"Hey, hey, get ready!" Three minutes later, Rex arrived at the ventilation shaft like a gale, diving in.

  "Nothing to say. Been ready." Amon blinked his small eyes excitedly. Bullied by pirates for so long, suppressed rage burning—how could he miss this opportunity?

  "Hmph. Where'd the brat run?" The tall pirate lumbered close. His ears caught a pop as fireball kissed flesh.

  Amon had tried his best. But this pirate clearly held rank. A transparent membrane appeared before him. Attack nullified. Both stared, then screamed: "Mother of—run!"

  They vanished into the ventilation depths. Confirming safety, Rex clutched his chest, still shaking, apologetic: "Sorry. First try brought heavyweight opposition. Good thing we're fast. These pirates wear shells and carry weapons. Killing them won't be simple."

  "Yeah, definitely not easy. We should leave quickly." Amon's voice trembled.

  Their first attempt ended in failure—much sound and fury, signifying nothing. They deliberated, deciding to observe first. Blind action was clearly unwise.

  Crawling from the vent, they scanned surroundings in dim light. A pirate lounge. Several pool tables. Alcohol. Playing cards scattered across the floor. Departed in haste.

  Rex approached a table silently, lifted a bottle, sniffed, handed it to Amon: "Strong spirits. Should amplify your flames."

  Amon grinned: "Good stuff. Collect bottles for molotovs. Watch my brilliance!"

  "Don't celebrate early. Concentrated bottles might help, but significant damage will be difficult."

  Rex turned to a refrigerator on the left. Opening it, cold air rushed out. The contents weren't expired junk—genuine feast. He grabbed grapes, chewing happily.

  "Amon, eat. We have refrigerator and water source. Perhaps we should fortify this lounge."

  "Fortify? How?"

  Rex smiled cunningly: "Krobakla."

  Amon rolled his eyes, shaking his head like a rattle-drum, irritated: "I'd rather face pirates than that ice-cold one. Why suggest terrible ideas?"

  "Brother, you'll see reason. You and Krobakla coordinating is optimal strategy. Many metals weaken under rapid temperature shifts. We've survived this long—what can't we release?"

  "Fine. You find them. I won't. Cooperation yes, but don't expect me to be friendly."

  "Rest assured. I'll return quickly. You stay careful. Arrange tables and chairs as obstacles."

  "Understood."

  They separated. Rex climbed into the ventilation, crawling forward.

  Finding someone in this chaos wasn't easy. He gripped the peacock talisman, hoping for luck. Just a little.

  Back against the wall, he carefully turned toward the cargo hold at a corner. Roars echoed—intense fighting.

  Hiding in shadows, he observed. Three youths surrounded by floating metal fragments faced a pirate squad.

  Pirate weapons were uniform—all shock-lances. Perhaps the Chieftain's deliberate choice. The three youths easily intercepted attacks with metal fragments, counterattacking occasionally. Stalemate. But Rex noticed something.

  Pirates were fierce, experienced. They covered each other, coordinated. Yet their combat effectiveness wasn't as high as imagined. Those operating alone were the true threats—or bait. Ambushing isolated pirates would backfire. Low success rate.

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  He watched briefly, then crept elsewhere. Few youths dared direct confrontation—only those whose abilities countered shock-lances. His own mission mattered more.

  He searched for Mana and Nord, checking five or six locations without success. Time dragged. Anxiety mounted: "Krobakla, where are you? Hard to find."

  Five meters ahead, a pirate suddenly stood. Both froze. The pirate shouted: "Here! A brat!"

  Rex panicked. Familiar sizzling began. One hit meant death. Fortunately, his parents gave him excellent legs. No other skills, but he'd learned escape first.

  Pure reflex. Ability activated. Whoosh—he launched forward. No straight lines. After ten meters, ignoring ankle limits, he changed direction, zigzagged, vanished into darkness.

  Sweat dripped down his face. High-speed movement consumed stamina severely. Nearly finished. Suddenly, roaring ahead. The floor shook. He flattened. Cold air swept past.

  "Krobakla?" His expression darkened. After the airflow ceased, he reached the battle site. In dim light, exploded remains covered everything.

