Chapter 24

Big Dog tends to avert his gaze when he lacks confidence, sometimes even pretending to scoff with a disdainful hum.

For example, every morning when Miguel greets him cheerfully from across the ship, saying, “Good morning, Captain.”

Or like just now, when he shifted the blame for giving the first mate a hard time onto the communicator.

And again, like when he claimed he came to Cagliari just to witness the target cargo being loaded onto the ship.

When Miguel saw that ninety-degree zigzag “Z” shaped non-mainstream sea chart, he realized that this route didn’t seem like they were chasing something—it was more like they were stalling for time. To be precise, Big Dog was trying to avoid something—oh my, this was serious. Could there really be something in this world that this damn dog was afraid of?

The black-haired young man sat on the sofa, a slight smile playing on his lips, his tail-wagging scheming expression making one itch to slap him. Caesar propped his head up and watched him for a while, but ultimately gave up on the idea of dragging him over and giving him a beating—because after much thought, he couldn’t come up with a proper reason. The tall man stood up from the armchair, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he beckoned the slave on the sofa like he was calling a pet: “Come on, let’s go ashore.”

The automatic translator is here! Miguel’s eyes lit up as he jumped up from the sofa. “Where to?”

Seeing his excitement, the man curled his lips and mumbled vaguely, “I heard there’s a bar in Cagliari that sells excellent Sangiovese wine. Selling you might just cover the cost of a barrel.”

Miguel: “Funny, is wine really worth more than me?”

Caesar: “It’s worth a lot more than you.”

Miguel: “Laozi is a rare navigator! If you sell me, you’ll be steering the ship straight into a trench, damn it!”

Caesar sneered: “Funny, want to give it a try?”

Rick: “…Wait, if I may ask, when did the two of you regress twenty years in age?”

Miguel: “What? I’m only twenty today.”

Miguel’s rare honesty greatly amused his master. The captain let out a hearty laugh and ruffled the young man’s soft black hair with a big hand: “Why so honest about having no brains?”

Miguel: “…”

Caesar: “You should say, ‘Sorry for shaming you, Captain.’ I’m in a good mood today, so I won’t dock your pay.”

Miguel: “Screw you! Screw you! Screw you!”

Caesar: “Docking your pay, ten gold coins. Congratulations, you won’t get a single penny this month.”

…

The two of them walked out of the cabin while bickering, and as the noise faded, the spacious first mate’s cabin finally returned to peace. The red-haired first mate, sitting alone at the table, stared blankly at the door for a while. A cool, moist breeze blew in through the open window, and amidst the sound of the waves, Rick squinted and let out a long yawn… It was such a rare quiet day, perfect for a nap.

May the sea god bless us and keep those two noisy bastards away until dinner.

Cagliari was a typical Italian city.

The 14th century marked the beginning of the Renaissance, and Italy, as the birthplace of this movement, saw the Gothic style of clothing flourish. Artists from Florence began studying Roman art, making the fashion of this period open, bright, and elegant.

On the bustling streets, women wore elaborate houppelandes, with long, voluminous skirts, high waists, and deep necklines that generously exposed the white skin of their chests. Men, on the other hand, favored tight-fitting trousers and a luxurious garment called the “pourpoint.” Made from materials like velvet, brocade, silk, and high-quality wool, the pourpoint remained the primary upper garment for men from the mid-14th century until the era of Louis XIV in the mid-17th century, lasting for a full three centuries.

Even in broad daylight, the taverns were already open, and the lively streets were filled with the aroma of wine. Looking around, the streets were lined with characteristic buildings featuring domed roofs and large windows—unlike Djerba Island, Cagliari was more akin to a typical Italian city, with street performers and mischievous children running around everywhere.

Walking on the uneven bluestone streets, Miguel’s wide-eyed curiosity made Caesar think of a country bumpkin visiting the city.

Clearing his throat and adjusting the pointed captain’s hat he wore as a disguise, the man moved his lips and said in a low voice, “Never been to Italy before?”

