Chapter 11: Trial of Blood and Sea
The sea that morning was gray, and the mist crept over its surface as if trying to hide the world from their eyes. Adam sat at the edge of the old ship, wrapping his wounds with cloth strips, watching the blood drops fall onto the damp wood. His eyes held only deep silence—the silence of a man who had lived much, carrying within him the weight of years and the wisdom of trials. In that moment, his presence resembled that of a mythical elder—his long hair draped over his shoulders, his hands resting on a metal staff, eyes closed at times, listening more to the sea within him than the noise around him.
Beside him stood Gyro, staring at the island fading in the distance, remembering the mark he had carved into the tree: "Gyro and Adam were here." His heart trembled between a faint pride and a painful longing, but he felt something within him had changed. He was no longer the frightened child hiding behind Adam's shadow—he now carried within his chest the seed of a new strength, despite its weight.
The sound of the sea rose and fell, and the wind carried the scent of salt, blood, and dry herbs. The ropes groaned with every wave, and the ship's creaks merged with their shallow breaths. Adam remained silent, but deep inside he was thinking:
"Strength isn't in the hand alone, but in the heart that knows when to strike and when to endure. Every wound is a reminder that I chose the harder path—the path of no return."
Hours passed as they drifted from the island, the fog wrapping the sea like a thick curtain. Gyro looked at his hands, remembering how he saved himself from the bear, how he opened doors in the air to escape death. He felt something had changed in him, yet he was still unsure of his new strength. He feared he might just be a shadow—without origin.
"Will I always be a follower? Or will I one day find my own voice?" he asked himself in silence.
By evening, Adam was dressing his wounds by the light of a small lantern, wincing from the pain but refusing help. Gyro approached, handed him a clean cloth, and asked softly:
"Does it hurt much?"
Adam slowly opened his eyes and looked at him with a gaze that carried both gentleness and harshness:
"Pain… is what makes us human. But it doesn't stop us. Every ache reminds you of what you're willing to pay for what you believe in."
The next day, a strange island appeared on the horizon—one not on any map. The scent of wet trees reached them with the wind, and the cries of unfamiliar birds echoed above the fog. Adam stood at the bow of the ship, his white hair flowing over his shoulders, his eyes locked on the horizon like a man who had seen much, knowing each island could bring salvation—or doom. Behind him, Gyro was quieter than before, but his eyes watched everything with new caution.
At the helm, the old sailor gripped the wood firmly, his voice rough from the sea and years:
"We need water and supplies. We go ashore—but carefully."
When the ship touched the shore, Adam was the first to leap onto the wet sand. He felt the cold mud beneath his feet, the scent of damp herbs mixing with the sea. He turned to ensure Gyro followed. In him, he saw something new—no hesitation, only quiet resolve.
They moved into the dense forest, the humidity choking their lungs, insect sounds blending with the rustle of the wind. Each step left a mark in the mud, and every shadow seemed to watch. They found a small stream; Adam bent to fill his canteen, picked some bitter fruits, and tossed one to Gyro:
"Eat."
Gyro tasted the fruit, his face twisted from the sourness, but he swallowed without complaint. He wiped his mouth and said:
"Better than hunger."
While gathering supplies, Adam spotted strange footprints in the mud, heading toward the far beach. He knelt to study them—torn ropes, damp cigarette butts, and a faint scent of smoke mixed with iron and oil. He whispered:
"Pirates... they haven't left. Their ship's here—or they're planning to escape with it."
The trail led them through the forest to a hidden cove between rocks. There, the pirate ship was being prepared to sail, the crew raising the sails in haste. Adam signaled Gyro to hide among the trees, then approached silently, watching every move. At that moment, the old sailor noticed their absence and, using his years of experience reading the land and wind, tracked them. He hid behind a rock, his wrinkled hands brushing the coarse ropes, waiting for the right moment.
The pirate leader appeared—bald, massive, with a thick beard like a black rope, carrying a wide sword on his shoulder. He grinned wickedly as he sized up Adam and Gyro:
"What do we have here… the big one's strong, the little one's cute. We'll sell them both to the slavers."
Adam didn't move. For a moment, he seemed a statue carved from white stone—still eyes, unmoving features, like he belonged to another realm.
Then, as the first pirate charged with his sword raised, Adam slowly lifted his right hand—his metal fist gleamed in the dim light, blocking the blade before it could touch him. The clang of steel on steel rang out, sparks flying from the impact as the sword bounced off Adam's iron claw.
