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The Shanty Codex I, by Saint Morgan LeFay.
Heartbeats.
Persistent, unyielding heartbeats.
It had been a week since Francis downed the Observation Fragment, yet the thumping remained sharper than ever.
He could deactivate it at will, of course, but it didn’t feel… right. Every room felt more lively, every encounter provided more knowledge.
He could now tell who was lying, who was flustered, even who had an ailment relating to their heart.
And all it took was one suspicious vial.
And one step further down the abyss.
When he first heard of Fragments, he couldn’t understand why such knowledge was more guarded than Submerging. But looking at Leonie, who was seated across from him, explained a great deal.
The woman was still formidable in her own right, but it was on borrowed power. Chop off the finger housing her ring, and she would become as defenseless as a lamb.
That was no longer the case, however. Throughout the last week, the pair had tried all sorts of attacks: punches, slashes, stabs, even bullets. All were futile; none could so much as graze her.
“So,” Leonie said as she tapped the table gently. “Got any bounties you would like to go after?”
“Got any leads that I could go after?” Francis replied in amusement, keeping the gloom to himself.
Leonie held her chin in contemplation. “Does Ironhook sound interesting enough?”
The fact that the man had a higher bounty than Eloise was alarming, but then again, bounties weren’t a power scale.
“Depends on his repertoire,” Francis said.
“Have no fear. He’s a mere Acolyte,” said the woman who wasn’t even a Submerged.
“Artifacts?”
“An Ignition necklace and a Putrefaction glove,” Leonie added.
Francis’ growing paranoia immediately jumped to the man hiding more up his sleeve, but the thought quickly grew irrational, as even a Supplicant-level artifact was already rare enough.
I guess having a Saint as your benefactor makes you detached from reality.
Yet even then, he only had two artifacts to his name, one of them being Supplicant-level.
Francis leaned closer. “Location?”
Leonie, in turn, leaned back before baring her teeth like a predator. “La Fortuna.”
Francis hadn’t the slightest clue what that was.
“The island’s biggest casino, which… does say much, all things considered,” Leonie explained further.
“Wanna take down a gambler mid-game?” Francis asked, amusement returning to his voice.
“Gambler?” Leonie scoffed. “He’s the boss.”
Francis wanted to protest, even refuse. But quite frankly, there was no reason to. The town contained plenty of garbage, and it was a moral obligation to clean it.
***
Blackbeard hated sleeping.
Ever since he became a Saint, plenty of bodily constraints had become mostly optional. He ate once a week, seldom took a bath as sweating was a thing of the past, and slept only one hour a day.
One would expect better sleep quality when all you need is an hour. Yet life continued to be as absurd as ever.
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“Captain! We’re under attack!” one of his subordinates said from behind the door.
“Coming,” he said after composing himself, refusing to sound groggy.
The Pirate King wore his black naval coat in haste, then stepped outside his room.
“What are we dealing with?” he asked his subordinate as they walked toward the building’s exit.
“A fleet of half a dozen warships, all bearing the flag of the New York fraud.”
So he declared war, huh.
That served Teach just fine. It would at least provide a pretense when negotiating with the other Pirate Kings.
As soon as the pair left the building, they heard cannonballs being fired.
Half the shots landed in the water, sparing his fort much of the damage, while the others continued heading straight toward his crew.
At last, it was time to put the new artifact to use.
Thanks to his Shanty of Deprivation, the artifact ceased being bound by material restraints, allowing him to summon it at will.
Blackbeard swiftly extended a hand, grabbed the elegant sword, then slashed the air.
Within less than a second, all the cannonballs exploded midair, leaving his men unharmed.
He focused his attention on the fleet itself, then used the Shanty of Ruin’s Devastation.
Suddenly, the sky lit up with a thousand lights, and they all headed toward the half-dozen ships.
Normally, the lightning storm would’ve devastated any and all in its path, but the armada remained untouched.
For the first time in a while, Blackbeard was utterly perplexed.
He was also more determined than ever before. Whatever the “Pirate Emperor” used, it wasn’t allowed to touch the sun for much longer.
