Chapter 7: Lafite, 782 AD

Chapter 7: 7.82 Lafite

Another morning dawned. Today, Dakhus woke up earlier than before because the entire ship was restless, and the air was thick with the scent of blood.

On the deck, Dastan Cold-Eye was still at the helm, while Edmund was busy drilling the soldiers. Dakhus observed the Druchii on board and felt they were working and training more diligently today, as if they couldn't wait for time to pass.

Dakhus leaned against the deck railing, a knowing smile playing on his lips, and beckoned Dastan Cold-Eye and Edmund over.

"Good morning, My Lord, Young Master."

"Morning. Are the statistics out yet?"

Dastan Cold-Eye said cruelly, "Young Master, a total of three hundred and sixty-three Asur have been captured. The loot is still being tallied."

"Ho, nice. Does this meet the quota? How many soldiers died in action?"

As he spoke, Dakhus clapped his hands exaggeratedly.

Dakhus had to complete the Haxier Trial, a Druchii tradition. After a noble comes of age at sixteen, they must undertake a raiding voyage, pillaging along the coastline to earn family status and rank based on the wealth plundered.

Living Asur were the most valuable; in Druchii society, they were said to be worth their weight in gold. Druchii nobles would buy them at high prices for unspeakable purposes, but most were sacrificed to Khaine or turned into the leather goods that the Druchii were obsessed with—things like boots, carpets, caftans, sofas, and sails.

Dastan Cold-Eye began to flatter him: "Yes, congratulations, Young Master. No one has ever raided Ulthuan during the Haxier Trial."

Dakhus smiled and looked at Edmund, asking, "Losses?"

Edmund also chimed in with flattery: "Congratulations, My Lord. Thirty-nine soldiers died in battle the night before last, eight were seriously wounded, and many others suffered minor injuries."

"Pacify the soldiers and crew; the loot will be distributed after we weigh it back home. Don't go killing off my inventory—those are shiny Sovereigns. By the way, how much longer are we going to be drifting?"

Dastan Cold-Eye gathered his thoughts and said, "My Lord, nearly five months left."

Hearing there were still five months to go, Dakhus looked pained, as he truly disliked drifting on the sea.

"Then let's go take a turn around Bretonnia."

Two months later, at midnight, Dakhus was woken up by Dastan Cold-Eye. The *Cold Winter* had encountered a Bretonnian merchant ship, and the moment the other side saw them, they turned and fled.

Dakhus, fully armored, stood on the deck, looking at the fleeing ship in the distance, and asked, "Where are we?"

"Young Master, we are almost at Bordeleaux."

"Brionne was raided by Rakarth not long ago, right?"

"Yes, Young Master, only thirty-five years ago."

"Chase it down, sink it! Let's get some '82 vintage wine to drink."

Dastan Cold-Eye, confused, began issuing orders to pursue. The alarm bells rang, and the soldiers and crew took their positions. The canvas-covered Reaper Bolt Throwers were revealed. These were the Druchii’s instruments of slaughter; the heavy weapons, consisting of massive winches and crossbow strings, could fire a hail of bolts or a single bolt capable of piercing dragon hide. The bolts were all barbed, making them nearly impossible to pull out once they struck. Those who were hit but didn't die immediately would suffer immense agony when the bolts were removed, and those who survived by luck would be left as useless cripples, worth less than slaves.

The opponent was merely a carrack-like merchant ship. The three-masted raider quickly caught up, and the Reaper Bolt Throwers on deck began firing at the merchant ship's waterline. The ship cracked open in response, wood splinters flying everywhere. After three volleys, the two ships began sailing side-by-side, and the Reaper Bolt Throwers switched to scatter-shot mode, aiming at the sailors on deck. The Bretonnian sailors let out desperate screams. As the bolt throwers and repeating crossbows fired, the crew on the merchant ship's deck fell like harvested leeks. The ground was littered with corpses, and the sound of wailing made Dakhus’s heart ache.

Dakhus shook his head, thinking to himself, "Why be a perfectly good, supreme peasant when you have to come out and sail?" After this thought, he burst into laughter, pointed his index and middle fingers at the merchant ship, and said, "I, a noble, am kind-hearted; I can't bear to hear these sounds. Leave no one alive!"

Hearing the order, the soldiers and crew were excited. Iron hooks and ropes were thrown across, and the impatient Black Ark Corsairs and crew swung over directly.

The boarding battle began, and as expected, it was a one-sided slaughter. Dastan Cold-Eye and Ryan also jumped over; Dastan had been left behind too many times and hadn't stretched his limbs in a while. Alissa stood a sword's length away from Dakhus, holding her golden snake staff, watching his profile. She showed no interest in the battle and couldn't even be bothered to cast a spell.

Dakhus sensed that Alissa had been watching him, staring intently at the merchant ship across the way.

As the sounds of slaughter rose, Alissa gathered her courage and slowly moved closer. Dakhus, helpless, turned his head and looked at her indifferently.

Alissa stopped, looking at Dakhus as if wanting to say something, but unable to get the words out. By the firelight, Dakhus could vaguely see her face flushed red, so he quickly made small talk: "Aren't you going over to have some fun?"

Alissa shook her head and said, "My Lord, it's boring."

Dakhus stood up and shrugged, saying, "Then I'm going over to see what good loot is on that ship." With that, he jumped across.

Alissa walked back to the cabin, dejected. Franis was lying on the bed watching her, sighing as he said, "He rejected you? That's for the best." Alissa shouted at her brother in anger, "Brother!" and turned back to her own cabin.

The battle was nearing its end, save for the poor wretches putting up a final struggle in the lower deck.

Dakhus hacked a crewman who was struggling on the ground to death and stepped directly over his body, lamenting, "Oh, my dear, may Lileath protect you. No, wait, sorry—may Manann protect you."

He lifted the canvas cover; the cargo hold was packed full of oak barrels, and a rich aroma wafted out, intoxicating him.

Dakhus took a deep breath and praised, "Asuryan’s fire! How does that saying go? Wine isn't necessarily better the older it is, nor is it necessarily better the more expensive it is; only the one that suits you is the best."

*Bang!*

A lead bullet shattered the deck right next to Dakhus’s foot, embedding itself in the oak barrel beside him, startling him into jumping up. From the lower deck came a woman’s shrill roar and the sound of weapons clashing.

"Damn it, what the hell?"

Dakhus, still shaken, cursed and swore as he shouldered his blade and hurried down to the lower deck.

"Who the hell fired that shot!"

Dastan Cold-Eye was holding his twin blades, locked in a standoff with a woman wielding a dueling sword. The smoking flintlock pistol lay on the floor nearby, and the Black Ark Corsairs had surrounded her with repeating hand crossbows.

Dakhus leaned in and looked at the woman. She was average-looking, wearing a court dress with wavy hair, but he had an indescribable feeling about her.

"My dear captain, I’ll bet you that this woman is older than you. The stakes are ten percent of the loot after it's weighed."

Dastan Cold-Eye stepped back twice, turned, and looked at Dakhus in shock, his expression saying, *You’re not joking, are you?*

Dakhus gave a provocative smile at Dastan Cold-Eye.

Dastan Cold-Eye gritted his teeth and said, "You're on. A treasure map."

What does it mean to be bad at something but still addicted to it?

(End of chapter)