Beneath the deep blue sea, faint shadows of moving figures could be seen.

"Monsters attacking — everyone get ready!"

Fourn beside Gauss was far from as casual as he was.

Many monster attacks that wouldn’t faze a "monster" like Gauss—whose physical attributes far exceeded normal humans—could still be lethal to ordinary people;

a careless thrust into the heart or throat could mean death. There was no room for negligence.

A chilling low horn sounded through the endless white waves.

Sharp fins broke the surface of the water.

"Sandscale Fishmen."

Fourn’s hawk-like gaze pierced the sea and finally identified the enemy’s species.

"Mm."

Gauss nodded.

Images and information about the Sandscale Fishmen surfaced in his mind.

Sandscale Fishmen, called "sea devils" by coastal residents, were clearly a predatory, piscine race. They operated across the world’s oceans: deep sea, shallow coastal waters, even seaside villages. Because of religious beliefs, they were closely allied with sharks, training or befriending them;

even wild sharks treated Sandscale Fishmen as allies rather than foes.

They were somewhat like aquatic goblins: both were amphibious, able to breathe in air and water. But goblins needed to leave the water after a period underwater to avoid suffocation, whereas Sandscale Fishmen were the opposite — after spending time on land, they needed to return to the water. For coastal people, both species were unequivocally evil.

Gauss drew his rapier, Windrunner.

Fourn cast him a guarded glance. If he remembered correctly, Gauss had introduced himself earlier as a mage.

But now was not the time for conversation.

"Find cover!"

Sharp bone spears fired from all directions forced sailors to take shelter behind the hull’s bulwarks or behind crates of cargo.

Not everyone could catch a bone spear with bare hands like Gauss.

Even a professional like Fourn couldn’t do that. His reactions might let him dodge, but to catch one precisely was another level.

Under the spear barrage, hooked ropes snagged the hull.

One by one, Sandscale Fishmen grabbed the ropes and used the ship’s exterior to climb up rapidly.

"Cut the hook ropes! Don’t let them aboard!"

First Mate Leyton drew his curved blade and charged toward a rope snagged on the port side.

As his sword sliced through the air, the rope was cleanly severed;

several fishmen fell into the sea.

Other sailors used the bulwarks as cover and tried to chop away the remaining ropes.

Gauss watched, words caught in his throat.

He considered speaking, but in the end kept silent.

In truth, letting Sandscale Fishmen onto the ship would have been more efficient for him.

The thought flashed through his mind and then passed.

Fourn and the other sailors had never really witnessed Gauss’s power and had never trained with him;

naturally, they would default to what they believed was the right countermeasure: avoid letting enemies board. If a brawl broke out, the ship could easily be taken.

Even if Gauss thought a different tactic was better, was he justified in using the crew’s safety to prove it? That would be reckless.

So he didn’t intervene rashly.

Though the sailors reacted quickly, the fishmen’s coordination was also tacit.

Many used the bone spears’ cover to snatch a moment and nimbly climb onto the deck.

When the Sandscale Fishmen pulled themselves aboard, their ferocious features became clear to Gauss.

They were slightly shorter than humans but stocky and powerful, with a streamlined muscular build suited for underwater combat.

Their bodies weren’t covered in smooth scales but a rough, dark green, coarse hide. Their heads were ugly fish-snouts that protruded forward, and their maw gaped back toward the gills, filled with several rows of backward-curving, shark-like triangular teeth. Once bitten, escape was nearly impossible.

Their limbs were humanoid: relatively long upper limbs with webbing between the fingers, finger tips ending in sharp, bone-like claws;

sturdy, sinewy lower limbs. A row of sharp dorsal fins ran from the nape to the tailbone, and a thick, powerful fish tail extended beyond.

Almost every fishman boarding the ship held a sharp bone spear or bone knife, with hardened shells strapped across their shoulders, waists, and chest as armor.

"Prepare to engage!"

Fourn gave the order.

Even before his command, Gauss had already moved.

The itch he felt before taking a commission was no joke.

He had just mastered a new White Sparrow sword technique;

how could he not want to test it in real combat?

The sparring with Adelle had been merely practice;

neither could demonstrate full strength — it was just warm-up, toy swords without blood.

His form flashed out like an arrow loosed from a bow.

He cut into the cluster of newly boarded Sandscale Fishmen.

Following his entry, the White Falcon breathing rhythm flowed through him naturally.

A calm yet piercing aura filled his body, giving his every motion a distinct cadence.

This special momentum was something he had never had before.

Even though his physical attributes already exceeded many elite melee professions, this felt different.

The first Sandscale Fishman had barely steadied itself, spear still lowered, when a streak of white sword light exploded in front of it!

"White Sparrow · Wave-Sunder!"

Windrunner slashed upward at an exquisitely precise angle, tearing the air with a vicious sound and sliding through the gap between rough neck flesh and shell armor.

Black blood gushed instantly.

The fishman’s bulging eyes still retained a bloodthirsty gleam, but its consciousness had already plunged into eternal darkness.

Gauss’s footwork never stopped;

he seemed to glide across the deck.

He passed through several fishmen in succession like a hovering falcon, plunging into exposed vital points.

Precise, ruthless, no wasted motion.

"Pfft!"

Gauss’s nimble figure flickered constantly;

each brief pause cost a fishman its life.

When a fishman reacted and swung, its bone blade could be deflected and used against it, slicing the wrist of its weapon hand and then sweeping across its throat.

"So fast!"

Fourn had just finished issuing orders and was momentarily stunned at the scene.

He thought he glimpsed a swift hawk gliding by.

