The sailor stood at the entrance of the lower deck, his breathing ragged as he pointed a trembling sword at Zhao Ming and the others. His red scarf fluttered slightly in the dim lantern light.


    "Don''t try anything funny," he warned, his voice rough with tension. "Stay where you are, or you''ll regret it."


    Zhao Ming narrowed his eyes, noting the sweat on the sailor’s brow and the way his grip on the weapon tightened. He wasn’t just issuing a threat—he was stalling.


    Murong Xue and Gao Ren exchanged glances. They had been in enough battles to recognize the signs. Whatever was happening above deck, this man was here to keep them from interfering.


    Gao Ren took a slow step forward, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. "Relax, friend," he said with a smirk. "No need to be so tense. We’re just passengers, after all."


    The sailor flinched, eyes darting between them. Then, from the shadows, a figure moved.


    Before the sailor could react, a mercenary sprang from behind a wooden beam, seizing his sword arm and wrenching it back. The sailor barely had time to gasp before another mercenary struck him hard at the base of his skull. His body went limp, collapsing in a heap.


    Gao Ren let out a short chuckle. "Nice work."


    One of the mercenaries knelt, quickly tying the unconscious man’s hands behind his back before yanking the red scarf from his neck. He examined it with a frown. “Looks like he’s part of a group.”


    Zhao Ming crouched beside them, studying the sailor’s face. “He was buying time for the others.” His expression darkened. “Let’s move.”


    With weapons drawn, they climbed the stairs leading to the deck. The moment Zhao Ming stepped outside, chaos engulfed him.


    The ship was a battlefield. Sailors fought each other with whatever they had—knives, clubs, fists. Some defended the captain, while others seemed bent on overthrowing him. A storm still lingered on the horizon, and the ship rocked dangerously as the struggle raged on.


    Barrels rolled across the slick deck. A sailor let out a cry as he was thrown against the mast, blood streaking his uniform. Another staggered past Zhao Ming, clutching a deep wound.


    Murong Xue stepped up beside him, her fellow disciples following. She took in the scene and sighed. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”


    Zhao Ming smirked, gripping his sword. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”


    Without hesitation, they stepped forward, ready to fight.


    <hr>


    Zhao Ming’s sharp gaze swept across the battlefield, analyzing the chaotic clash of steel and shouts. The deck, once orderly, was now a battlefield split between those loyal to the captain and the mutineers led by the first mate.


    Something felt off. Some of these sailors fought too well—too disciplined for mere seamen. Their movements were calculated, their attacks precise.


    "Mercenaries," Zhao Ming muttered under his breath.


    Murong Xue, beside him, followed his gaze and nodded grimly. "Or assassins. This isn’t just a simple mutiny."


    Further ahead, the ship’s captain fought fiercely against the traitors, but he was outnumbered. He parried a blow, kicked a mutineer off balance, and continued fighting despite a cut on his arm. Meanwhile, on the other side of the ship, the first mate stood tall, barking out orders. He wasn’t just leading—he was commanding the battle.


    Zhao Ming’s expression darkened. "So, he’s the one orchestrating this."


    Gao Ren, standing beside him, tightened his grip on his weapon. "That bastard’s been waiting for this moment."


    Murong Xue sighed. "We can''t charge in blindly. If we do, we’ll get caught between both sides."


    Zhao Ming nodded. "If we take out the first mate, the mutineers will lose their leader. But reaching him won’t be easy—not with those mercenaries in the way."


    Murong Xue frowned. "Then we create a distraction. If we split their forces, we can weaken them."


    Zhao Ming turned to Gao Ren. "Take some of the disciples and secure the scholars. If this mutiny is more than just taking over the ship, our people might be their real target."


    Gao Ren smirked. "Leave it to me. If any of these bastards try to harm our people, I’ll cut them down myself."


    Zhao Ming nodded. "Make sure the mercenaries guard the weapons and special cargo as well. We can’t afford to let them fall into the wrong hands."