  "Terrifying."

  Despite accustomed to blood, his stomach turned. Rex searched quickly, finding one intact shock-lance and half armor. Various items. Most importantly, beneath half a torso, he found Krobakla.

  "Good. Not dead. Just stunned. Such intense vibration will attract attention. Must leave."

  Ignoring exhaustion, Rex carried Krobakla back. Fortunately, pirates lacked trackers. Several dangers encountered, avoided through superior speed. Finally reached the ventilation shaft.

  The shaft was narrow—excellent shelter for slim youths. But crawling with an unconscious adult was extremely difficult. Rex shook Krobakla, whispering: "Wake up. Unconsciousness is poor timing now."

  After persistent calling, Krobakla's cold face moved slightly. Eyes opened slowly. A tear fell.

  "You alright?" Rex scratched his head. While carrying Krobakla, he'd discovered she was actually a girl—excellently concealed. Normally surrounded by cold aura, few penetrated the disguise.

  "You saved me? Thanks. I owe my life. Will repay when possible." Krobakla spoke flatly.

  "What happened?" Rex asked casually.

  Krobakla's eyes held pain. She explained slowly: "My companion perished with eight pirates. Used his body to shield me in final moments. His debt, I can never repay."

  Hearing this, Rex felt deep respect. Suicidal strike taking eight enemies. Tragic. Powerful.

  "Don't grieve. Wear this armor. Follow me. We need your help."

  Though heavy, extra protection helped. Rex relied on speed—such stamina-wasting items he couldn't afford.

  Entering the previous lounge, Amon jumped over, worried: "Thought you were dead. Why so long?"

  "Long? Finding someone in this vessel isn't easy. Look—shock-lance, various items. Hopefully useful."

  Clatter. Blood-soaked items rolled across the floor. Amon dove in, small eyes gleaming, head shaking as he organized.

  Thirty-five Blue Gold coins total. One apparently expensive wristwatch. One metal miniature first-aid kit—containing hemostatic agents and painkillers. Valuable supplies.

  "Hey, greedy Amon. These were Krobakla's trophies. Shock-lance and first-aid kit are communal. Other items we earn ourselves."

  "Tch. Should've said earlier."

  Amon looked disappointed, pouting: "This kid's that strong? Got so many trophies."

  Krobakla's face chilled further. "These things mean nothing to me. Don't want them. Divide them yourselves."

  Amon immediately revived: "See? She doesn't care about your goodwill. In that case, I won't be polite."

  Rex considered. His mental strength was weak. Becoming a Warrior required mental force as prerequisite. The gap would widen. He needed sufficient Blue Gold from this battle for future needs.

  Rex didn't object, speaking seriously: "Blue Gold distribution comes last. Let's prepare. Individual pirates—equipment and strength formidable. Rather than hunting one wolf, better to trap a flock of man-eating sheep. This lounge has refrigerator and water source. Krobakla, store cold energy maximally. Create ice layer on the floor. Amon, accumulate firepower quickly. Cold and flame must coordinate tightly—cause heavy damage and chaos. Then I charge in with shock-lance, eliminate opponents. You provide support."

  The three prepared urgently. With the refrigerator's help, Krobakla stored cold energy endlessly, pouring all resentment in, mood slightly improving. Amon arranged bottles, compressing flames in his hands.

  Approximately fifteen minutes later, they nodded to each other. Rex departed with grave expression.

  Perhaps ice and fire's incompatibility was innate. Privately, Krobakla turned her face away. Amon was equally disdainful.

  Meanwhile, Rex circled, finally finding seven pirates. Apparently suffered considerably—disheveled appearance.

  Naturally, pick soft persimmons. Heart hardened, he charged out.

  "Look! Turquoise Ring brat! Team Zero-Three-Four calling! Team Zero-Three-Four calling! Approaching Lounge Three! Approaching Lounge Three! Nearby personnel converge! Eliminate enemy!"

  Rex fumed. What was this? Robbing the chicken, losing the rice? Another pirate squad poured from the corridor's other side.

  "Too ruthless. Two squads, fifteen pirates. Fine. Life or death. Let's gamble."