A Gamer's Guide 195 (Patreon)

Days turn into weeks. I have it good.

For one, I get to experience my first real pillaging. It was exciting. Suddenly everyone was so serious, being fully aware that any of us could die. People seemed to know their roles, but few felt truly comfortable in them. A general rule of thumb was to leave as many people alive as possible since they were valuable hostages, though anyone with rebellious intent or actual combat power had to be dispatched swiftly. I didn’t mind it in the least. A few of the younger members were hesitant to actually hurt people, but with my lack of such inhibitions, it turned out to be a raging success. Once we traded the hostages and grain for a few thousand yill, we went on our way, stopping at a port town to celebrate. They cheered for my first successful pillaging and I got really, really drunk. The rest of the evening was a blur, but I’m told I was very silly all night.

Of course, during these months with the pirates, I kept in contact with Moleman. He wasn’t too happy with my new profession, but he was happy to hear that I felt content in being with them.

However, one thing he warned me about was that I might not want to join the upcoming server symposium. This was a fair thing to say, considering that I was wanted by the server leadership and would likely be executed upon capture. I agreed to stay in the hell lobby, until a particular change made the whole ordeal a fair bit easier.

<As per popular demand,

the Administrators have decided to allow

challengers the choice to abstain from the

Server Symposium.

Happy New Earth Year!>

<The Server Symposium

has begun. Would you like to abstain?>

<Yes/No>

<If no answer is chosen,

you will be automatically summoned in

4:59>

Although I wanted to join if only to meet up with Moleman a little, I decided to follow his suggestion and abstain fully. Instead, I spent New Year’s Eve with the Evil Claw pirates. When I explained that it was New Year’s Eve, they didn’t understand. Apparently, they have New Year’s Eve on a completely different day. After an extensive discussion, connecting their date system with my own, I found out that the day they have their New Year’s Eve is June 28th. The night of my birthday. Sometimes, you’ve gotta appreciate the little coincidences life throws your way.

Nevertheless, I forced them to celebrate the New Year—human style. In other words, we got very drunk, counted down the last ten seconds, and sat up until four in the morning playing cards and telling stories. A lot of grouchy goblins roamed the ship the next day, that’s for sure.

Time passes smoothly. We pillage another ship, have a run-in with the steam eel I fought earlier, feel like Captain Ahab for all but an hour, spend our time in relaxation, tell stories, chat and argue and discuss and laugh… Sometimes, we visit a small town at the edge of the black sea, where we stock up on supplies and spend our pocket money in pubs and stores. Some of the older members sneak away to spend their pocket money on the girls you can find on dark street corners, but that’s their business.

<Top—Status—Community>

<10:37:01

Day 824>

<The twenty-eighth attempt will begin in

25:13:12:59>

It has now been a little over nine months since I joined the Evil Claw Pirates. Today is a fine day, and going by the smell I’m picking up, it’s about to get even better. “It’s moving really quickly,” I tell Coda. “But if we just move a little bit further to port, we’ll be able to cut it off pretty neatly.”

“What features does it have?” he asks, already turning the wheel.

“Small,” I say, taking a few deep breaths. “Good quality wood. Weird metal, and the sail is… Leather, I think? Smells like drakehide, but weird. Unsure. There seem to be twenty-seven members operating it. Very fancy clothes on some of them.” I say that last part with a wink and a smirk. “All and all… Small, expensive—good target.”

“I haven’t had any reason to doubt your nose yet.”

“And you never will.”

But even though I try to appear confident, I feel just a little unsure. There’s something off about the ship. Not the first time today, I wipe at my nose, sniffling a little to ensure it’s actually clear, and that I’m as level-headed as I hope to be.

Coda watches me from the side. “Is it still like that?”

“Yeah,” I say unhappily. “Still smells weirdly familiar.”

“And it might not just be that you’ve smelled the same material somewhere?”

“No, I don’t think so. But I really don’t know.”

“Not yet, at least,” Coda says calmly. “With the speed they’re keeping, you’re bound to know for sure in a few minutes.”

In response, I nod resolutely. It doesn’t really clear my uncertainty, but knowing that I’ve got Coda keeping my back makes me feel more certain about leading us into this encounter. After a few minutes, right on time, Barbariccia shouts down from the drake’s nest that a ship’s been sighted at three-o-clock. With this, we can finally get a look at it. And it certainly is worth a look.

Maybe it’s because I’ve only ever seen ordinary ships, but seeing a fancy, swirly, overly detailed ship of the same size and luxury as a yacht feels oddly unreal. The hull—which is made of a pearlescent, pink metal—is so well-polished that it gleams in the sunlight, with swirls and creases done along the sides and tops guiding any stray bits of tar back down into the sea below. I can’t see the actual cabin or anything, but something tells me the wood is no less expensive than the metal it insulates.

“That sail…” Coda’s one eye widens in awe. “Is that dragonskin?”

Following his gaze, I observe the sail, which is a fairly large, red piece of scaly hide, though it’s currently furled and hidden away. What truly astounds me is that despite the sails being furled, it’s practically skidding across the surface of the tar sea. Coda’s baffled mutterings of steam and paddles, alongside the prominent exhaust vents on top of the boat explain clearly that this is not a matter of magic, but of science. Steam power. Here? Now?

