Chapter 676 Sassy... Lost Child

Tycondrius recalled that Krysaos had difficulty speaking succinctly in the presence of Oracle Atlantea.

The silver-braided dark elf was a reasonably attractive female who seemed to command a moderate amount of power. Thus, he took a half-step forward, prepared to speak for his Captain.

"Who the f*ck are you, cutting board?" Krysaos growled.

Tycon narrowed his eyes. That... was not the attitude he expected.

The elf rolled her purple eyes in disdain, "How about you *thank* me for saving your pitiful, half-broken boat, you dis-*gusting* human?"

She had a light voice, but spoke an octave or two deeper, as if to garner more respect. Her words dripped with the arrogance of an Elven Ancient... yet as an elf, she could not be more than fifty years of age.

If she were human, a bartender at a public house would likely refuse her.

A child speaking with scorn and condescension was not the most effective way to garner respect.

Considering who she was speaking to, it was far more likely she would receive a verbal or physical lashing in retaliation.

"...What'd you say about my *ship*, girlie?" Krysaos squeezed his eyes into thin, furious slits.

Tycon sighed and shook his head. Sailors tended to be very particular about what classified as a boat versus a proper ship.

If the young lady had insulted Krysaos on purpose, Tycon would have been impressed.

...He did not think so well of her.

"YARRRGHHHHHHHH!!!"

...Tycon glanced up, at the direction of the vicious warcry.

The elf woman stepped to the side without bothering to look. The Coral Boy that fell off of the crow's nest crashed onto the spot she recently vacated.

The impact created yet more damage upon the top deck. The fantastic web of cracks would surely degrade into another hazardous pitfall in the near future.

Sockets stood up with a scowl, blunted sword in hand and black eyepatches covering both eyes, "'Oo do you think you aaaarre, girlie... ta talk to our Cap'n 'at waaAAYYYY?!"

"Brother-Captain," Tycon grimaced, "why is it that Mister Sockets is assigned as our lookout?"

"I didn't put 'im there," Krysaos muttered. "An' neither did Bob."

...So it was a mystery.

The woman swiped her hand in front of Sockets' face-- a flash of movement, absent of hostile intent.

The eyepatches fell off of the Coral Boy's eyes, revealing... perfectly formed eyeballs. As Sockets' pupils dilated upon their exposure to sunlight, it seemed they were functional, as well.

It was yet another revelation that caught Tycon by surprise... and reminded him why he purposely tried to ignore logic and reasoning when dealing with his fellow crewmates.

The woman glanced up to meet the Coral Boy's glare, pursing her full lips in irritation, "You, Corallidus... are not fit to speak to me as such."

Sockets squinted and leaned in close to her, "Maybe we'z jus' need ta clean out yer knife-ears, b*tch? Wiv my fick... hard..."

Blunted iron sword?

"⌈Kneel,⌋" The Elven woman's gaze glowed with magic power.

The Coral Boy clenched his teeth... and dropped hard enough to crack his rocky knee-caps. He grunted and groaned as he struggled to move... but he was entrapped by unseen bindings.

Tycon raised an eyebrow. The woman used an ocular art... a rare Skill, usually only cultivated by Hidden Sect Martialists.

"This..." The elf smirked, "is how you speak to me..."

Reactivating her ocular art, Sockets' head smashed into the wooden deck...

"--on your knees," She cooed... "your head *bowed* in my presence."

No matter how Sockets' thick, stony muscles strained with power, his efforts were futile. The young lady's ocular art was developed enough to disable a Bronze-Rank martial Class completely.

Tycon was impressed. The woman deserved to be the leader of her squad, with that power alone.

The elf planted her bare foot atop the back of Sockets' head, revealing her scrawny thighs while gesturing at Krysaos, "Disrespectful human... you may call me Imperia."

⟬ Imperia, Iron-Rank Elven Storm Cleric. ⟭

"Tch. Yeah?" Krysaos scoffed and shrugged, not intimidated in the least. "Well, my name is Captain K--"

"Captain Krysaos," Imperia interrupted with a sneer," --formerly of the *crassly* named Sugar-Titted Siren. I know you and your... reputation, human."

"So you've heard of me?" Krysaos' lips twisted into a sly smirk.

