Chapter 41

The Wind Fury set sail from Algiers towards Spain, with their ultimate destination being the coastal city of Benidorm. Along the way, they passed countless unnamed, uninhabited islands—a scenario that, unsurprisingly, provided Caesar with the perfect natural conditions for carrying out punishments.

Yes, on the very day Margarita left, at the crack of dawn, the Wind Fury conducted a public trial of their Charge Captain, Billy.

Since the accused held a relatively high position within the fleet, all officers were required to attend the trial.

At this moment, on the calm sea, the Wind Fury sailed smoothly. Around the long meeting table in the main ship’s conference room sat about thirty high-ranking members of the Wind Fury. At the head of the table, farthest from the door, sat Caesar. To his right was the fleet’s first mate, Rick, and to his left was Miguel, the sleep-deprived navigator and “captain’s shadow,” who had been nodding off like a garlic pestle since the meeting began.

This malicious nickname was given by Berry. Berry, who idolized the captain, was quite displeased with Miguel’s constant tailing of Caesar. With Caesar turning a blind eye to his antics, Berry took great pleasure in tripping Miguel up every day, inventing a new form of combat after palace intrigue and domestic disputes—ship intrigue.

…But let’s not digress. Let’s bring the focus back to this serious and important maritime meeting.

According to protocol, the person closest to the door was Billy, who was about to face trial.

The meeting began, as usual, with Rick reading out the nitpicky rules set by Caesar—compared to these rules, which took half an hour to read, the ones in the slave book were mere child’s play. When the black-haired young man’s head slipped off his supporting hand for the third time, Caesar finally couldn’t take it anymore and kicked him under the table.

Rick: “—Article 138: Wasting food is prohibited.”

“…!” Miguel suddenly raised his head, looking around in confusion. His gaze slid from Rick, who was dryly reading the rules, to Caesar. He raised an eyebrow and said innocently, “Why’d you kick me?”

Caesar raised an eyebrow: “Pay attention.”

Rick: “—Article 139: Stealing extra rations from the storeroom is prohibited.”

Caesar reached out to smack the back of Miguel’s head: “Did you hear that? That’s you—you thought I didn’t see you sneak three apples from the kitchen yesterday? According to the rules, you should get three lashes. You’re full of bad habits. Do you feel uncomfortable if you haven’t seen the Saint Monarch?”

Faced with the accusation, Miguel bristled: “Asshole! Didn’t I share one of those apples with you? You ate it and now you’re denying it, you bastard—spit it out, spit it out, spit it out!”

Rick: “Ahem.”

Caesar: “…Let’s put that aside for now. How dare you openly doze off during the meeting!”

Miguel: “That’s because I was scared last night!”

Caesar sneered: “What’s that? I’ve been scared every day since you came aboard, and I’m still alive and well.”

Everyone: “…”

Faced with the blatant bickering between the two, Rick, who had reached his limit, decided enough was enough. Expressionlessly, he tossed the Wind Fury Code of Conduct aside: “…I’m done reading. Let’s move on to the next agenda—”

The captain turned his head, puzzled: “Why’d you stop reading?”

Everyone: “…”

“Because I don’t feel like it,” the red-haired first mate said with a blank expression. He turned to look at Billy, who was kneeling at the door, bound tightly. “Billy, according to the Pirate Charter, you have violated Chapter 1, Article 7 regarding ‘breach of confidentiality.’ Based on the intelligence you sold to the Arab pirates, the Barbarossa Brothers, the charge will be escalated to ‘treason’—tch, that’s serious, brother… From now on, you have ten minutes to state your case, but this will not affect the final verdict.”

Treason was a grave offense, especially when it nearly resulted in the captain’s death. Typically, the offender faced one of two fates: either handed over to their country’s authorities, where government officials would eagerly hang the pirate, or “exiled.” In cases where the captain was feeling merciful, the exiled individual would be left on a desolate, uninhabited island with a bag of fresh water and a single-shot gun.

What happened next—whether they were rescued by a passing ship or succumbed to thirst and hunger—was up to fate. However, as everyone knew, God was often too busy, and most exiled individuals got the chance to play God themselves.

As a Charge Captain who had performed his duties relatively well, Billy knew exactly what he was facing. At this moment, he was trembling like a sieve, pale as a ghost, sweat pouring down his face and dripping onto the floor, forming a small puddle.

No one spoke. Suddenly, the ship’s doctor stood up from the table and, without hesitation, pinched Billy’s neck and poured a bottle of glucose down his throat—the source of which was unknown. The Wind Fury’s doctor was a tall, thin man in his thirties who always wore a white coat and a monocle. Unshaven and taciturn, he had a sadistic streak—he was the one who, when Miguel had injured the back of his head, insisted on shaving off all his hair before treating him, completely disregarding the patient’s dignity.

It was Caesar’s comment, “I don’t want to work in the same office as a bald guy,” that saved Miguel back then. Big Dog was quite reliable in critical moments—kudos to him.

“Don’t faint,” the doctor said with a sneer, cigarette butt dangling from his lips. He addressed Billy: “I’ll serve you till the very last second, Charge Captain.”

Serve? Who the hell has the fortune to be served by you, oh great one? Miguel, sitting next to Caesar, shivered.

