Searching For Andromeda 100 Come

Ephraim arrived by the scene to see Samuel's bloodied overcoat around the collar. 

"What happened?!"

It was Borgh, who came with his crew. He had run towards Ephraim's side, slightly panting.

Borgh? Ephraim scowled. Why did he come here? Ephraim thought that the captain went to check with the crew? Ephraim swallowed the lump of suspicion building over his throat. Borgh had worry etched all over his face; his crew sharing the same sentiments as him. 

"Samuel . . ." It wasn't time to raise his suspicions—there wasn't any time, and he felt guilty for even thinking about it. Right now, what—or rather, who Ephraim really needed to prioritize, is Samuel.

In Ephraim's line of vision, he can only see that there is only the vast sea to welcome him and nothing more. On the distance, the sun was setting against the horizon and everything was in a tranquil state, except the ones on Borgh's carrack.

The tranquility contrasted the worried looks on their faces. And before anyone could even muster to react, or move away to search for Samuel around the ship, a loud thump on the ground spurred an air pressure—sending a gust of wind to Ephraim and the others. 

Landing straight to the ship with his hook aiding his fall was a boy, no older than Samuel, wearing a tricorn and a coat that had tatters on their hem. He gave Ephraim a smirk. 

"My name is Jaxon Sparrows, the captain of the Sunken Pirates," he said. "And I've come to kill you all."

He licked the hook in the most obnoxious way possible. 

"Now, my minions, attack!"

"Lad, look out!" It was Borgh who threw Ephraim out of the way, and with his large body, he blocked the attack. The pirate captain's 'minions'—people that seemed to be older than their pirate captain, attacked. Stereotypical pirates often left the shirt open at the neck and went barefoot, and sported scarves and hats to safeguard their heads and faces from the sun. To protect their backs from the hard labor on deck, these seafarers also commonly wore wide, supportive belts and a swashbuckler sash that is wrapped under the belt to absorb sweat and keep them cool. These 'minions' wore exactly the same as those descriptions as often depicted in movies.

The pirate captain, Jaxon Sparrows, was also what one could call a 'pirate captain' would look. After all—

"So you're that Ephraim."

 "Aah, thanks to that brat, I have to wear this eyepatch that just limits my vision." Jaxon darkly murmured as he ambled towards Ephraim who was being shielded by Borgh. "Move, Fatty. I've got business with this dungeon conqueror."

Ephraim quickly stood up from the ground, "where did you bring Samuel?!"

"Lad!" It was Borgh, who had blocked his arm to Ephraim. "Don't do anything reckless. Have you not heard of him?!"

Ephraim scowled. 

Borgh turned to Ephraim, "he's Captain Jaxon Sparrows, the most notorious pirate in the Eastern Continent! He had already stolen many ships and children, and rumors said he got his eye on the vessel!"

"Got his eye on the vessel?" Ephraim frowned. The vessel could be stolen?

"Heh, thanks for that introduction, Fatty," said Jaxon. "But you flatter me, really. At first, I didn't have anything to do with any vessel, but then rumors came to me about this guy's vessel being special . . ."

"Rumors?" Ephraim scowled. 

"You see, Borgh Weaselton is the one that helped us. Heh. Weasel, your name sounds so much like you." Jaxon laughed. "Isn't it you and your crew who disclosed such valuable information?"

Borgh? "I—I don't know what you're talking about!" Borgh fortified. 

"Well, you and your crew did spread the word about the dungeon conqueror and his child companion being in your merchant ship," Jaxon exclaimed. "Word spread easily, and so it drifted to me and voila, you walked yourselves—or sailed yourselves straight to my trap."

Borgh clenched his fist. "But I—I never said anything about the vessel being special!"

"Ah, of course. It was someone from above who told me about it," Jaxon whistled. "But it wouldn't have been possible without the help of YOUR crew, Borgh Weasleton."

Ephraim's eyes widened.

Now that he had noticed it, the crew and Jaxon's minions weren't fighting. They were just looking at the three. Borgh scowled, "what is happening . . . ?"

"The other members of your crew are all knocked unconscious; but here, your new hires," Jaxon smirked. "They're all with me."

Ephraim's lips parted in surprise. A part of Borgh's crew . . . are members of the pirate's minions?

"Honestly, it was a plan that was quite a risk considering there's a dungeon conqueror on board," Jaxon smirked. "But you two chatted so happily our Captain Fatty didn't have the time to check whether they are patrolling."

