Chapter 10

Miguel was thrown face-first onto a single-masted ship—a vessel modified from a merchant ship, an ancient standard seafaring craft. Its mast hoisted a large quadrilateral sail, with a sturdy keel and hull planks, making it very durable and long-lasting. Most importantly, this ship had a carrying capacity of up to two hundred tons—perfect for transporting slaves captured after a battle.

Miguel was roughly hauled onto the ship. The pirate who grabbed him tied him up like a zongzi and casually tossed him into a pile of people before eagerly joining the next round of fighting. After finally managing to lift his face from the filthy deck, Miguel had barely settled when he heard a disdainful snort from beside him.

The sound came from a bearded man missing half an ear. Half of his face was smeared with dried blood, and he was weakly leaning against a pile of empty barrels. Like Miguel, he was tightly bound, but there was no trace of panic on his face. Instead, he looked at Miguel with a mocking gaze and snorted, “Deserter.”

“…I’m just a dockworker,” Miguel said helplessly.

“‘The first thing you do when you board an enemy ship is claim to be a dockworker or a passing fisherman’—that’s a trick I’ve played before,” the bearded man slurred. “Look at what these damn Germans have caught! Rice! A little liar with clumsy lies!”

“Deserter!” the Arab pirate named Rice on the other side of the barrel immediately chimed in, shouting, “I’m ashamed to have been on the same ship as you!”

Their words were met with a chorus of agreement.

“…” I’m sorry for not knowing what’s trending among pirates these days. Next time, I’ll try saying I’m a merman who happened to swim by. From the moment I was thrown onto the ship face-first, I haven’t even had a chance to say a second word before being ostracized by the slaves. This is way too fresh. Miguel glanced around helplessly, but he didn’t see Lake or Old Fante.

The sound of cannons reverberated through the ship, making his ears buzz. The chaotic mix of curses and screams felt both close and distant. Miguel narrowed his eyes slightly and looked up to see the black pirate flag hanging from the ship he was on. Half of it was burned, but the pattern was still visible—a white skull and crossbones, the standard pirate flag.

A large hourglass hung from the mast, filled with red sand that looked like blood. At this moment, the sand had completely trickled into the lower half—the blood-like sand in the hourglass seemed to silently indicate what would happen when the captain’s patience ran out.

“That’s the ‘Jolly Roger,'” a young voice whispered in Miguel’s ear. He turned his head in surprise and saw a boy with dark brown hair struggling to inch closer to him. When Miguel noticed him, the boy flashed a toothy grin and said, “Hi, I’m Berry, from Djerba Island. I know you’re a dockworker—I’ve seen you at the dock.”

Miguel looked at him for a moment before finally responding with a delayed “Oh.”

“Let me introduce the situation,” Berry said cheerfully, showing no signs of being a slave. “Right now, we’re on Crazy Dog Rick’s prisoner ship. I heard that in the entire fleet of the Black Sea Wolf, only Rick’s and Caesar’s ships carry hourglasses. But Caesar’s flagship uses the Black Wolf flag, while Rick prefers the ‘Jolly Roger,’ the common version.”

Miguel: “And then?”

Berry smiled and said, “And then, I want to say we’re unlucky—we’re doomed.”

Miguel: “…”

Berry: “If we were caught by Caesar’s fleet, the ‘Black Sea Wolf’ might have spared us. But Rick? Forget it. That guy—”

Berry’s words were cut short as a loud thud echoed from the deck. Compared to the sound Miguel made when he landed face-first, this one was much more composed. If one listened closely, it was clear that the sound was made by someone in heavy boots landing firmly from a height.

The entire deck creaked under the weight of the newcomer. A rough, boisterous voice, almost drowning out the sound of the cannons, roared from the deck, ignoring the chaos of the ongoing battle—

“—Bellick! Where’s Bellick?—Damn it! My navigator was thrown into the sea by that bastard Barbarossa—and we’re short two buglers! Where the hell am I supposed to find two buglers when Caesar asks for them?—Bellick! Where’s my charge captain? Did he go eat shit?—Get your ass over here!”

“What do you want, Rick?” a slightly breathless voice accompanied by two heavy gunshots came from the upper mast. The charge captain named Bellick, looking annoyed, holstered his pistol and deftly descended to the first mate’s side using a rope, cursing, “The fight isn’t even over yet, and you’re already asking me for buglers?!”

“Don’t yell at me, go yell at Caesar!” The man with a head of fiery red hair clicked his tongue impatiently and barked, “Little Barbarossa ran away, and the Arab flagship has raised the white flag—tally up the slaves and prepare for a week’s rest at Djerba Island.”

“…Ah, we lost after all,” Berry whispered to Miguel. “I wonder if the Black Sea Wolf’s fleet is recruiting.”

Where’s your sense of loyalty? Your boss’s body isn’t even cold yet. Miguel gave the boy a sidelong glance and then looked at the bearded man and the others who had been busy uniting the crowd to ostracize him earlier. Upon hearing Rick’s words, they now looked twenty years older, sitting in silence with ashen faces.

“None of Barbarossa’s old crew will be spared,” footsteps approached, and Miguel craned his neck to see the legendary Rick walking toward them. “The Barbarossa brothers recruited a lot of sailors as new crew members on Djerba Island. If they want to stay, they’ll have to sign new slave contracts—I heard you caught their charge captain?”

“Probably. I cut off one of his ears, and he’s still over there,” Bellick replied.

“Kill him.”

That was Rick’s immediate response.

As the two men walked over, Miguel had to admit he was shocked.

He hadn’t expected the infamous loyal (mad) dog first mate Rick to be so young—in his late twenties. Aside from the overly non-mainstream red hair, he actually looked quite sharp… His well-crafted boots, the large ruby-encrusted saber at his waist, and the expensive attire… Could this guy be Caesar’s son?

If not for the overwhelming aura of violence and the splatters of blood covering his body, one might have mistaken him for a runaway playboy.

“Tell the informants to spread the word that the flagship is recruiting a new navigator—and oh yeah, two buglers—damn it, why is Caesar so annoying—”

Rick grabbed his hair and growled in frustration.

Berry: “I can play the bugle, sir!”

Miguel: “…”

Next time, give me a heads-up before you raise your hand so I can stay away from you.

Rick let go of his hair and smirked as he glanced at the eager boy: “Oh, what’s this? A brat who still smells of milk?”

“I can play the bugle, sir!” Berry, tied up like a rabbit, bounced in place. “I can, I can! I’m from Djerba Island, and my mother can vouch for me—”

“Ah, very enthusiastic, kid.” After sizing up the boy, Rick stroked his chin and said with a grin, “Set him aside, Bellick. This kid can temporarily be removed from the shark lunch list—Huh, what’s this?”

A shadow fell over Miguel, and his eyelids twitched. The next second, a strong hand grabbed his chin and forced his face upward.

Dark black eyes met fiery red ones.

“Oh, an Easterner,” Rick chuckled hoarsely. “Bellick, I’m giving you a raise this time.”

…

“Raise your ass. Let him go, trash.”

Swish—the sharp sound of a blade being sheathed.

Miguel narrowed his eyes slightly and turned his head to look in the distance. He stared unblinkingly at the tall figure that had appeared out of nowhere, now standing against the rising sun. He watched in silence as the man walked over with steady steps.

Without hesitation, the newcomer shoved Rick aside. His rough hand took over Rick’s position—more forcefully, more insistently lifting Miguel’s face upward—

“Hey, perverted fisherman, Old Fante’s house doesn’t even have a backyard. Where’d the goat come from?”