…Actually, now that I think about it, why isn’t the Frisky Lady powered by steam? Considering that we’re surrounded by two-hundred-degree tar, it would be beyond easy to create steam here, which would make steam-powered engines an obvious asset.

Either way, the fact remains that the steam-powered luxury yacht is shooting at us at what I’m pretty sure is around a hundred and fifty kilometers. We, in comparison, are standing still, our sails likewise furled, angled on our side to completely block the path of their advance. The simple fact on display here is that when you’re going that fast, it’s not very easy to make sharp turns to avoid, for example, a pirate ship bobbing gleefully in the way.

Instead, they’ll have to stop, which is exactly what they do. Or, rather, try to do.

The steam abruptly stops being vented, the sails are unfurled, and the yacht goes from a hundred and fifty to fifty kilometers per hour in less than five minutes. However, they are still coming at us with frightening speed, so Coda orders Dragon to show them what we’re all about. He loads a canon, aims, and fires. The ball of iron shoots true, flying straight for the mast and sail, only to harmlessly skip off the leather sail, like a marble slipping off a silk napkin. It’s honestly a surreal sight, with the cannonball crashing into the sea just behind it. Despite leaving us a bit baffled though, it doesn’t stop us

Once our target is close enough to aim the harpoons, we fire, the force of two of the three harpoons striking its hull being enough to halt its terrifying speed the final bit. It groans to a stop right next to us, which means that it’s time for the most fun part.

“Kitty, Nazzo, Dragon, Cocco, you help me take the deck; Cal, Scar, Cir, Cante, you find and capture the captain; Cane, Farello, Al, Bar, you protect the ship. Alright, let’s head out everyone!” Coda shouts out, his orders meeting with an enthusiastic roar. As per his instructions, the majority of us rush across the harpoon chains onto the yacht’s deck, my clawed hand quickly finding a snug and warm place in the chest of a nearby sailor.

…No, not a sailor. A guard. A proper one, too, with a full-on uniform and a shiny, polished halberd at his side. That’s strange. What’s a royal guard doing all the way out here?

“Come at me, man! Let’s have a—whoa, whoa, hey, wait a minute, halberds are totally cheating—” Still grumbling to myself, I quickly toss myself across the deck, kicking the feet out from under a guard harassing Nazzo before crushing his neck and windpipe in a single stomp. Nazzo, still on the ground, takes a few shaky breaths. The body under my foot is also a royal guard. Weird. Nazzo swallows and looks up at me, relief and excitement tugging at his face in equal measure. “Th—thanks, Kitty; that was a close one!”

“No problem,” I mumble, leaning down and pulling him to his feet. Once he’s standing again, I take care of the guard who just stabbed me through the stomach. He’s more surprised to see me alive than he is to see his heart in my hand, but soon enough, he’s too dead to show any other reactions.

“Kitty, six o'clock, three of them!” Coda barks across the deck. My body moves faster than I have time to think, claws ripping out throats, slipping between fabric to get at the skin beneath, using my teeth when necessary. Within less than a minute, three more bodies lie at my feet. Not lingering on them, I quickly move to Coda’s side, dispatching a guard he was having trouble with. “What in the Gods are royal guards doing here?” he mumbles, a sentiment I second. Shaking his head, he quickly turns to me. “Status report on remaining people?”

I take a few quick breaths through my nose. “Seven in the captain’s quarters, four in the general area, and…” I do a double-take. “Eleven in the hull?” What the heck are they doing down there?

He nods at me, eyes focused as he makes his decision, speaking loud and clearly enough for everyone on deck to hear, “Alright, take Nazzo and clear out the hull. The rest of us will handle the people in the general area and try to find the captain. Oh, and…” He shows a little smile. “Try to leave a few hostages alive, alright?”

I salute him, only partially sarcastically. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”

Nazzo, who is still a bit shaky in the knees, blinks at us. “Wait, what?” His hands fly up defensively. “Wait, I, um…” He tugs at the collar of his leather coat. “Can’t Kitty handle himself? I’m sure I’ll just be in the way, so…”

“Are you defying my orders?”

It’s always interesting to watch the color drain from a goblin’s face. This time is no different, though the beading sweat is a nice added touch. “N—no, Captain.”

The severe look on Coda’s face drains away as fast as the blood in Nazzo’s face had. “Good!” he chirps. “In that case, I suggest you get going before Kitty gets any ideas.”

Nazzo’s eyes slide over to me. “What is it?” I ask him. The look of suspicion doesn’t leave his face, which isn’t unwarranted in the slightest, since I had been quietly contemplating if I could still handle eleven guards with him slung over my shoulder like a potato sack.

Coda claps his hands, again drawing the attention of all gathered members. “Alright, let’s get to it, everyone! No time to waste!”

And since we did, indeed, have no time to waste, I did the fastest thing possible and grabbed Nazzo by the scruff of his collar, swung him into the air and onto my shoulder, and ran for the nearest stairs leading down into the hull.

Say what you will, but for a goblin so small, he’s surprisingly loud when it comes to complaining.