Black Flag

"Pain! Indescribable pain! Byron felt as if an iron spike had pierced through his chest, cold and weak, as if something precious was rapidly flowing out of the hole. Every nerve was convulsing violently, emitting unbearable cries and screams under the overwhelming burden. Yet, he himself couldn't wake up, trapped in a long dream as if haunted. In that dream, there were two versions of himself, leading entirely different lives. The first version, born in an orphanage, is trapped in reality but harboring a dream of traveling the world. Unfortunately, just a few years into work, before saving enough for the journey, he was suddenly afflicted by a rare disease—amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS)! Starting from the upper limbs, he gradually lost all bodily functions. In a short span, he couldn't move, speak, swallow, or even breathe voluntarily. His body turned into a cage imprisoning a soul, dying helplessly and in despair. The other version, despite losing his mother at birth, had a strict yet kind father and a harmonious extended family. Plagued by intermittent mental disorders, most of the time, his wise and amiable uncle;a beautiful and gentle aunt treats him like her own son; a cousin who practiced hunting, swordsmanship, horsemanship together; Childhood sweetheart spending days chasing chickens and dogs; and many other united and friendly family members; loyal vassals, followers, and guardian knights... What's vexing is that these two segments of life in the dream were blurry from the beginning, like looking through thick mist, preventing Byron from recalling any details. He vaguely remembered being severely injured in a recent significant upheaval. The vast "memory palace" in his mind, constituting his personality, lost a crucial piece, leading to a cascading collapse. The unexpected exposure of the first segment of his life, serving as the foundation, helped him barely sustain the "palace" but also plunged it into chaos. Now, Byron was like a ship without an anchor, adrift in the fragmented stream of memories, disoriented. Except for deep-rooted instincts and common knowledge, even self-awareness was becoming blurred. After an indeterminate time, Byron's mind retained only one vivid memory: On a stormy night. A ship's bow is adorned with a blue dragon figurehead, a colossal vessel comparable to a mountain. His father in this life, with an anxious expression, seemed to be saying something, but Byron could only see his mouth moving without hearing any sound. Then, the chilling and piercing deep-sea water completely engulfed everything... At this moment, Byron instinctively felt that this might be the key to the upheaval. But the more he tried to grasp it, the faster these memories slipped away. "Who am I? What happened on that stormy night? Where did the other family members go?..." Just then. Splash! A large basin of icy seawater splashed onto his face, abruptly waking him from the nightmare. However, he completely missed the subtle glint that flickered and vanished in his sea-blue right eye when he opened them. Raising his head slowly, Byron was astonished to find himself lying in a sorry state among a group of drenched "ragamuffins," hands and feet bound with ropes. He was sprawled on the deck of a wooden sailing ship! Several ragged and ferocious-looking sailors stood towering over him, led by a burly man with a cutlass at his waist and a flintlock pistol, exuding a chilling, bloody aura. He took a big gulp from a rum bottle, clearly impatient: "You swines, don't lie on the deck playing dead. Captain's pets don't like motionless bodies. Get up, don't cause us trouble." At these words, Byron's heart sank as he discreetly surveyed his surroundings. Fresh marks of axes and bullets adorned the half-man-high bulwark, and on the open deck, golden bronze cannons emitted a strong scent of gunpowder. The seams on the deck retained traces of uncleaned murky blood... Looking around, sturdy but ragged sailors were busy retying broken ropes, repairing the damaged hull after the naval battle, or aiding the wounded. At the masthead of this sailboat, a black flag with a riding shark and a white skull hung high! Undoubtedly, this was a pirate ship that had just gone through a fierce bloodbath. Not more than a nautical mile in the direction of the stern, in the hazy milky mist, a dilapidated merchant ship was burning fiercely, sinking into the deep sea. It seemed that even after launching a counterattack against the pirate ship, it couldn't escape the fate of being looted and massacred. The blood flag flying high on the mast confirmed this. It was a symbol that left no survivors after the ship was captured! In theory, to deter those who dare to resist, this brutal execution would be carried out by pirates with almost no exceptions! Combining the words of the pirate leader, Byron's heart suddenly skipped a beat, realizing that something big was amiss. "Have I become a captive of a group of pirates? Will I be fed to some pet?" The surviving sailors from that merchant ship, mostly seasoned seafarers, were more sensitive to the impending danger than him. They also knew the notorious cruelty of the pirate group, known as the "Man-Eating Shark," active in the North Sea. Ignoring the blood on their bodies, one by one, they knelt and begged for mercy: "Mr. Bone-breaker, the captain gave the order to resist the captain. We've all surrendered, please, don't kill us!" "Spare me! I'm the gunner of the Pelican, I'm a technician. I'm willing to join the Man-Eating Shark!..." "..." The pirate leader, also the first mate named "Bonebreaker" Miles, remained unmoved. After taking another gulp of rum seized from the merchant ship, he revealed a cold and terrifying smile: "Unfortunately. Apart from the chef on your ship, who is said to have served nobility and betrayed your captain, gaining a chance to prove his worth. The rest of you don't qualify for the mercy of Captain's 'Blood Eye.' Enough nonsense, those little things should be eager by now. Send them down!" With a wave of his hand, a group of fierce pirates immediately approached and lifted the terrified captives from the deck. Pronouncing a death sentence without mercy, many sailors collapsed mentally. "You sea maggots, and that despicable traitor, none of you will have a good ending!" "I pray that the legendary ghost ship takes away my soul. The sea undead will one day avenge the living! God won't forgive you!" "..." Some cursed loudly, some issued curses, and some urgently prayed to their gods. In the final group of sailors standing before their execution, some who were aware of the situation realized that these pirates weren't merely executing them; they were conducting an extremely cruel blood sacrifice ritual! "Compared to that rubbery kid playing house, this is the true face of a pirate!" Standing in the last group of sailors, whose expressions were equally grim, Byron instinctively spoke words that puzzled others, even himself. But his words were drowned out as the pirates roughly pushed him onto the narrow gangplank. Just a stone's throw away, churning waves of blood-red sea and dozens of sharp-toothed, bloodthirsty mouths awaited him. If nothing unexpected happened, he feared he wouldn't have the chance to recover his memories or unearth the lost truth.