Searching For Andromeda 102 Remarkable Swordsman

Borgh's crew was small as can be; comprising of five sailors in charge of monitoring the sea currents, the ship, and food. They were sailing a small carrack ship that only transported goods, after all. By night time, they would probably reach their destination, so lunch and dinner should only be the issue. Patriargë, they would probably reach in about forty-five minutes, and Sembilica, in another hour.

Borgh Weasleton had the unfortunate surname that rhymed with a 'weasel'. The name weasel didn't sound good for a merchant. Customers might get the impression he was weaseling the money away, and so they won't build their trust in him. Borgh had this thought from the start - when he was just a lad that was a driver of another merchant. But then he strived to look more pleasing in the eye—all smiles, and warm. Soon when he had his own ship and goods to trade, the Weasel in his name was ignored. He was just called the Merchant Borgh, Captain Borgh, and just Borgh.

Borgh's crew suggested they get new hires because of the good results they were getting from the trades; the increasing popularity Borgh was getting due to him offering the dungeon conqueror a ride. With a small country like Alaris, Borgh was getting exposure so easily. Taking their suggestions, Borgh opened recruit hiring—and he was immensely shocked and pleased that there were lots who signed up. Six men who seemed to be adept in carrying cargo with their buff bodies were now their new recruits. They were in charge of the patrol and in charge of the sailing, whilst the others in food, whatsoever.

Borgh panted. He was in the lower deck of the ship, just under the hatch. The overhead of the compartment was made of wood thick enough to endure the steps of the people from above—but Borgh could still hear their talking due to the hatch just a distance away. The hatch was a crisscrossed wood pattern that had hinges on it, making sound able to pa.s.s through. Borgh was still in the midst of running towards the deck, running through the pa.s.sageways as he turns his head left and right, searching for his missing crew members.

His missing crew members—they were the people who had aided him from the start. Those five were his companions from a driver to a merchant.

"I heard there are pirates on Triefan trying to wreak havoc and steal ships."

"Those pirates are only after military galleons. They wouldn't be targeting our small carraca," Borgh a.s.sured his crew.

Captain Borgh Weasleton clenched his fist. This was all his fault. He never hired any mercenary to at least protect the crew. Now, the youngling was taken by the pirate captain, and Ephraim, the dungeon conqueror, was forced to fight. 

Borgh wheezed, but he continued to run and search for every compartment. This was the least he could do for all of them. He had to find the crew and then send reinforcements to the dungeon conqueror, or else they would be at a great disadvantage.

"Please be safe . . . everyone!"

**

"I will not move from here," Ephraim firmly stated. "Pirate captain!"

Jaxon Sparrows grinned. "How interesting."

The pirate captain smirked, baring his crooked teeth that were like a shark's at Ephraim. He was holding his rapier steadily. 

"Captain," it was one of his companions, a man from his left. Jaxon glanced back at him, and then he chuckled. "What? I'm not wasting my time, don't worry. It's just that I'm letting our dungeon conqueror have his final moments."

Ephraim held his sword firmly, turning it a bit to the side. Ephraim still did not move from the hatch. Right now, he didn't need to attack. He just had to secure the hatch until reinforcement comes. 

"He's persistent. He makes me want to use my magic," Jaxon said, caressing his hook. "But I don't think it's necessary. After all . . ."

The five, buff sailors went towards Ephraim and swung their cutla.s.s in continuous, ravaging attacks. Ephraim, fighting five buff men who were obviously much more coordinated than he was—was instantaneously defeated. Ephraim cursed under his breath; they were able to throw him athwart, the hatch being opened by the sailors who, one by one, leaped in until Jaxon, Ephraim, and the two others companions of Jaxon who were by his side, were left.

Ephraim slowly rose from the floorboards, but then—

"You're too slow!" 

Jaxon's rapier went to pierce straight to Ephraim—and when the point of the blade was several centimeters away from Ephraim's eye, he swung his own sword, but instead of having the rapier's blade be dented with his, Jaxon had already retracted his rapier as he jumped to back away from Ephraim.

Jaxon smirked. 

"Now then, before it gets boring; I will allow you, dungeon conqueror, to go on defensive."

Ephraim narrowed his blue eyes. Why is the pirate captain inviting him to attack close-ranged? If Ephraim nears Jaxon, then Jaxon will surely be at a disadvantage—considering the rapier is an astute yet narrow sword, which isn't ideal for parrying or blocking a long sword like what Ephraim has. 

