Two days later.
For Flood Dragon Island, these two days felt as long as a century. The entire island, though outwardly operating as usual, was submerged in an atmosphere of suffocating tension and anticipation. Everyone, from the newly initiated pirates to the veteran Vice Island Masters, was secretly watching the first expedition of the Sea Dragon Guard.
This was not merely a battle of conquest. This was a trial by fire. A crucible to prove whether this new army, under the leadership of the mysterious New King, remained a pack of feral wolves, or had truly become a mighty force capable of overturning the order of this entire sea.
Tran Kien showed no signs of anxiety. For the past two days, he had not set foot in the Assembly Hall. He went to the island's smithy. The place was cluttered and dilapidated, its tools coated in rust.
He spoke no words. In utter silence, he rekindled the forge that had long grown cold, picked up a heavy sledgehammer, and began to smith.
The familiar clang, clang resounded once more. He did not forge peerless divine weapons or sharp magical artifacts. He forged plowshares, kitchen knives, and hoes. Through his actions, he was telling everyone on this island a single, profound truth: Power is not solely used for destruction; it is also meant for creation.
Old Kinh stood to the side, quietly observing. He did not fully comprehend all of Tran Kien's calculations, but he could sense that this young Lord did not merely wish to be an overlord. He wanted to build a true kingdom—a place with rules, order, and vitality.
At dawn on the third day, as the first rays of sunlight pierced the horizon, a long, sonorous blast from a conch horn echoed from the sea.
The Sea Dragon Guard had returned!
The entirety of Flood Dragon Island instantly erupted into a clamor. Everyone swarmed toward the docks. Ten small, agile warships rode the waves into port. Upon the mast of the leading ship hung no pirate flag. Instead, a severed head was suspended there.
The head of Black Wolf, the chieftain of the Wolf Fang pirates—a man notorious for his cruelty, whose cultivation base was at the Early Foundation Establishment stage!
As the ten ships docked, the one hundred members of the Sea Dragon Guard, clad in black armor, disembarked in silence. Among them, some were injured, their armor bearing slash marks, yet not a single one showed signs of exhaustion or disarray. They stood in immaculate formation, as silent as stone statues. Their killing intent was deeply restrained, yet their gazes were as sharp as blades, carrying the unyielding pride of victors.
Man Nguu stepped out from the ranks, striding toward Tran Kien, who was already waiting. He was no longer a ferocious Vice Island Master. He was a general reporting on the state of battle.
Dropping to one knee, he offered up a wooden box with both hands.
"Reporting to the Lord!" his sonorous voice rang out. "The mission is complete! The lair of the Wolf Fang pirates has been razed to the ground! Chieftain Black Wolf has been beheaded! Of his three hundred subordinates, those who resisted were slain. Those who surrendered are being escorted back here."
"And what of our losses?" Tran Kien asked, his voice placid.
"Reporting to the Lord, three brothers fell in battle, and seventeen sustained minor injuries. Not a single man took a step back!"
Tran Kien nodded. A minuscule price for an overwhelming victory. He looked at the one hundred soldiers before him. He saw their transformation. The feral wildness was gone, replaced by ironclad discipline and an unshakeable faith.
"Well done," he said. "All of you are the most valiant warriors of Flood Dragon Island."
He opened the wooden box. Inside was not the head of Black Wolf, but the ledgers and the entire wealth seized from Wolf Fang Island.
"These things," he projected his voice so that all could hear clearly. "In accordance with the new rules, seven parts shall enter the public treasury to rebuild Flood Dragon Island, treat the wounded, and provide generous pensions to the families of the three fallen brothers. The remaining three parts shall be divided equally among the one hundred of you who bled in this battle."
Unprecedented fairness and transparency! The surrounding pirates looking on no longer held mere apprehension in their eyes; a gleam of envy and intense yearning began to shine within.
"There is one more matter," Tran Kien continued. He pointed to three bound Sea Dragon Guards kneeling at the end of the formation. "Man Nguu, what crime have they committed?"
Man Nguu's expression turned frigid. "Reporting to the Lord, these three, after subduing the enemy, disobeyed military orders. They took it upon themselves to torture and humiliate the corpses of the women within the stronghold."
The entire dock instantly plunged into a dead silence. All eyes focused on the three men. They trembled violently, their faces ashen.
Tran Kien said nothing. He merely, in silence, drew his matte-black saber and stepped forward.
"Lord, spare our lives! Lord, spare our lives!" The three kowtowed frantically.
"I have said it before," Tran Kien spoke, his voice as cold as the ice of the netherworld. "The rules of Flood Dragon Island strictly forbid anyone from bullying the weak, especially women and children. You have violated them."
"You are no longer men of Flood Dragon Island."
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Three arcs of freezing saber light flashed. Three heads, bearing expressions of terror and unwillingness, tumbled to the ground.
Fresh blood dyed the docks red.
Tran Kien sheathed his saber. He turned around, facing everyone present.
"I will say this one last time," his voice rang out, every single word carving itself into the hearts of the onlookers. "On my Flood Dragon Island, merit shall be rewarded generously. But a crime, no matter how small, must be punished with blood."
"Those who wish to stay must obey the rules. Those who do not are free to leave right now. I absolutely will not force you to stay."
Not a single person dared to speak. Not a single person dared to leave.
Under the rule of this New King, they saw more than just power and profit. They saw something far more terrifying. They saw ironclad discipline.
From that day forward, Flood Dragon Island was truly reborn. It was no longer a pirate's lair. It had become a maritime kingdom, a war machine slowly being tempered and honed, awaiting the day it would truly set sail and shake the vast seas.
And its King stood upon the highest crag, his gaze cast toward the distant south.
The blade had been tested in blood. It was time to go and seek the final legacy.