“Nope,” Miguel replied. “So don’t expect me to know Italian.”

“…” The man paused for a moment, then raised his hand and lightly brushed his thumb against the corner of his mouth, suddenly revealing a mischievous smile before spitting out a long, fluent Italian sentence.

Miguel: “What does that mean?”

“If you get lost, just find a patrolling officer and tell him this. He’ll take you back to the docks.”

“…”

In simpler terms, it’s like telling a lost kid to find a police officer. Got it.

Miguel thought for a moment, then suddenly looked up and caught the wicked grin that hadn’t yet disappeared from Big Dog’s lips. He immediately became suspicious: “What does that sentence actually mean?”

The man looked down, lazily glancing at his slave with a sly look, and translated honestly: “‘Officer, I’m lost. Please take me to the port. My father is waiting for me there.'”

“…Isn’t that sentence suitable for a five-year-old?”

“You just admitted to having zero intelligence. I’m being generous by saying five.”

“I don’t have a dad as young as you.”

“Great, I don’t have a son as old as you either.”

“Hmph… Wait—you have a son?!”

The man, who had been casually examining a delicate button being sold by a young girl at a stall, paused for a moment before carelessly tossing the button back into the box. “Ah… maybe. Who knows?”

Miguel: “…”

Opening up a new world through casual conversation.

As for such a bullshit answer coming from Big Dog’s mouth, it was so fitting that it made one not even want to question its inherent absurdity.

“Rick has two sons and a daughter—though no one knows who the mother is… But there are more people trying to get into my bed than that piece of trash Rick, and among them, a few always succeed. Ah, though I’m usually careful, sometimes the safety measures fail… What’s with that look?” The man chuckled, reaching out to hook a finger under the young man’s chin, who was staring at him dumbfounded. “I’m a normal man. I have needs too.”

While speaking, he casually picked up a bottle of wine from a street vendor and examined it absentmindedly, occasionally glancing around as if waiting for something—when they came ashore, Caesar had swapped his usual captain’s domineering attire for the look of an ordinary German merchant. On the entire street, only Miguel knew that he had a short musket stuffed in his boot and a dagger hidden in his belt.

Then, a commotion broke out from the direction of the port.

Putting down the bottle of low-quality wine that the Black Sea Wolf would never deign to drink, the man stood up, his movements still lazy and unhurried, but the sharp glint in his amber eyes revealed a hint of something different.

He reached out and patted the black-haired young man’s head, speaking in a tone one might use with a pet: “Play by yourself. Wait here for me. I’ll come back to get you later.”

Miguel: “Where are you going?”

Caesar smiled: “The god of wealth has arrived. I’m going to greet him.”

Only then did Miguel remember the arms dealers Caesar was using as a cover. Was he really going to watch them load their weapons onto the ship? After pondering for a moment, Miguel frowned and said, “I’m coming too.”

“Kids can’t go to such places,” Caesar said flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Wait here. Don’t wander off. There are human traffickers here, and while you’re not much to look at, you’re still quite valuable. So don’t talk to strangers… Oh, never mind, I forgot you don’t even know Italian.”

Miguel: “…” Screw your “not much to look at.”

After giving his instructions, the captain turned to leave.

After taking three steps, he suddenly seemed to remember something. Pausing for a moment, he turned back to face Miguel, pinching the young man’s chin with two fingers and forcing him to look up into his eyes.

The two stared at each other for a moment before the man spoke in an unusually serious tone: “Keep to yourself. Don’t meddle in other people’s business. If I find out, I’ll dock your entire next month’s pay.”

Miguel: “Got it, now get lost.”

Caesar: “You should say, ‘Yes, Captain.'”

Miguel impatiently swatted his hand away: “Yes, Dad.”

Caesar smiled: “Good boy.”

Then the captain left, reassured.

Then Miguel also turned and headed in the opposite direction, toward the church building.

And the moment he took his first step, he completely forgot the captain’s warning.