The night began with a precise long-range shot.
Amidst Tatamu's astonished gasp, Maude calmly reloaded his musket.
The ten seconds required to reload were enough for the Redhorn Pirates to respond, each member scrambling for cover they deemed adequate.
This unavoidable drawback left Maude momentarily exposed. If he had a modern firearm, those ten seconds would have been more than enough to down several more targets before they reached safety.
"Keep an eye on the surroundings," Maude reminded his comrades before focusing on his next target.
One of the flintlock's disadvantages was the conspicuous muzzle flash and smoke. After the first shot, the noise not only alerted everyone nearby but also roughly revealed his position.
Fortunately, it was only a general direction.
The Redhorn Pirates, in their haste, failed to find perfect cover, leaving parts of their bodies exposed to Maude's sightline.
With Tatamu and Wolfrat guarding his flanks, Maude could focus solely on picking his next target.
Soon, he zeroed in on a pirate who had half his body sticking out from behind cover. Maude took his time, not rushing to pull the trigger.
Immersing himself in the task, his breath steadied, and his focus sharpened.
Then, and only then, did he pull the trigger.
Another sharp crack echoed.
On the distant deck, the pirate who had unwisely exposed himself cried out in agony as he collapsed, writhing on the ground.
The lead bullet struck his chest—not a fatal hit, but one that could lead to death if left untreated. Yet, none of his crewmates dared to risk exposing themselves to help him.
Meanwhile, Wells, the Redhorn Pirates' sharpshooter, ignored his wounded comrade. His attention remained fixed on the origin of the shot.
The moment he caught sight of the muzzle flash, Wells swiftly raised his rifled musket, aiming at Maude's position in an instant.
The sea breeze brushed against his face, causing a slight tremor in his eyes.
"Damn it... a headwind," he muttered under his breath.
Despite the disadvantage, Wells didn't hesitate. He fired a shot before ducking back into cover.
On the warehouse roof, a sharp sound followed as the lead bullet struck the far edge of the eaves, several meters away from Maude.
Wolfrat and Tatamu immediately turned toward the sound, noting the point of impact.
The Redhorn Pirates were fighting back.
The speed at which they located Maude's position suggested the enemy sniper was skilled—likely Wells, one of their officers.
But, unfortunately for them...
Wolfrat and Tatamu glanced at Maude, who was calmly finishing his reload.
They considered warning him but chose silence, wary of disrupting his concentration.
With practiced ease, Maude loaded his third shot and took aim once more.
Bang!
Another pirate on the Redhorn Pirates' deck fell. Like the previous shots, it wasn't a fatal hit, but it was enough to incapacitate.
Three down.
The remaining pirates glanced nervously at Wells and the other gunners, hoping they could end this torment.
In this duel between snipers, melee fighters like them could do nothing but pray. Otherwise, they were nothing more than sitting ducks.
Feeling the mounting pressure from his crewmates' stares, Wells gritted his teeth. He and the other gunners fired several suppressive shots toward Maude's position.
Yet, in the headwind, even with the superior range and accuracy of rifled muskets, their efforts posed little threat to Maude.
Over the next exchanges, Maude took down four more pirates.
Realization dawned on the Redhorn Pirates: their gunners were outmatched. Worse yet, the enemy sniper was acting alone.
This stark contrast in skill left them shaken.
Gabton, a wiry man and leader of the melee squad, crouched behind a mast, his hand resting calmly on the hilt of his sword. His sharp eyes focused on Wells' grim expression.
From his position, Gabton could see Wells' frustration.
As a melee fighter, Gabton couldn't sit idly by while his men fell like lambs to the slaughter. He finally spoke up, his tone blunt.
"Wells, if you can't take him down, cover us while we move to safer positions."
"Fine," Wells spat through gritted teeth, his pride stinging.
Taking temporary command, Wells ordered the gunners to lay down suppressive fire and directed the melee fighters to more secure positions.
But his commands came at a cost—one of the gunners was taken out with a headshot mid-movement.
Ten shots fired. Two dead. Six gravely injured.
An 80% hit rate.
Wells felt a chill run down his spine. Even he, the crew's top sharpshooter, struggled to maintain such accuracy under pressure.
This was a nightmare.
Gabton, ever composed, glanced toward the captain's quarters.
"Captain, should we hold our ground, or should I take a team to eliminate the sniper?"
After a brief pause, a low voice rumbled from within.
"Go."
The words carried simmering fury, though the captain remained oblivious to the sniper's identity. If he knew, his anger might have ruptured his healing wounds.
With permission granted, Gabton signaled five men and turned to Wells.
"Cover us."
"Understood," Wells replied, taking a deep breath to suppress his humiliation.
Under a hail of covering fire, Gabton and his team disembarked, heading toward Maude's position.
On the warehouse roof, Maude calmly reloaded his musket while watching the advancing figures.
A clear bullet hole in the roof a meter away marked the closest call yet.
"Wolfrat, it's time," Maude said, his voice steady.
Wolfrat nodded. "Be careful."
With that, he and Tatamu leaped from the warehouse roof, moving to intercept Gabton's squad.
Once they were gone, Maude finished loading his musket and took aim again, his gaze locking onto the deck of the Redhorn Pirates' ship.
His sights settled on Wells' cover.
"Found you, my dear prey," Maude murmured, a faint smile gracing his lips.
The sound of gunfire intensified.
Maude noted the shift in tactics—the suppressive fire aimed at him lacked precision.
It was clear Wells and his gunners were sacrificing accuracy to create an opening for Gabton's team.
But Maude had already anticipated their strategy.
"I have a good enough team," he whispered to himself. "If Tatamu counts, then maybe two."
He fired a casual shot toward the deck before retreating, reloading as he moved to his next sniping position.
From now on, Maude's target was singular: Wells.
Meanwhile, the gunfight had drawn onlookers.
In the shadows around the Redhorn Pirates' ship, scouts from other pirate crews watched intently.
"Finally, someone's making a move... and what a sniper!"
The scouts, like sharks scenting blood, grinned wickedly.
Once the opportunity presented itself, the once-dominant Redhorn Pirates would become easy prey.
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