This story is being republished on wattpad! The whole series in already on Amazon and Smashwords! Enjoy :D
A chain and a collar can imprison a nobleman, but what could entrap a devil?
Only the innocence of a fallen angel.
Once upon a time, there was...
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∞ Ace's POV ∞
I've never used wooden swords.
Whether in while sleeping, engaged in combat, or honing my skills, my sole companion was a remarkable Long Tachi. Its scabbard boasted a captivating dark gray shade, while its handle was adorned with the supple allure of seaweed green leather. With deliberate motion, my hand guided the sword's every action. I stood entranced, marveling at the resplendent gleam of the blade under the sun. Despite the passage of time and countless battles fought, its strength and keenness remained unyielding, as vibrant as the day I claimed it as my own.
My gaze follows the radiant fuller, tracing its path until it culminates in a drawn sword, resting a mere five steps away on the quarterdeck. A pristine Jian, unadorned and unassuming, instilled no fear or bloodlust. Its elegant simplicity and opulent appearance betrayed a lack of use. The unblemished wooden scabbard hinted at minimal experience, likely owned by someone who devoted more time to pampering the sword than employing it in earnest.
Furthermore, an intuition beckoned me to believe that the current possessor of this Jian fared no better than their predecessor. It was evident that they chose it for decorative purposes, destined to grace the wall rather than serve a practical function. This explained his prolonged search in the lower hull, striving to find a sword that satisfied his aesthetic preferences.
Observing closely, I witnessed his repeated gripping and releasing of the weapon, acquainting himself with its form and dimensions. My gaze traveled from head to toe, scrutinizing his attire. He dresses in a pair of slightly worn yet decent gray pants, far cleaner than the tattered rags adorning most others on the ship. His sleeveless black shirt, slightly oversized and frayed at the collar, bore the defiant glare of a silver skull on a loosened black leather collar that was no longer bound by a lock, which made me curious at the sudden change.
A fraction higher, you'd find the depths of the most vivid sea-blue eyes I have ever beheld. While their appearance exuded nobility, their gaze was quite intense.
Secured beneath his pants, a particularly intriguing dagger concealed itself, its handle adorned with a pommel fashioned into a skull, its presence intentionally exposed for all to witness. I distinctly recall the moment he emerged from the cabin, attempting to hide the dagger under his shirt, only for Agenor to intervene, swiftly pushing the fabric aside to reveal its true form. Nyx, though visibly uneasy, remained silent, likely seeking to avoid a confrontation. And it proved effective; the crew dared not provoke Nyx, not with the captain's collar adorning his neck and a dagger reminiscent of a certain foreboding forearm, once pinned to the main mast, in his possession.
As he adjusted his weight, gradually shifting his stance, his bearing radiated a resolute and dignified aura, imparting a unique essence to his approach to combat. I meticulously observed his slightest movements, detecting a discernible undercurrent of nervousness. Good, as he should be.
