The sun was setting, and the Bandit Gull had unfurled its sails and resumed its journey.
The sailors who had escaped death were happily singing songs, wiping the decks, and tending to the ropes, as if the bloody boarding battle just hours earlier had been an illusion.
But the newly installed swivel gun at the stern castle's top deck had not been removed.
By the side of the swivel gun, Winters, Bard, and Andre sat on the deck, leaning against the railing, lost in thought.
The excitement from their first battle had passed, and the rationale that had been clouded by bloodlust restored.
Recalling the battle, other than a sense of pride, the three ensigns felt nothing but relief and confusion, as well as nausea induced by the gruesome memories of close combat where flesh was torn and viscera spilled.
"Eh, I always feel like what we did wasn't right," Bard sighed deeply. He did not specify what it was, but there was no misunderstanding between Winters and Andre.