"--the most spineless pirate ever to sail the eastern seas." Imperia giggled... a high-pitched tittering sound, unpleasant to hear.

"Uh huh? Well... things are different now." Krysaos crossed his arms, "Now I appreciate you takin' care of the leviathans... but y'mind taking your foot off of my crewman?"

"This one belongs... to your crew?" Imperia scoffed as her eyes scanned the deck.

Her purple gaze focused on Tycon... as she revealed a bright-toothed grin, "All... I... see... before me... are cripples."

"Oooooh..." Krysaos glanced back at Tycon... "You gonna take that, LT?"

"Grant me a moment to consider it," Tycon pursed his lips...

Taking a deep breath, his mind raced with the logic and reasoning he so valued.

The elf was a child. Children, especially ones raised poorly, lacked tact.

Tycon was an adult. Adults were socially expected to act with maturity and benevolence towards children.

Children should be forgiven more easily than adults for impropriety... They should be taught... and teaching was more effective with positive reinforcement, rather than with punishment.

Concerning him being insulted-- called a cripple... he effectively was. His left arm still required at least another week before most of its functionality was returned.

However...

Tycon had a very... very poor temper.

He recognized that of himself. He strove to be better... a more complete warrior, sound in both mind and body.

Being more mature... being lenient... choosing to correct rather than to retaliate... that would be his most ideal choice of action.

"No," Tycon sighed... "I choose to take offense."

He strode forward nonchalantly, his arm still in its sling, no weapon in hand. Just as Imperia swiped at Sockets' face earlier, he would not betray his intentions with hostile movements.

As expected, the elf turned her nose up, her eyes again shining with the power that completely nullified Sockets. "You dare approach--"

Tycon raised an eyebrow as he undimmed his vision, "Suffer and die."

In a battle of ocular arts, the more powerful ability trumped all others.

The young Imperia's ability was on the level of a Hidden Sect Martialist expert... one that might have cultivated for several decades.

The medusae have been masters of such arts for thousands of years, the ability in their bloodline... and honed since birth.

The elf child had no chance.

⟬ ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ activating. Ocular ability. Target takes damage from an illusory poison, affecting both target's mind and body. If successful, target becomes distracted and may go into anaphylactic shock. ⟭

Imperia's words caught in her throat. Her hands grasped around her neck and her eyes began to bulge. She could not breathe, blood welling in her throat... spilling down her charcoal-colored chin.

The elves at Imperia's back gasped in horror... growing anxious and grasping at their spears. Their charge's face was turning purple... she was dying before them while they could do nothing.

There were no healing Classes amongst them... neither were there mages capable of any form of counterspell. If anyone could counteract Tycon's gaze... it would be Imperia, herself.

Sockets furiously crawled away... slipping off the deck and falling into the waters below.

...He'd recover.

Tycon shrugged as he again dimmed his vision and turned to walk back to Krysaos' side, "I believe the young lady is rethinking her choice of words."

She would not have long to do so.

If Imperia had the will to resist his magical gaze, she'd survive... if barely. As a spoiled Elven Princess of... whatever tribe she was from, Tycon did not expect it.

...It was admittedly a foolish action he had undertaken, a highly lethal response to a mere verbal jab. The elves had saved the Neptune's Revenge from being destroyed by Leviathans... or at least sought to delay the ship from sinking.

Tycon might have been influenced by Krysaos' callous attitude towards the girl. He certainly wasn't in the mood to be disrespected. He had the chance to act with logic and maturity, thanking the woman for her and her companions' assistance.

He did not.

Imperia would die.

He would not expend mana and effort undoing his mistake. Whatever issue came next would be dealt with subsequently.

"The ⌈Dew Brought By Morning⌋ breathes life into my children..."

A powerful and confident male voice boomed from behind Tycon's back.

Tycon shut his eyes. It was Lone's voice... yet it was not Lone who spoke.

When he turned back, King had placed a palm on Imperia's eyes...

For whatever reason, King wore his red gambeson far better than Lone ever did. Unlike Krysaos, he looked like a professional, his effects clean, his dark hair slicked back, and with a stern, unyielding expression on his angled and scarred face.

⟬ King, Gold-Rank Elven Ranger. ⟭

In a brief moment, the whelpling began to cough and spit, wheezing for air with tears of pain streaming down her face.

King had used... a healing Skill?