    Gao Ren shot him a thumbs-up. "Got it. You two just make sure to deal with that first mate before this mess gets worse."


    Murong Xue adjusted her grip on her weapon. "And what about us?"


    "We’ll strike where it hurts most," Zhao Ming said, his eyes narrowing. "We push through the battlefield and take down the first mate. Once he’s out, the mutineers will start losing their nerve."


    Murong Xue smirked slightly. "Just like old times?"


    Zhao Ming returned her smirk. "Exactly."


    With their plan set, they braced themselves for battle.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    <hr>


    From the shadows near the stairway leading to the deck, Zhao Ming and his group silently observed the battle unfold. The clash of steel rang through the air, and the ship rocked slightly under the weight of the chaos.


    At first, the fight seemed evenly matched—the captain and his loyalists fought fiercely, holding their ground. But as time passed, the tide of battle shifted. The mutineers, led by the first mate, were gaining the upper hand. They fought with practiced efficiency, forcing the captain’s defenders back step by step.


    Zhao Ming’s sharp gaze swept across the battlefield. That was when he saw it.


    The hooded man, still standing near the helm, barely moving amid the chaos. Unlike the others, he wasn’t fighting—he was watching. Waiting.


    Then, with the smallest flick of his fingers, he signaled the first mate.


    Zhao Ming narrowed his eyes as the first mate gave a brief nod in response before calling out new orders. Almost immediately, the mutineers pushed harder, their movements more coordinated. The captain was being forced into a defensive position.


    “They’re starting to lose ground,” one of the disciples whispered anxiously. “Shouldn’t we join the fight now?”


    Murong Xue, standing beside Zhao Ming, held up a hand to stop them. “Wait for Zhao Ming’s signal,” she instructed firmly, her eyes never leaving the battle.


    Zhao Ming remained silent for a moment, his mind analyzing the situation. His group was still unnoticed, and the enemy’s full focus was on the captain. If they charged in now, the mutineers might still have enough awareness to split their forces.


    No. They needed to wait.


    “Not yet,” Zhao Ming finally said. “Let them think they have the advantage. Once they shift their full attention to the captain—once they drop their guard—that’s when we strike.”


    Murong Xue gave him a sharp glance before nodding in agreement.


    The disciples clenched their fists, ready but patient.


    Zhao Ming quickly turned to assess their resources. “Do any of you have throwing weapons?” he asked in a hushed tone. “Or can any of you move stealthily?”


    A brief silence followed before one disciple reluctantly shook his head. “None of us are trained for stealth,” he admitted. “But we do have a few throwing knives.”


    Zhao Ming smirked. “Good enough.”


    He quickly formulated a plan. “A few of you, move to the other side of the deck. Once I give the signal, throw your knives at the mutineers. Aim for their exposed sides, legs, or anywhere that will cause confusion. You don’t need to kill—just distract.”


    The disciples nodded in understanding.


    Zhao Ming continued, “The moment the distraction works, Murong Xue and the rest of us will charge in and take advantage of the chaos.”


    The disciples dispersed quietly, moving to their designated positions.


    Now, they just had to wait for the perfect moment.


    <hr>


    The battle on deck reached its climax. The captain and his remaining loyalists were cornered, their backs against the ship’s railing. Blood dripped from cuts and bruises, their breath labored from exhaustion. Meanwhile, the mutineers stood tall, weapons raised, forming a tightening circle around their prey.


    The first mate stepped forward, his blade pointed at the captain’s chest. “It’s over,” he sneered.


    The captain, blood staining his uniform, tightened his grip on his sword. His eyes burned with both fury and disbelief. “Why?” he demanded. “I trusted you, fought beside you for years! Why betray me?”


    The first mate scoffed, shaking his head. “Betray you?” he repeated. “No, Captain. I simply made the first move. I’d rather stab you in the back before you could do the same to me.”


