Byron hit the water hard, tossed by scimitars dripping blood, swallowed by the sea like a final, fading ripple.
Above him, the pirate ship rocked in laughter. The burly first mate, soaked in blood and reeking of violence, cackled.
"Thanks to Myles Bonebreaker, there's no need to waste more sailor blood or fear to summon the sharks. A plank-walk's far kinder than keel-haulin. Ha ha ha!"
Sharks circled the vessel in perfect formation. Their eyes gleamed red, as if some unseen force guided them.
Myles watched them with burning hunger in his gaze.
"To control them for recon or combat like proper guards, we'd need to sacrifice blood every three days. Pricey, sure... but it's power. The captain's granted it by Lord Blood Eye himself. Soon, maybe I will be too."
He turned and strode away, confident no sacrifice ever lived past the plank.
For years, the Man-Eating Shark crew had bathed in blood and fear, forging a reputation of pure terror in these seas.
As expected, the sharks tore into the old sailor who'd fallen first. Within seconds, nothing was left. Then, they lunged at Byron.
Bound hand and foot, Byron had no way to resist. Even a knight in full plate wouldn't survive, much less him—unarmed, drowning, prey.
The red glint in the sharks' eyes chilled him.
"These aren't ordinary beasts. They're... cursed."
Some fragment of instinct whispered that he'd seen power like this before, back in dreams, back when something still clung to his name. But knowing changed nothing now.
The sea churned with blood. Sharks rushed him with gaping jaws and whirling teeth. Byron's ocean-blue eyes narrowed. His thoughts spun.
Time slowed. Flashes surfaced.
Words from the old sailor echoed. Then, two distinct visions clawed their way up from memory.
One: a frail young man, dying in a hospital bed, whispered with fierce eyes,
"I'll never lie helpless, waiting for death again. I want to run, leap, swim—live free! I want to see glaciers, deserts, auroras, forests, endless seas. If I must die, let it be in the storm, on the sea. Let that be my redemption."
Another: a warrior, drenched in sweat and resolve, training with sword and grit since youth. He roared,
"Knights never retreat! Shame on those who die with their backs turned!"
The two fused, plugging the hole in Byron's consciousness that had left him drifting.
Then something changed.
From the moment he hit the water, his right eye had faintly glowed. Now it blazed. Blue light shot from his pupil like a flare in the deep.
A bell tolled—no, not a real one. It echoed inside his skull.
Then came visions.
Sunrise and sunset. Clouds swirling. Tides rolling. Life blooming.
He saw ancient tribes with fire. Dragons striding tall. Knights in steel tides marching across lands.
Humanity's timeline flashed through him.
"What is this?"
Then it all poured into his bloodstream—a river of light, flooding every vein, nerve, memory.
And there, before him, a battered journal formed. No cover title. Just a single sea-blue eye.
No… a ship's log.
As Byron locked eyes with the log, it opened. Deep blue ink began to write on its own.
"Passion for life. Hunger for freedom. Courage in the face of giants. Anchored to true history. Conditions met. The Log is restarted. Recording new history begins now."
The title page flipped. Words etched themselves:
"Some say we live on an isle of ignorance, surrounded by an ocean of secrets. Maybe I shouldn't have set sail. But we must.
This Log will chart the Captain's exploration, grant gifts of Spirit and Entry.
Starting point: October 10, 1471, Silver Age. The War of the Red and White Roses ends. The throne falls to the House of York.
Captain Byron Lancaster—Luo Yi—you need only a spark to start your legend in this era."
A detonation burst behind Byron's eyes. His vision flared.
"I'm Luo Yi… and also Byron Lancaster? Of the Red Rose? Lancaster… stolen!"
The wind howled in his ears. Blood-soaked memories surged back.
Boom.
Lightning cracked the sky.
By its light, Byron saw himself in a naval trainee's uniform, standing aboard a massive warship.
Flags flapped high: the Black Blood Cross of Hastings. The noble Red Rose of Lancaster. The Royal Sword of the King.
Storm Knight banners. Fleet Commander's signal. Captain's streamers. And at the prow, the carved Blue Dragon figurehead.
"This is Lancaster's flagship… the Blue Dragon King!"
Through the log, Byron's mind rewound five days, to the night Lancaster's fate was sealed.
In the Strait of Dover, Red Rose and White had battled endlessly, like ghosts of the Thirty Years' War.
The crew believed a storm had crushed Lancaster.
But Byron remembered. He knew.
"It wasn't the storm… it was—"
His face turned pale. He bolted, desperate to change the past, even if he knew he couldn't.
But the nightmare returned.
Toot toot.
A shrill flute pierced the storm, cutting through rain like a curse.
The sea beneath the Red Rose fleet turned black, oozing something foul. A stench crawled into bone. Something inhuman stirred.
Every Lancaster sailor woke at once, their faces blank. They marched out onto their decks.
Among them: Prince Edmund Lancaster—Byron's father—and the Mad King Henry VI.
All who should've been awake were unconscious, collapsed across decks.
Then the horror began.
Those of weakest rank moved first—ordinary men and women, void of power. One by one, they stepped into the dark waves. No splash. Just gone.
Even the strong faltered. Knights. Mystics. Officers. Some regained clarity for a breath—then froze, seized, and were dragged under.
The sea itself seemed to hold a mind. Something down there… ancient, vile.
You can't fight it. You can't flee. You can't hide.
Byron watched, helpless. Then he heard his father's final cry.
Before being swallowed, Edmund invoked his Storm Knight power and hurled a golden signet ring—family heirloom—toward Byron.
"Byron! Danger comes from dreams! Run!"
But Byron hadn't slept. And that saved nothing.
Moments later, the Black Shadow seized the Blue Dragon King.
Thunder crashed. Byron's consciousness dimmed. As he sank, the sea lit briefly—and he glimpsed something on the ocean floor.
A shape beyond description. It fizzled like a dream. Then nothing.
Memory, identity, all dissolved… until now.
Unlike the others, Byron was a traveler. Luo Yi, reborn in another world.
When the dream struck, his former self, buried deep, rose to fill the void. Barely.
He alone survived.
Tossed by the current, he drifted to open waters… and into the path of the Pelican's plunderers—the Man-Eating Shark pirates.
Only now, with the Log activated, did those forbidden memories return. The truths no one should recall.
Two lives, two souls, reunited.
The [Navigation Log]—it had always been part of Luo Yi's past.
But Byron had no time to ponder.
His eyes blazed. His teeth grit.
"Revenge—!"
The Log kept writing, ink flowing fast:
"Captain, you've glimpsed a hidden turning point in history. The Red and White Rose War hides a secret, with a historical influence of 31%.
If York had the power to destroy Lancaster so easily, why wait thirty years?
This isn't just a war for succession.
As reward for unveiling the first secret, and given the level of influence…
You gain Entry One: [Historical Reviser] (activatable upon taking your first extraordinary path). Your spirituality surges.
The Beidiwan pirates, who once ruled the seas, had a saying: revenge must be paid.
Your ancient Beidiwan blood stirs.
Spiritual elevation begins."