Chapter Sixty-Two: The Five Earth Slave Guards

“Foolish slaves who don’t know their place!” Feng Xiong, tall and imposing in his golden armor with the Golden Spirit Sword at his side, sat upon his sable-covered grand chair, his eyes coldly surveying the deck below. There, his pirates and the captive slaves fought in a frenzied melee, while a slight twitch played at the corner of his mouth.

Every time a captive died, it meant a fortune in gold and jewels lost—a pain he felt deep in his bones.

“Brothers, fight! Even if we die, we will not become slaves!” From among the captives, a young man in a blue robe cried out fiercely, wielding a staff of spirit-wood and hurling it madly at a pirate armed with a long spear.

A dull crack rang out. The spear-wielding pirate, who had just run a defenseless civilian through the chest, had not yet withdrawn his weapon before the spirit-wood staff struck his head.

The pirate’s vision spun; he hadn’t the strength to reclaim his spear. He toppled stiffly onto the deck.

“Die!” cried the blue-robed captive. The pirate he attacked had just mortally wounded his friend—a fellow victim, deceived into slavery on this ship. They had been close even before captivity, and after sharing life and death aboard this pirate vessel, they were like sworn brothers.

Rage consumed the blue-robed warrior. He smashed the spear-wielding pirate to the deck, then stomped on him mercilessly.

He didn’t know how many times he stomped, each blow carrying a hundred or two hundred pounds of force, until the pirate’s corpse was nothing but mangled flesh.

A short sword suddenly plunged into the blue-robed captive’s abdomen.

He failed to dodge in time. Blood spurted from his mouth; gritting his teeth against the searing pain, his bloodshot eyes glared with feral hostility at the pirate who had stabbed him.

The short-sword pirate felt a faint chill of unease—his blow was not immediately fatal, but the captive was gravely wounded and should have been weakened, less of a threat.

Before the pirate could withdraw his blade, he felt the captive’s blood-slicked hand clamp around it.

“If I’m dying, I’m taking you with me!” the blue-robed captive snarled, yanking the sword free so hard that blood sprayed the pirate’s face. Then he lunged at him, teeth bared.

“Damn it! Where did he get such strength? He was only at the early stage of body refinement—how could he burst out with such power?” the pirate thought, his expression faltering.

For an injured fighter not even at the mid-stage of body refinement to seize his weapon was nothing short of suicide.

“Die!” the pirate shouted, kicking the captive savagely in the abdomen.

A strangled groan escaped the blue-robed man as he was sent flying twenty or thirty feet, blood jetting from his wound in a crimson arc.

“At last, it’s over…” he thought, closing his eyes while his body crashed heavily onto the deck.

“Hmph, like a mantis trying to stop a chariot—overestimating yourself!” sneered the pirate, brandishing his sword with contempt before searching for his next target.

The lives of captives were worth less than grass—easily snuffed out. After all, they were mere slaves.

“Big brother, wake up!” Several captives rushed to the fallen blue-robed man, calling out desperately, tears streaming down their faces.

“Damn you! I’ll kill you!” roared a burly captive, snatching up the slain man’s spirit-wood staff and charging at the short-sword pirate, his fury driving him forward.

Sparks flew as sword met staff.

“You’re stronger than I expected,” the pirate muttered, quickly gauging his opponent’s strength—roughly equal to his own.

In a fight like this, the outcome was hard to predict.

But the burly man was blinded by rage, his strength multiplied in his frenzy. Yet such fury often left openings for a skilled opponent.

The pirate was not willing to risk his life for an uncertain victory. Against this rabble, the outcome was already decided. Why gamble with his life?

He immediately retreated, vanishing into the chaos on the deck, seeking weaker prey—only against the weakest captives could he be certain of victory.

“Coward! Where do you think you’re going?” the burly captive shouted, pursuing him through the melee.

“A mere slave dares to act so bold? Courting death!” A cold, deep voice thundered behind him.

The burly man’s hair stood on end, a chill crawling down his spine. He tried to retreat, but it was too late.

A pirate in black stabbed out with his sword, a flash of white light slicing through the air, aimed straight at the burly captive’s back.

Cloth tore and sword energy bit into flesh; the man shut his eyes in despair, awaiting death.

Suddenly, a clear ring of steel sounded; the black-clad pirate’s sword vibrated violently, numbing his arm.

He looked up in shock.

A swordsman in white had appeared, his garments fluttering, his bearing extraordinary. Gao Jian had come to the burly man’s rescue, sparing barely a glance for the black-clad pirate, whom he dismissed as no threat.

Across the deck, the captives, though numerous, could only barely hold back the pirates’ onslaught. Their defeat was a matter of time.

Yet others—Mo Ling, Li Ruofeng, Lin Zhi, and more—now rushed to the heart of the battle, joining the fray.

These two or three dozen warriors had survived brutal combat on the island and through the tide of sea beasts. Their skills and coordination far surpassed those of the other captives.

Although they could not reverse the tide, pirate casualties began to mount—three or four pirates fell within moments.

“These must be the warriors captured from the raft days ago,” Captain Feng’s brow furrowed.

These pirates were his seasoned men, brothers who had sailed with him for years—their deaths pained him far more than those of the slaves.

“These men have some skill. Earthslave Five Guards, take them down!” Captain Feng barked.

At his side, five black-clad warriors, almost forgotten amidst the chaos, knelt silently.

They were not his crew, nor common pirates, but his private property—servants purchased at great cost from a great family on the Mainland, descendants of the East Sea Earthslaves.

The East Sea Earthslaves had lived for generations on remote islands, renowned for their prodigious strength. Captured by warriors, sold to aristocrats as laborers or maids, their descendants continued in bondage, trained at great expense to serve as guards and attendants.

Simple-minded and loyal, these Earthslaves made perfect guardians. Even if they became peerless fighters, they would never betray their masters.

“Yes, Master!” the five guards replied, rising as one. In stillness, they were almost invisible; in motion, they exuded a lethal aura found only in elite warriors.

The captives turned pale with dread. It was these five who had slaughtered many of their strongest fighters before.