Kaizoku Tensei: Transmigrated Into A Pirate Eroge-Chapter 35: [] The Ghost in His Blood

The square exploded with the joyous chaos of liberation.

Shouts and laughter crashed into weeping cheers. Mika’s father swept her into a wild spin, her giggles lost in the roar. An old woman, her face cracked with joy, flung her fishing net skyward where it hung for a moment like a bizarre constellation before falling back into the celebrating mob.

He was still catching his breath when the town swarmed him. Hands clapped his shoulders, jarring his aching ribs. Someone shoved a bottle into his hands, and he drank without thinking.

The cheap spirit scorched his throat, but the burn was a welcome relief. It was better than the phantom taste lingering on his tongue—the ghost of Hardy’s essence.

Children ran between legs, waving makeshift flags made from colorful scraps. A group of fishermen hoisted each other onto their shoulders, forming a human tower that swayed dangerously.

A flash of mismatched hair caught his attention—red and white, bright as a banner. Raven. She maneuvered between the celebrating islanders, her blue eyes fixed on him with an intensity that silenced the noise around him.

"You did it," she said when she reached him. "The bastard’s finished." She glanced over at Hardy’s crumpled form.

"We did it," he corrected.

We? What a joke.

She couldn’t feel it. The slick film that coated the inside of his skin, the phantom taste of ozone and iron on his tongue. It wasn’t a snake coiled in his gut; it was worse. It was a poison that had become part of his blood, a low, discordant hum beneath the noise of the celebration. A quiet wrongness that was no longer on him, but in him. Waiting.

Raven studied his face, her blue eyes narrowed. Her hand rose, fingers slightly curled, and for a second, he thought she was going to touch his cheek. He almost leaned into the gesture, craving a simple, grounding touch. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

But she stopped, her hand hovering an inch from his skin before she seemed to think better of it and let it drop.

"You look different. Older, maybe. What did you do to him?" Her voice dropped lower, meant only for his ears amid the celebration.

Before Pierre could answer, another voice cut through the noise.

"Red."

He turned. Alyssa Hardy was moving through the crowd. People parted for her, but not cleanly. An old fisherman met her gaze and gave a slow, respectful nod of sympathy. A young mother pulled her child behind her skirt, a shadow of wariness in her eyes. Alyssa, lost in her own world, noticed neither.

Up close, Pierre could see the exhaustion in her green eyes. Dark circles shadowed her face, and her blonde hair hung limp around her shoulders. She looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Her Navy uniform, usually pristine, was wrinkled and stained with what might have been tears.

"Is he...?" She gestured toward her father’s unconscious form, where two islanders stood guard, their faces solemn.

"Alive," Pierre said simply.

Alyssa nodded slowly, as if she’d expected that answer. She studied Hardy’s peaceful face, searching for some trace of the man who had raised her, terrorized her, and ultimately driven her to rebellion. Her fingers twisted together nervously, nails digging into her palms.

"Thank you." The words came out barely above a whisper. "For not just..." She gestured vaguely, unable to finish the sentence. Her eyes flicked to the sword at his hip, then away.

Pierre nodded. He understood. In a world where tyrants were usually dealt with through rope or blade, showing mercy was almost radical. But mercy came with its own price. Reynolds appeared beside them, flanked by two junior officers. The Lieutenant Commander looked older than his years, the stress of the morning etched into the lines around his eyes. His uniform was torn at the shoulder, and a thin cut ran along his jawline.

"We’ll... have to take him into custody.’ Reynolds gestured wearily at Hardy’s still form. "There’ll be an investigation. A trial. Naval Headquarters... they’re not going to ignore this."

"Tell them the truth," Pierre said. "Tell them Captain Hardy suffered a complete mental breakdown and had to be relieved of command for the safety of everyone involved." He met Reynolds’ gaze steadily, daring him to contradict the story.

Reynolds nodded slowly. "And you? You’re still wanted for—"

"No, he’s not." Alyssa’s voice was firm. Her chin lifted. Her spine straightened, snapping into place with the familiar, arrogant posture she wore like armor.

"The charges against Red were fabricated by myself and my father. I’m withdrawing all complaints."

"But Lady Alyssa—"

"I’m not ’Lady’ anything anymore. I resign my commission. Effective immediately."

Reynolds opened his mouth. Closed it. He scrubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders slumping. The world had tilted off its axis. He gave up trying to right it.

"Get a stretcher," he said to his men, his voice utterly spent. "For the... former Captain."

As the Navy personnel moved to collect Hardy, Pierre felt a hand on his arm. Raven had moved close enough that he could smell the salt spray in her hair. Her fingers were warm against his skin, a contrast to the cold emptiness spreading through him.

"We should go," she murmured. "Before they change their minds about those charges." Her eyes darted toward the harbor, where their ship waited. "There’s nothing more for us here."

His gaze drifted past the celebrating faces. Near the shattered base of the statue, a fisherman jabbed a finger at a merchant, not in anger, but in passionate debate over storeroom inventory. A woman with a ledger—where had she even gotten it?—was already taking names for a repair crew.

An old man, using a charred stick as chalk, was sketching a new dock in the dirt for a rapt audience. They weren’t just celebrating. They were rebuilding. And in all of it, not a single person looked his way.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Let’s go." He adjusted his hat, pulling it lower over his eyes.

They were almost clear of the square, the harbor and its promise of freedom just ahead. He heard his name—no, his moniker—called from behind. ’Red! Wait!’ He turned. Alyssa Hardy stood alone, the crowd parting around her as if she were an island. She took a deep breath, the kind one takes before a plunge into icy water, and then she ran.

"What’s wrong with her?" Raven asked.

Pierre shrugged. "I have no idea."

She caught up to them, grabbing Pierre’s arm. Her chest was heaving, her cheeks flushed.

"Take me with you."