'This got to be a trap,' Ephraim narrowed his eyes at the two other companions of Jaxon, who were a distance away from them—not moving from their spot ever since their arrival in the carrack. Ephraim darted his eyes towards Jaxon. 'If this isn't a trap . . . then he's underestimating me,'

"It's really an honor to fight the dungeon conqueror, but he hasn't shown how he will use the vessel, so I can't just steal it when I don't even know how it works or what makes it so 'special'."

Ephraim's blue eyes gleamed, realizing something.

This guy . . . doesn't really know what the vessel is. 

Ephraim holds information at a high value. With a charge, he ran forward to attack. If he knows something this pirate doesn't know, then he's got a clear advantage!

Ephraim swung his sword straight to the pirate captain, who was continuously backing away whilst evading the attacks with his rapier. 

Earlier, he was all offensive, but now the captain is in a pinch. 

Or so he thinks.

Captain Jaxon Sparrows wasn't breaking a sweat or showing even the slightest hint of distress. He was still using his rapier in tip-top shape and was easily averting Ephraim's attacks—which were just generally continuous swings coming forward, with occasional left and right directions. Unlike Ephraim, Jaxon had a battle stance—the proper posture, the right way to handle his weapon of choice.

Jaxon was a.n.a.lyzing Ephraim's movements, predicting the next move. And it was easy to do. The dungeon conqueror's patterns were just arbitrary swings in which Jaxon considered as premature attacks. The sword had a gleam to it, a sound that was fine in the ears, and a faint sense of mana in its entirety. 

Although Ephraim's attacks were impulsive, they weren't actually random. The dungeon conqueror was actually adapting to Jaxon's rapier techniques by trying to get close to him as possible to bring his guard down. 

"How bold of you," Jaxon said. "But this ends here!"

Jaxon thrust his blade straight to Ephraim's chest—but Ephraim quickly averted it by rotating his body 270 degrees and then propelled an arm to swept his sword in order to hit Jaxon from the side. But Jaxon's reflexes were quicker, and so he jumped high and then leaped a meter away from Ephraim. He landed on the floor planks flawlessly, his boots not giving a creak to the floorboards. 

Ephraim panted; beads of sweat dabbled against his forehead and dripped through his temples. Jaxon was the complete opposite of Ephraim. He was still calm and composed as the first time he landed onto the ship. He didn't even break a sweat!

Ephraim gritted his teeth, glancing back to the opened hatch. Five of the enemies already went to chase Borgh and either they already took hold of him or they were still doing a cat and mouse chase. Either way, Ephraim doesn't know. He was, after all, stuck fighting the pirate captain who seemed to be just toying with him. 

"You're already tired from those random swings?" Jaxon taunted. "Are you really the dungeon conqueror?"

Ephraim focused his sword upfront again. He had to get this done with to help Borgh if reinforcement wouldn't come. 

"Well, you haven't even released the Vessel's magic, so I can't know for sure."

'Vessel's magic?' Ephraim repeated on the back of his mind.

"Coming here, with that Samuel saying you're a dungeon conqueror despite your age and . . . weak appearance," Jaxon a.s.serted, looking at Ephraim head to toe. "I thought I would have a thrilling magic battle, considering you're a conqueror with a special vessel . . ."

Ephraim again, advanced towards Jaxon with his sword ready to attack.

"The vessel looks formidable, indeed. The white and gold metal, the design, the strength it holds in itself . . ." Jaxon muttered, boredom in his eyes as he evaded Ephraim's attacks easily with his rapier. He sighed. "Haah. You have a formidable sword, but you're not a remarkable swordsman!"

Jaxon pointed his hook towards Ephraim, and before Ephraim could even muster to react or predict the pirate leader's next move, a lump of water in a shape of a large ball shot from the pirate's hook—along with the seawater from the ocean lumping together in a sphere wrapping around Ephraim's body. "What the—" Before Ephraim could finish his sentence, the water enveloping him covered his mouth and bind his legs and arms. Soon, his whole body was submerged inside a rotund, water cell. Ephraim, inside this water chamber, struggled for breath and squinted his eyes. 

"The salt.w.a.ter hurts much more than normal water, huh?" Ephraim's sword then slipped through the water barrier and then landed straight through Jaxon's palms. "What a heavy sword. Now I'll just have to see what's so special with this vessel."

Ephraim felt like his consciousness was fading from his lack of oxygen. He was drowning—the water barrier wasn't letting him out, even if he was trying to swim away from it. 

'This is bad . . .' Ephraim thought, seeing Jaxon's smirk while his eyelids impend to close.

"It is bad, indeed," Jaxon said. "But THEY called me and wanted you alive too, so I don't want you dying on me, dungeon conqueror."

'They? . . . who . . . who are . . . ?'

Before Ephraim's train of thoughts could continue, the oxygen his lungs were depleted from, took his consciousness astray.

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