Chapter 69: The Iron Legion

The lead group of pirates intended, at least, to retreat to the camp where Lord Krieg was stationed to request reinforcements—a plan with some sense of purpose. However, once a collective panic begins, it often spirals into uncontrollable and unforeseen chaos.

The pirates ran faster and farther, the panic spreading with every step. Within minutes, countless uninformed pirates were swept up in the fleeing crowd, dragged along by the tide of terror. Like a snowball rolling downhill, the mob of desperate pirates grew ever larger. Streets emptied in their wake; every pirate joined the flight, while the remaining laborers cowered in their homes.

Most of those running didn’t even know why they fled.

“Brother, what’s happening?” one dazed pirate panted desperately as he ran, frantically asking the comrade beside him.

“I don’t know either—everyone’s running, so I’m running too,” came the bewildered reply.

Unfortunately, the one he questioned was merely following the herd as well.

Luckily, amidst the throng, there were always a few who had been utterly terrified, shouting explanations at the top of their lungs for those around them:

“The Knight of the East Blue from the newspapers is here!”

“Captain Palu has already fallen!”

Cries like these echoed one after another, spreading panic through the frenzied crowd.

This only worsened matters.

Inevitably, as rumors passed from mouth to mouth, subjective errors crept in; the shouts of “The Knight of the East Blue slew Captain Palu with a single stroke” soon twisted into “With a casual swing of his sword, the Knight of the East Blue wiped out nine out of ten of Krieg’s pirates.”

Garen could only sigh in exasperation. He managed to catch up and cut down over a dozen pirate grunts, but there were simply too many, and their will to escape was too strong; he could do little more than watch their backs as they fled.

Yet the number of dead pirates far exceeded those Garen had slain—most were trampled in the stampede, unlucky casualties of blind panic.

Wallace, witnessing the spectacle, shouted with excitement, “Just the name ‘Knight of the East Blue’ is enough to terrify countless villains! This is the power of the press!”

But Garen, the Knight of Justice himself, looked rather grim. Gazing at the clouds of dust kicked up by the fleeing pirates, he muttered with resignation, “My experience points...”

All his “experience” had run off.

Within minutes, only a group of bewildered dockworkers remained on the wharf, staring in stupefied shock at the retreating pirates.

Aside from the stunned laborers, another group remained—the dozen or so young fishermen who had earlier reported Garen’s presence.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to flee; Garen had deliberately stopped them.

Facing Garen’s broad, bloodstained sword, these “righteous,” “enthusiastic” informants were so terrified their legs buckled beneath them.

Garen approached the quickest of the young fishermen, resting his heavy blade on the man’s shoulder. “Is there anything you’d like to say?”

The young man collapsed to his knees with a thud, sobbing, “I... I had no choice!”

Tears welled up in his eyes—whether from regret or terror, it was impossible to tell. He pleaded in a quavering, desperate voice, “Our lives are too hard! Krieg forced us into this!”

Another fisherman, trembling all over, tried to defend himself. “My whole family works for Krieg—we can barely eat. Only by winning credit with the pirate crew can we...”

Others added their voices, and soon the scene resembled a public outpouring of grievances.

“So...” Garen’s face remained impassive. “Is that your justification for abetting evil, for betraying the one who came to rid you of pirates, free the laborers, and save you from misery?”

The noisy fishermen fell instantly silent.

“You think that by recounting your tragic backgrounds and hardships, you can wash away your ugly crimes?”

Garen pressed the sword harder on the young man’s shoulder and thundered, “If excuses could cleanse guilt, what would I need this blade for?”

With a flick of his wrist, the broad sword slid deeper, and in an instant, terror froze forever on the young fisherman’s face as his head fell.

Blood gushed forth. The remaining fishermen turned ghostly pale, realizing that death was now inevitable.

Under the suffocating fear, one fisherman, pushed to the brink, broke down and screamed at Garen, “What right have you to judge us? We have no strength, no hope of resistance... In this hellish place, we can only claw our way up! What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong?” Garen was unmoved. He raised his sword again. “Powerlessness to resist does not justify speaking for the darkness. If you choose to profit by the lives of others, then do not hope to be spared by another’s blade.”

In the end, all the fishermen fell to Garen’s sword.

Dux, watching, felt a pang of sorrow—these had been his companions on the fishing boat. Yet he made no move to stop Garen, for he knew he was not the same as those blinded by greed.

The dock fell silent once more, save for the blood pooling on the ground, mixing with the dust in a glaring red-black stain.

But the dockworkers who had silently watched felt no fear. Instead, their eyes burned with fierce excitement, as though their courage had been ignited.

“At last...”

“A pirate hunter has come!”

They knew nothing of Garen’s title as the Knight of the East Blue, but that didn’t dampen their elation. After years under Krieg’s oppressive rule, never had they seen the swaggering pirates show such abject cowardice.

Their gazes toward Garen were filled with gratitude and admiration.

“Everyone!” Garen called out, echoing the laborers’ fervor. “Today I am here to utterly destroy Krieg’s pirate crew—this mountain weighing down the people!”

A thunderous cheer rose around him, the very air at the docks growing warmer with the heat of their enthusiasm.

Shouldering his sword, Garen strode in the direction the pirates had fled. Pausing in the distance, he turned to the excited laborers and called, “Wait here a while, all of you. I’ll return with Krieg’s head!”

Another wave of cheers erupted.

Garen turned and left, alone with his sword, his solitary figure towering in the laborers’ eyes.

Suddenly, a great crash sounded among the crowd—a heavy crate lid thrown open. A laborer pulled a brand-new musket from inside and raised it high.

Waving the weapon, he shouted to his comrades, “Brothers! After all these years, a hero has finally come to save us! But Krieg the demon commands five thousand men, and this hero is only one!”

His voice grew ever more impassioned. “If we have even a shred of courage left, we cannot simply hide behind this hero and wait to be saved!”

At these words, determination blazed in the laborers’ eyes. A vast, silent force swelled among them, ready to burst forth.

The laborer with the musket urged them on, “These goods we’ve been hauling—they’re all weapons bought with our own blood and sweat for Krieg! Take up these arms and fight him!”

For a moment the workers hesitated, then years of pent-up rage exploded from their chests.

“Fight Krieg!” they roared.

Crates all across the dock were flung open, and one after another, the furious laborers armed themselves with fresh muskets. Gripping their weapons tightly, they followed Garen, fearless, advancing toward Krieg.

At first it was the dockworkers, then laborers from the towns along the road, and finally countless commoners, rushing to join the fight.

The lone ranger Garen was suddenly transformed into the leader of a steel-clad vanguard.

This unexpected turn left Garen quite at a loss. Glancing at his experience bar, he muttered helplessly, “I told you all to wait behind...”