This was beyond strong — the slaughter carried a strange elegance in Gauss’s hands.

Very advanced swordsmanship, he judged instantly.

At least more advanced than he had ever learned.

A bitter smile creased his lips.

A spellcaster using sword art superior to the swordplay he had studied his whole life? Maybe his decision to leave the adventuring trade had been the right one.

Putting aside his mixed feelings, he raised his blade and charged forward.

Gauss’s overwhelming strength and the graceful ease with which he cut down fishmen inspired the other sailors. Soon, they lifted their blades and faced their own opponents.

Surprisingly, while Gauss was killing boarding fishmen, he didn’t neglect to assist them.

As he passed, he would casually finish off an enemy and help relieve pressure on a crewmate.

Before long, Aria and two others, having heard commotion above, came out to help Gauss and the crew fight.

With the three of them joining, the battle wrapped up even faster.

Gauss wiped the blood from Windrunner and wore a satisfied expression.

"Kill: Sandscale Fishman *68"

"Kill: Elite Monster — Sandscale Fishman Female Priest *1"

"Title obtained: [Deepsea Fishman Hunter]. This title will upgrade as kill count increases."

"Current effect: Bane. Against the Deepsea Fishman lineage, attacks deal an additional 10% damage."

"You have killed 50 Sandscale Fishmen. Title [Deepsea Fishman Hunter] upgraded to [Deepsea Fishman Slayer]."

"Current effect: Bane. Against the Deepsea Fishman lineage, attacks deal an additional 20% damage."

Hundreds of Sandscale Fishmen had surged aboard earlier, and there had even been an elite — a Sandscale Fishman female priest.

At first Gauss hadn’t noticed her because she stayed underwater. But when she tried to cast a human-paralyzing spell and Gauss, thanks to his superior physique and magic resistance, quickly broke free, he locked onto her position.

Using the spiritual energy he’d just absorbed from many fallen Sandscale Fishmen, he cast clay magic to rapidly construct a clay Sandscale Fishman.

The clay construct leapt into the water and forced the priest’s figure up from below. Gauss then fired a heightened spellcasting Magic Missile that sent the female priest to meet her shark god, Securra.

The whole sequence flowed like water. Except for one sailor who accidentally slipped on the greasy fish blood on deck and slammed into the bulwark, no one else was injured.

After the fight, the crew cleaned the deck and gathered spoils.

Every sailor’s eyes toward Gauss had changed;

the doubts bred by his youthful looks were gone, replaced by undisguised awe and gratitude.

Even those who already knew Gauss’s identity and adventurer rank hadn’t expected his true strength to be so terrifying.

A hundred Sandscale Fishmen plus a fishman female priest was a formidable force for a merchant ship of this size. Even with two professionals aboard—captain and first mate—and some light bolt cannons, they would have paid a price to win.

That price would have been the ordinary sailors.

Now, with almost everyone unscathed, Gauss’s strength was simply off the charts.

Simple folk admired the powerful. They might not understand advanced sword technique or subtle magic, but they could see results.

This adventuring party, especially Gauss, had protected them and the ship with near-overwhelming force.

Other adventurers might have fought as well, but few would have cared for every sailor’s safety like Gauss did.

In the chaotic situation just now, most bronze-rank adventurers would have left sailors wounded or dead.

"Mr. Gauss, we owe you and your teammates so much," Captain Fourn stepped forward, earnest and relieved. "I didn’t expect a group of Sandscale Fishmen to show up at this time and place."

"It was our oversight."

"If you hadn’t been here today, the Seagull would have been in grave danger."

Fourn felt immense relief.

Generally, Sandscale Fishmen and shore-running goblins were enemies;

where one appeared, the other was rarely seen unless they were fighting each other. So he had been negligent — otherwise he might have spotted the fishmen earlier.

"It was our duty, Captain Fourn. No need for thanks," Gauss replied calmly.

The enemies had been nothing more than warm-up for him and a practical test of the White Sparrow sword skill.

It worked well.

Even without such advanced technique, he could’ve killed these low-tier monsters with a single thrust. Yet there was a difference: with this technique, killing became far less effort.

Don’t underestimate that distinction — over sustained combat that dramatically affects endurance.

With his strong recovery and the talent Special Stomach, Gauss handled swarms of low-tier monsters with ease, a born "small-foe slayer."

Any enemy that tried to exhaust him by numbers would find their plan doomed to fail.

Compared to other professionals, monsters became increasingly troublesome to them but not to Gauss — more like observing a growing boss status.

The deck bustled.

It took a while to wash away the surface blood and haul up the drowned fishmen;

the spoils formed a small pile.

Fourn tallied the haul, then approached cautiously and asked Gauss,

"Mr. Gauss, how about an eighty-twenty split for these spoils?"

"Isn’t twenty percent a little low?"

"You mean you and your teammates would take eighty percent and the Seagull gets twenty?" Fourn assumed Gauss had misunderstood.

"No, I mean—is two percent enough for you to be satisfied?" Gauss shook his head.

He didn’t really know the standard division for ship spoils.

"It’s enough, it’s enough," Fourn nodded quickly.

There was no fixed rule for splitting spoils;

it depended on relative contribution and strength. With a normal adventurer team, he might have said fifty-fifty or even seventy-thirty in favor of the ship, because the ship’s crew were numerous and preparing a voyage consumed resources and manpower.

But this time the adventurer team, led by Gauss, did the lion’s share of the fighting;

the ship contributed salvage and navigation support. Fourn didn’t press for more;

twenty percent was reasonable.

Each sailor’s share wouldn’t be great, but enough for them to enjoy a good time ashore.