    The captain gritted his teeth. “You fool. I would have never—”


    A slow, deliberate set of footsteps echoed across the deck. The captain turned toward the sound, and the tension in the air thickened. The hooded man, who had been watching from the sidelines, now stepped forward.


    With a single motion, he pulled back his hood.


    The dim lantern light revealed a scarred face—half-burned, twisted with old wounds. His expression, however, was one of cold amusement.


    The captain’s eyes widened in shock. His breath hitched. “Impossible…” he whispered. “You’re supposed to be dead.”


    The hooded man chuckled darkly. “I was.”


    A hush fell over the deck. Even some of the mutineers shifted uncomfortably, sensing the gravity of the moment.


    “I was left to die,” the hooded man continued, his voice laced with bitterness. “Thrown overboard, my body broken and burned. And yet… I lived.”


    The captain swallowed hard. “How?”


    “I was found,” the man answered. “Healed. Rebuilt.” His fingers traced the scars on his face. “A group far more powerful than you could imagine took me in. They gave me purpose. And in return, I swore my loyalty.”


    His scarred lips curled into a cruel smile. “Their orders are simple—bring chaos to the East Sea.”


    The captain’s hands trembled, not from fear, but from rage. “You’re nothing more than a pawn,” he spat. “A tool for another master.”


    The hooded man’s smile didn’t waver. “Perhaps. But today, I get my revenge.”


    The mutineers raised their weapons, ready to strike.


    From the shadows, Zhao Ming watched, waiting for the perfect moment to intervene.


    <hr>


    A flickering light cut through the chaos.


    Standing on the upper deck, Zhao Ming held a torch high, the flames casting dancing shadows across the bloodstained wood. The sudden illumination drew everyone’s attention. The captain and his remaining men turned toward him in confusion, while the hooded man and the first mate stiffened.


    For a brief moment, there was silence. Then, the hooded man chuckled, his scarred face twisting with amusement.


    “A scholar?” he mused, tilting his head. “You should’ve stayed below deck, boy.” His voice was mocking, dripping with condescension. “This is no place for someone like you.”


    He turned back to the captain. “No matter. I’ll deal with you later. Killing you will be a good way to end the night.”


    Zhao Ming didn’t react to the threat. Instead, he smiled slightly. “You said you were ‘rebuilt.’ I’m curious. How does that work?” He gestured at the hooded man’s scars with interest. “Was it alchemy? Special medicine? Or something even more… unnatural?”


    The hooded man raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. Then he let out a short laugh. “What a strange scholar you are,” he mused. “In the face of death, you ask about my recovery? Are you looking for inspiration for one of your books?”


    Zhao Ming shrugged. “Knowledge is knowledge. Even in desperate situations, one must seize the opportunity to learn.”


    The hooded man smirked. “Amusing.” He turned to the first mate. “Tie him up. I don’t want him interrupting again.”


    The first mate nodded and took a step toward Zhao Ming. At the same time, a few of the mutineers started moving toward the scholar’s position.


    Zhao Ming tightened his grip on the torch. His expression remained calm, but his eyes sharpened as he saw his moment.


    Just as the first mate turned slightly—his focus shifting back toward the captain—Zhao Ming moved.


    With a sharp motion, he hurled the torch straight at the first mate’s face. The flame arced through the air, illuminating the deck for a split second before smashing into its target.


    The first mate barely had time to react. The firelight blinded him as the burning torch struck his eye.


    “AARGH!!” He screamed, stumbling back, hands clutching his face in agony. His sword clattered to the ground as he howled in pain.


    The moment of chaos was all Zhao Ming needed.


    “Now!” he shouted.


    From the shadows, hidden disciples of the Azure Dragon Sect sprang into action. A flurry of throwing knives cut through the air, striking the unsuspecting mutineers.


    Murong Xue led the charge, her sword flashing under the moonlight. “Attack!” she commanded, her voice ringing clear across the deck.


    Zhao Ming smiled. The real battle had begun.