a deafening roar.
The rifleman was thrown off his feet, tumbling across the deck as his weapon slipped from his hands, skittering across the broken planks.
While the cloaked man frowned darkly, he staggered a few steps but managed to quickly regain his footing...seemingly miraculously.
The collision sent splinters flying in every direction, and the air vessel shuddered under the force.
Yet Northern stood firm, his feet planted solidly on the deck, one hand on the wheel as he steered through the chaos.
The enemy ship, no longer stable, listed to one side, slowly sinking into the cloud bank beneath it, its shattered hull leaking a trail of debris.
Northern released the wheel and turned his attention forward.
His Chaos eyes glowed faintly blue as he pinpointed the rifleman, now attempting to crawl toward his weapon.
Without hesitation, Northern stepped forward, his boots heavy against the deck, each step deliberate.
From the hijackers' ship, he leaped into the air and landed powerfully on the dark vessel.
The rifleman's breath quickened as he glanced up and met Northern's figure descending on him.
He managed to retrieve his rifle and point it up, but just as he did, Northern's gaze was in front of him, his hand gently holding the tip of the rifle.
"You made a mistake," Northern said quietly, his voice cold, a chill spreading in the air
around him.
The rifleman's lips quivered, a sudden fear overtaking his expression. He grimaced and pulled himself away from Northern, quickly jumping back as he thought:
'What the hell was that cold fear?'
But Northern was already closing in, his hand raised, fingers extending as a faint shimmer of dark flames emanated from them.
Before the rifleman could react, the black flame spread out like a blanket and engulfed him, its weight crashing down like an inescapable tide.
The rifleman let out a guttural scream as the cold black flames clung to his skin, seeping into
his very being.
His body convulsed, his muscles locking up as the overwhelming pressure of the Chaos flames crashed down on him, dragging him to the ground.
The rifleman struggled, but every movement seemed futile.
His mind raced in terror, his instincts screaming at him to fight back, yet his body refused to
obey.
The flame didn't burn in the conventional sense-no, this was something worse.
It gnawed at the edges of his soul, consuming his will to resist.
Northern stood over him, his eyes cold and unblinking, locked on the writhing figure before
him.
Then he shifted his attention to the man in the cloak, who was silent even as his comrade screamed in terror.
"You have sinned, and your sin is attacking a ship that I am on," Northern's voice cut through the air, sharp and emotionless.
He wasn't angry-he didn't need to be. His presence alone was enough to instill a suffocating
fear, a silent authority that demanded submission.
The man stared blankly for a while before asking, "Who are you?"