Captain Borgh collapsed to his knee.

"I-it's all my fault . . ."

Jaxon Sparrows laughed. "Of course, it is your fault. It is your fault, indeed." Jaxon sauntered his way towards Borgh with his boots thumping against the creaking, wooden floorboards. Jaxon smiled at him widely, in contrast to his dead, dark eye. His eye patch was black, like his hair. 

"You're an idiot, Fatty—"

"Could you quit using these slurs?" It was Ephraim, "it just shows how much shallow you are."

"Ooh?" Jaxon arched his brow, darting his gaze to the "fabled dungeon conqueror; so the rumors were true as well—you, being young."

Ephraim didn't consider himself being that young, given the fact he was already a bachelor's degree graduate. However, these people seemed to regard him as someone younger. Even this boy, who looked like the age of Sam. Ephraim walked in front of Borgh, shielding him.

He was facing both Jaxon's minions and Borgh's crew. It was as clear as his reflection against the sea—Ephraim was outnumbered. He was one against numbers. There wasn't any chance he would stand against these many people. These many enemies.

"Now, I don't have any more time to talk," Jaxon said. "Kill him,"

**

Borgh Weasleton trembled.

"It's all my fault."

Borgh was the friend of everyone in Alaris. Guilds sold him their dismantled killings and traded and barded with him. He was that bubbly merchant that sales talk and sweet talked everyone else to get them to keep on dealing and staying on business with him. 

"Well, being friendly is the key."

Being friendly would help him into great lengths. A merchant's friend is a merchant's customer. Any merchant had to be extra nice to people to get on their good side and have them buy things. Some people might call this deceptive, but Borgh preferred to have it considered as innovative.

That's why when Shey Ramgold requested him to take the new dungeon conqueror to his ship . . .

"Yes! Yes! Yes, I'd love to take them. It would be an honor."

It would make his goods sell more—so he spread the word about having the dungeon conqueror and his companion ride his ship; word brought the nice ring to his name, so it increased the application of people wanting to be part of his crew. It was strategic, and even wise as well . . . however, it appeared to be a misstep.

A misstep that had proved quite fatal; and not just to Borgh, but to Ephraim and Samuel as well.

When Borgh went to the check-in with the crew in charge of the food, what he had encountered—instead of a meaty stew he had requested, was an empty pot—an empty kitchen. He scowled. At this certain point in time, they should have finished cooking. When he was about to complain, a majority of his new crew came towards him and said that Ephraim needed help.

"What happened?!"

It was Samuel's overcoat—which had blood blanched over it.

**

Ephraim drew his sword from its sheathe, and then held it firmly with both of his hands. 

"Is this the rumored vessel?"

Ephraim blinked. So, the pirate captain didn't know what type of 'special' vessel he had. 

"Yes," Ephraim lied, narrowing his eyes. "This is my vessel."

"Truly an exquisite blade, although I wonder what could be special about it other than its flashy white and gold appearance," Jaxon said. "Oh well. Let's see how much you can hold. Kill him!"

The minions and the 'crew' alike attacked Ephraim with their own weapon of choice. Being sailors, they pretty much had that one, same weapon—knives, daggers, and cutla.s.ses. They went to attack Ephraim with close-ranged attacks, which Ephraim averted and parried with his sword. He had swung his sword as an intent to evade the enemies' advancing weapons. He was able to throw them off to the ground. 

It was as Ephraim thought—they were much weaker than the Necromorphs he had fought in the dungeon. Of course, they were people, not rejuvenating monsters. 

"Stop," Jaxon said. "Looks like I underestimated you a bit for using these weaklings in an attempt to defeat you." 

"Lad . . ."

"It's alright," Ephraim said, turning his head to Borgh, giving him the slightest feeling of rea.s.surance. 

"No, it's not," Jaxon exclaimed, drawing his rapier strapped against his belt. 

Ephraim firmly held the hilt of his sword. 

"Looks like I have to get serious," said Jaxon, leveling his sword vertically as the blade nears his face before he had positioned himself into an elegant battle stance, similar to the people who were doing fencing back on Earth. 

"Come at me with all you got," said Jaxon. "Dungeon conqueror!"

**

Coming up next: Remarkable Swordsman! –this chapter will be more focused on battle scenes. Stay tuned!

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