Thanks to his standout performance in that fight, Logar had now fully earned the respect of every surviving pirate.
He personally tallied the Dornish loot: one perfectly intact longship, several barrels of fresh water, sacks of dried rations — the usual scraps. Not riches, but for a crew that was always half-starved and low on gear, it felt like a small victory.
Still, Logar's mind stayed uneasy about what came next.
The Dornish weren't going to walk away after one bloody nose. And this pirate crew was nothing more than scattered sand across dozens of rocky islands. Against real power like Dorne, they'd be crushed.
He shoved the worry down and headed back to camp to report the captured supplies.
He'd only taken a few steps when he noticed pirates converging on the center of the camp. Strange commotion drifted from the main tent.
A bad feeling twisted in his gut. Logar picked up the pace.
Most of the crew had already gathered outside. Their faces were grim with grief.
Femon was right there in the middle. When he spotted Logar, he spoke low.
"Logar… the captain didn't make it. He bled out."
Logar's gaze cut straight into the tent and landed on the lifeless body. His brow tightened.
Their Myrish captain had been a thick-bearded man with a weird accent, but he'd been fair and tough enough to carve out a piece of the Stepstones among all the killers. Losing him now — right after the fight — hit the crew hard.
In the heavy silence, someone brought white cloth and gently covered the body. They carried him together down to the edge of the sea rocks.
The wind howled. Waves slammed the reef. With one push, the body hit the water with a heavy splash. Foam swallowed it whole, and in seconds it was gone beneath the raging surface.
That was how pirates buried their dead — quick, ugly, efficient.
For a man who'd ruled these waters his whole life, maybe being claimed by them was exactly how he'd wanted to go.
Older pirates pressed hands to their chests, fingers brushing weapon hilts. No one spoke. Only wind and crashing waves filled the air.
After a long moment they finally looked at each other. Time to decide their future.
Choosing a new captain couldn't wait.
The old leader had never named a successor. Out here, only strength mattered. Only the strongest could keep them alive on this merciless stretch of the Narrow Sea.
"Boys, I'm putting myself forward as your new captain. I assume no one has a problem with that?"
The silence shattered fast. The Tyroshi lieutenant who'd served as the old captain's right hand stepped out.
Half his beard was dyed indigo. A vicious scar ran from eyebrow to jaw. His eyes were cold and cruel.
He'd survived Tyrosh's endless wars and blood pits, clawed his way up through pure ruthlessness. No ordinary man held ground in these waters.
Many pirates saw the respected second-in-command speak up and exchanged glances. No one could argue. They started lowering their heads in acceptance.
Logar stayed silent in the crowd. Of course he wanted the position. Who in this crew understood the game of ice and fire better than a man who'd crossed over from another world?
Femon caught the look in Logar's eyes and suddenly stepped forward.
"I disagree!"
He walked into the open space and declared loudly,
"In normal times, the lieutenant taking over would be automatic. But not today. I say Logar is the better man!
We all saw what he did these past days — and today he personally cut off the Dornish commander's head! Who else here is worthy to lead us?!"
Femon's voice burned with pure fanatic loyalty. The moment he finished, every eye snapped to the silent young man standing among them.
To them, this fifteen-year-old already stood nearly six feet tall, lean and straight as a blade.
His silver-white hair, streaked with drying blood, fell loose across his shoulders. Purple eyes like deep amethysts stared calm and bottomless — the unmistakable stamp of pure Old Valyrian blood.
His face was almost too beautiful, almost feminine, yet today's slaughter had sharpened it into something cold and hard. The half-suit of chainmail and the dark blood crusted on his longsword told the whole story.
Age was the only strike against him. Every pirate present had already been completely won over by his strength.
"Logar… you want to challenge me for this seat?"
The Tyroshi lieutenant's face darkened. A flash of wariness crossed his eyes. His hand closed tight around the short axe at his belt — his favorite weapon, edge gleaming.
He started walking slowly toward Logar.
The surrounding pirates quickly backed up, clearing a circle. Excitement lit up their faces.
They all knew how new captains were born in the Stepstones. Blood always decided.
"If you want to fight for it, then…"
The lieutenant drew out his words, steps casual. But his eyes burned with murderous intent.
Before he finished speaking, he exploded forward. The short axe whistled straight at Logar's skull — his favorite dirty trick, one sudden strike to end it.
Femon's eyes widened in fury —
Clang!
Sparks flew. Logar's longsword had already risen, blocking the axe perfectly just inches above his head.
The lieutenant froze. No matter how hard he pushed, the axe wouldn't move another inch.
Only then did Logar speak, voice cold as ice.
"A man who only fights with cheap tricks doesn't deserve to lead us."
With a sudden twist of his wrist, Logar shoved upward with explosive force. The lieutenant staggered back, nearly dropping his axe.
Before he could steady himself, Logar surged forward like a hunting cat, feet sure on the slick rocks.
His longsword flashed like a striking viper and punched straight through the man's throat.
The lieutenant's eyes bulged. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
He clutched the spurting wound and toppled backward onto the cold stone. Blood spread fast, mixing with the stains from the earlier battle.
Logar planted his boot on the corpse, ripped the sword free, and let the blood drip from the blade.
He raised his eyes and swept every man around him. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried iron authority.
"I know you think I'm young and unproven. But let me make this crystal clear — in this fucking dog-shit world, strength is the only thing that matters!
Only I can lead you to victory after victory, fill your hands with real plunder, and keep you alive on these cursed islands!
Now I am your captain. Who agrees? Who dares to oppose?!"
His purple eyes scanned the crew, sharp and commanding far beyond his years. One by one, the pirates lowered their heads. No one spoke against him.
He had proven it with blood and steel.
"Logar the Throat-Cutter!"
Femon was the first to react. Overjoyed, he strode behind Logar, raising his weapon high.
"Logar the Throat-Cutter!"
"Logar the Throat-Cutter!"
The chant spread like wildfire until every pirate was roaring it.
The roar rolled with the sea wind and crashing waves across the barren island, echoing long into the distance.
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