In that moment, his aura shifted.
He transformed from the calm figure of before to a burst of raw power—his body tightened, his eyes ignited, and everything around him recoiled from a force that couldn't be resisted.
With a judo move, Adam grabbed the attacker's arm, twisted it over his shoulder, and slammed him into the ground with a bone-shattering thud. A second pirate tried to stab him from behind—Adam spun swiftly, his other fist striking the man's throat with surgical precision, then swept his leg in a wrestling move and dropped him.
A third came with a staff—Adam ducked like a boxer, punched him in the gut, seized the staff with his iron grip, snapped it in half, and shoved him off the dock into the sea.
One pirate tried to entangle Adam with a rope, but Adam jumped acrobatically, twisted mid-air, landed behind him, and wrapped the rope around his neck, choking him into unconsciousness. At a critical moment, another pirate was about to stab Adam from behind, but the old sailor shouted:
"Behind you!"
He threw a long rope, which wrapped around the attacker's leg and pulled him down, saving Adam at the last second.
One of the pirates lunged at Gyro, grabbing his neck and shouting:
"Come here, you little rat!"
Gyro gasped, heart pounding, but he remembered the bear, how he hadn't fled. He opened a door in the air, reached through, and pulled from behind the pirate's own belt a knife—stabbed him in the side. The man screamed, blood pouring. Two others noticed the door, ran toward it, but Gyro opened another one beneath their feet—they fell into a muddy pit behind him.
"What the hell is this?! He's a demon!" one screamed.
Gyro trembled, but he remembered Adam's voice in his head: "Don't be afraid. You're not weak." He nearly faltered—but steadied himself, opened a third door and hurled stones through it, knocking out another pirate cold.
The bald leader advanced, rage twisting his face, his sword gleaming as he struck down. Adam raised his iron fist again, blocked the blade with sparks flying, then gripped it and tore it from the leader's hand. With a blinding karate chop to the neck, followed by a boxer's punch to the chest, and a taekwondo kick, the man fell. He tried to rise, but Adam locked his arm around his neck with a jiu-jitsu choke until the man passed out.
When it was over, calm returned to Adam. He breathed slowly, looked at his metal hand—blood and sweat stained it—and remembered the price of every step in this world. He approached Gyro, placed a hand on his shoulder, and said softly:
"Fear doesn't shame you. Courage is facing it—even if your hands shake."
The rest of the pirates fled screaming into the forest. Adam wiped his blood on a tree trunk, felt the sting, but ignored it. He said quietly:
"To the ship."
They returned and found the pirate ship—larger, with sails marked by a skull with three fangs. They climbed aboard cautiously. Inside were locked crates. Adam opened some and found supplies: dried meat, hard bread, water. The smell of old bread mixed with blood and iron.
The old sailor called from the original ship, now sure the danger had passed:
"What's going on?"
Adam called back:
"We found supplies—and a better ship. This is ours now."
The old man shook his head:
"But I can't abandon our old one. We can't sail both."
Adam stared for a moment. Then the sailor smirked and pointed to thick ropes:
"We tie them. The big one leads, the old one follows. I'll watch the helm and adjust the ropes. We sail together."
Adam nodded:
"Go. Prepare it."
Gyro ran to tear down the black flags, flinging them into the sea. The old sailor tied the ships expertly, fastening the front of the old one to the back of the new, tightening the ropes until it became like a towed barge.
Adam stood at the bow of the new ship, watching the gray sea under fading sunset light, dry blood still on his hand. He turned to Gyro, saw the exhaustion in his face—the fear not entirely gone—but a small spark in his eyes. Adam spoke in a low, firm tone:
"Tonight, we sail. This island will remember us—but the whole sea will hear of us."
Gyro clenched his small fist and said, voice shaky but strong:
"Yes, sir."
Adam placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it gently:
"Get ready. The journey has just begun."
The sea roared around them, ropes groaning under tension, sails filling with wind—carrying them away from an island they would never forget. In that moment, Gyro looked at the sea, remembered the mark he left, and whispered to himself: "I won't be a burden anymore. I'll be strong... for me, and for Adam."
In the hush of twilight, Adam sat briefly on the ship's deck, his white hair gleaming in the last light, eyes closed, listening to the sea within. He knew everything they had faced was only the beginnin
g—and that true strength only reveals itself when a man chooses when to remain silent, and when to explode.
End of Chapter