Unlike most artifacts, this one had its own saintly miracle—though testing it on an entire armada was experimental, even for him.
Better to stick to a more reliable method.
Blackbeard extended his free hand, then focused all of his energy into a singular point. Contrary to popular belief, Saint-level Stanzas were by no means miracles; otherwise, they wouldn’t have taken as much of his concentration.
Luckily, the Stanza revealed itself shortly after, enabling him in turn to focus on the ships in the far distance.
He then unleashed Plunder.
The world went quiet. At least until his crew began cheering.
Blackbeard never understood where Plunder took its prey, and he didn’t care. The armada was gone, and that was enough.
For now.
“Robert!” Teach shouted, prompting the lad to sprint.
“Yes, captain?”
“Sail your division to the west. We need to coordinate a mass mobilization.”
***
“So,” Leonie said from beside the hiding Francis. “How do you plan to go about this?”
The woman was unbelievable. One Fragment, and she was suddenly both an intel broker and a bounty hunter.
“Did you really have to come?” Francis asked, slightly irritated.
He was truly grateful to the woman for taking care of him for as long as she did, but he also didn’t want her to get killed due to her curiosity.
“Don’t you remember our tests?” Leonie replied dismissively.
“I do,” Francis said. “But you won’t be facing daggers and bullets. You’ll be facing Stanzas.”
To her credit, she nodded in acknowledgment. “I’ll be careful.”
Careful didn’t mean much in a world where you were one unknown Stanza away from oblivion, but he took her word for it.
“Question stands, Francis.”
I’ll never get used to her calling me that.
“Depends on how recognizable my face is,” he replied.
“Eh,” Leonie shrugged. “After that week-long coma of yours, then keeping a low profile for an extra week, the town seems to have already forgotten about your existence.”
“Works for me,” Francis said in anticipation. “Front door it is, then.”
The pair emerged from the shadows, deciding that acting like petty thieves was the wrong approach, then headed toward the front door.
Francis half expected the guards stationed there to recognize him, but he thankfully passed by undisturbed.
As soon as they saw the establishment from within, Francis realized how misleading the name casino was. The place was for gambling, sure, but it was by no means as grand as casinos usually were.
Not that he’d been to any.
The games barely offered variety, as most of what he saw was cards, dice, and a relatively modern game called roulette.
Claustrophobia aside, he nudged Leonie toward one of the roulette sections.
“Why not cards or dice?” Leonie asked.
“Because I don’t want to talk to drunks.”
The woman chuckled. “Fair enough.”
As they drew nearer, the croupier noticed them and immediately began preparing. “Good evening, sir. Care to play some roulette?”
Francis didn’t, but assaulting the owner head-on was even less desirable. So blowing money it was.
“Sure,” Francis said simply.
“Of course,” the croupier said as he finished preparing. “Black, or red?”
I don’t care.
“Hmm,” Francis feigned contemplation. “Red.”
“Very well,” the man said. “But before that, how much are you betting, sir?”
That was a good question. Francis had to spend enough to attract Ironhook’s attention, but not enough to end up destitute.
“Five silver,” he replied, placing them on the table.
“Very well,” the man said before spinning the wheel.
Francis’ focus was far from the silly game; instead, he activated Observation and thoroughly assessed his surroundings.
The hearts were as vibrant as ever, but Stanzas were nowhere to be felt.
“Red!” the croupier said, filling out a slip of paper and handing it to him. “Care for another game, sir?”
“Sure,” Francis said, placing ten gold pounds on the table.
The motion caught the croupier by surprise, undoubtedly lamenting the prospect of handing over ten gold pounds—
something that had a fifty percent chance of happening.
Well. Almost.
“Very well,” he said after a long pause, as sweat began to form on his forehead.
The man spun the roulette, and luckily for him, it landed on black.
“Better luck next time, sir,” he said as he slowly retrieved the gold.
“It better be,” Francis said, throwing thirty gold pounds onto the table.
Thank you, Dirty Fang.
The croupier only grew paler as he began visibly shaking.
Luckily for him, the establishment interfered.
“Sir,” a man behind Francis said. “The owner wants to see you.”