“I was forced,” Billy stammered, his face no longer as pale but still trembling uncontrollably. “Captain, spare me, don’t send me to the gallows—I was forced. Leoza kidnapped my wife and daughter—he demanded I report your whereabouts in June to him. I didn’t know he would sell that information to the Arabs—I was forced, Captain, I didn’t want to betray you, believe me!”

“What?” Rick, who had been born before Caesar, yelled, “That damn dwarf again!”

“Don’t yell, trash. Why bother with a lunatic?” The captain scratched his face, looking utterly indifferent. “I heard he just raided a royal port the day before yesterday. Tch, annoying little brat.”

Miguel: “I think Leoza is quite cute.”

Caesar: “Shut up.”

Miguel shut up.

In the wide armchair, the man shifted to a more comfortable position. His amber eyes calmly swept over Billy, who was kneeling by the door. Suddenly, he clicked his tongue, sounding somewhat annoyed: “I’ll have to find a new Charge Captain—Rick, how about I demote you to Charge Captain?”

Rick, who had been inexplicably dragged into this: “…What the hell does that have to do with me!”

“And then Bakir can be the first mate,” the captain continued, making his own arrangements.

Bakir was the name of the sadistic doctor. The man, who was listlessly smoking a cigarette, snorted, showing no interest in the promotion.

Facing unanimous opposition from his two subordinates, Caesar sighed deeply, completely missing the point as he complained: “Billy, if that red-haired dwarf kidnapped your family, you could have told me. I might have overlooked you taking matters into your own hands and contacting him privately. But you sold my information to Leoza, and you made such a fuss that even Margarita surfaced. Now I have to convict you, and afterward, I’ll have to find a new Charge Captain to fill your position. Just thinking about it is really annoying.”

“I’m sorry, Captain! Please spare my life! Consider all the years I’ve served you!” Billy’s words were stumbling as he trembled.

Caesar fell silent, watching Billy. For a moment, the meeting room was enveloped in silence.

“Exile.”

The words, light as a feather, slipped softly from the man’s throat, delivering the final verdict.

Then he stood up from the table, brushing off nonexistent dust from his shoulder: “Tell the navigator to find an uninhabited island off the main route, and then throw Billy overboard…”

He paused, as if thinking for a moment, then added: “Until then, don’t let him get in my sight again.”

Rick was stunned: “But Caesar, according to the rules, the gun and water must be handed over to the exiled crew member by the captain himself—”

“Don’t want to deal with it,” Caesar said impatiently. “Whoever wants to do it can do it—Miguel?”

Miguel: “Here!”

“Here what? You’re so dumb. Come with me to the captain’s cabin.”

As the captain spoke, he walked out. Sensing that Big Dog was in a bad mood, Miguel didn’t dare say a word and quickly followed like a little eunuch. Rick muttered a few words and followed them out—the three of them left like a gust of wind, leaving behind a group of high-ranking Wind Fury members who looked at each other in bewilderment, and Billy, who was so scared he almost fainted but at least managed to keep his life.

Inside the captain’s cabin.

Miguel just kept his head down and followed, not noticing when the tall man in front of him had stopped. The moment he entered the captain’s cabin, his wrist was grabbed, and then the man used two rough fingers to roughly lift his chin.

“Is this the prelude to a kiss?” Miguel asked calmly.

“You’re dreaming,” Caesar replied equally calmly. “Can you dance?”

Miguel laughed cheerfully: “What do you think?”

After seriously thinking about it, with a face full of regretful “those were the days” expression, Caesar let go of the navigator. As if not noticing Rick, who had followed them in to join the fun, he turned and walked into the inner chamber of the captain’s cabin. From a large trunk in the corner, he pulled out a black cloth-like object—

When he shook it out in front of Miguel, the other two people present were not surprised to find that it was indeed a very ornate lady’s dress.

“Your frame is small, so you might be able to fit into this,” the man said after scrutinizing Miguel. He forcefully shoved the dress into Miguel’s arms—the force was so strong that it almost knocked him to the ground—then raised his chin and generously said, “This dress is yours.”

Miguel: “…”

Caesar raised an eyebrow.

Miguel: “Are you waiting for me to say ‘thank you’?”

Caesar: “Shouldn’t you?”

Miguel: “…Thank you.”

Caesar: “You’re welcome. Go change into it.”

“…” Miguel thought his ears were playing tricks on him—but they weren’t. The sound of Rick’s laughter was unmistakably clear.

“Go change,” Caesar said with a dark expression. “That’s an order.”

Screw your damn order. This time, it was Miguel’s turn to have a dark expression as he grabbed the cursed dress and stormed into the inner chamber, cursing the damn dog while he stripped and haphazardly put on the dress that had come from who knows where. As Caesar had said, Miguel wasn’t particularly short, but unlike the burly Europeans, his relatively slender frame managed to fit into the lady’s dress without too much difficulty.

To play the part fully, he grabbed a feather fan from Caesar’s trunk, then lifted the hem of the dress and rushed out of the inner chamber.

Seeing Miguel charging out, holding the hem of the dress and revealing his sturdy calves and leg hair, the captain actually nodded in satisfaction.

Caesar: “Not bad.”

Miguel: “I’m naturally beautiful.”

Rick dropped a bombshell: “So that dancer was you.”

Caesar: “…”

Miguel: “…You’ve got the wrong person.”