Chapter 66

Chapter 66

In Miguel’s view, in his previous life, he had learned from the news that grave robbers usually followed the “four techniques of observation, smelling, asking, and touching” before robbing a tomb—find an old man or woman, sit them down in the sun, and respectfully hand them a pipe. Tales of fox temples, yellow weasel graves, and princess tombs would then naturally emerge from the local legends.

Clearly, even a thousand years earlier and across several oceans, this method still proved effective.

“Ask” was a verb.

To find out where Menorca might be hiding clues that would lead the fleet to the legendary Mermaid Harbor, the best way was to ask—though this kind of asking was different from randomly pulling someone off the street. At least, in Caesar’s opinion, since ancient times, the Mediterranean Sea had been filled with countless bizarre yet never-ending legends about mermaids. If Menorca was destined to hold something unique that could conceal the path to Mermaid Harbor, then there must be something different on the island.

So, “asking” was a skill.

Almost everyone on the Wind Fury fleet who seemed even remotely intelligent, regardless of height, weight, or build, was pulled out by Caesar and given ten gold coins as activity funds.

“Use whatever method you can—whether it’s through prostitutes, ruffians, tavern owners, bards, or even thieves—I want every legend and story about Menorca Island, from ancient times to the present,” the captain said, sitting in a commanding position in the meeting room, his handsome face expressionless and his aura intimidating. “Anyone who dares to get too caught up in pleasure and forgets their head in their pants, or who leaks any information to outsiders, will face the whip once I find out.”

With a loud thud, a jingling bag full of gold coins was carelessly tossed onto the table. Under the greedy gazes of the pirates, the captain tapped the table. “This gold is your starting fund. Whoever brings me the information I need will get an additional six hundred gold coins. If you get the results before sunset tomorrow, I’ll add another three hundred gold coins as a reward. Now, dismissed.”

After the leaders of the various ships divided the bag of gold coins to distribute among their subordinates, they scattered. As each of them left the Wind Fury’s meeting room, their eyes shone with a green, wolf-like intensity—

Six hundred gold coins!

Six hundred!

According to the Wind Fury’s rules, losing a left leg usually only earned you five hundred gold coins in compensation—now, all you had to do was use your words, and you could take home six hundred gold coins without a scratch!

As for the time-limited three hundred gold coins—if you were lucky enough to get them, that would be a total of nine hundred gold coins! What did nine hundred gold coins mean? Only crew members who lost their right hand in a sea battle had a chance to receive such a huge sum—but the cost was too great. For most right-handed people, losing their right hand was almost equivalent to losing all their combat ability and value.

So those who received these gold coins, if they had somewhere to go, usually chose to leave the fleet immediately. Those who had nowhere to go might end up staying on the ship, but most of them died in later sea battles. The unluckiest ones didn’t even have a chance to make it to shore and spend their settlement money, as their lack of a right hand made them helpless lambs in the next battle.

For these pirates who lived day by day, spending whatever money they had, hundreds of gold coins were a sum they could never have dreamed of in their entire lives.

Almost all the crew members selected to participate in the search for clues were overjoyed, as if Christmas had come early. Meanwhile, those who were clearly not intelligent enough or looked too ferocious could only watch enviously as their companions happily received ten gold coins and followed their high-spirited captain off the ship.

By the way, the fifty gold coins Caesar had once spent on “stripper Miguel” for an overnight stay at the Babatra Tavern on Djerba Island was absolutely outrageous by industry standards.

Normally, a round with a prostitute cost only ten gold coins, and a higher-end one might cost twenty. If you were willing to add another five gold coins on top of that, you would become the king of the tavern for the day. The flamboyant girls would line up and walk past you, and all you had to do was sit on the couch, comfortably sipping a cold beer, and point to the most beautiful one—because for ordinary civilians, the most commonly used and circulated currency was silver coins, not pure gold.

Oh, why are we talking so much about the entertainment industry by the sea today? Well, there’s a popular joke in the Mediterranean: the most knowledgeable people aren’t nobles or scholars, but the prostitutes in taverns.

Every day, they interact with all kinds of people, drinking, chatting, and listening to their boasts. The amount of information they hold is unimaginable to the average person—

This was also why, as soon as Caesar got off the ship, he immediately took his newly adopted son to the best tavern on Menorca.

Of course, he wasn’t actually planning to let Miguel indulge himself—what a joke, of course not.

To this, the captain had two very cold and noble sentences to offer: “Why? And who says I have to?”

The Black Sea Wolf never paid for his crew’s entertainment off the ship—supporting the ship’s band, which did nothing but play music to entertain the crew during the monotonous sailing work, was already the most intolerable item on the captain’s monthly expenditure list.

As for the so-called “big chest” and “big butt” he had promised after having his fun…

“It’s time to tell you about the adult world, kid—”

At this moment, in the best tavern on Menorca, sitting in a soft couch so plush that it felt like he was sinking into it, with a feather fan behind him and the best fruits carefully peeled and brought to his mouth, being served like a true king, the captain lit a high-quality tobacco, freshly acquired, and took a puff. He smiled at the black-haired young man beside him, who was looking at him with a speechless expression. “A man’s words are usually mixed with more or less lies, especially when they’re said in bed. Usually, it’s already too much to just believe the punctuation marks.”

Miguel, expressionless, pushed away a sister whose chest was almost smothering his face.

“But you’re quite cost-effective in this regard,” the captain mumbled around the cigarette butt, raising his hand to give his little slave a slight nod of approval. “These girls are flocking to you for free.”

Prostitute A: “Oh, Captain, we’re not flocking to him!”

“Hmm?” Caesar narrowed his eyes, slowly exhaling a smoke ring and leaning slightly closer to the overly made-up prostitute. “Wasn’t it you who just offered to pay ten gold coins to borrow him for the night?”

“And the result?” The woman giggled coquettishly.

Under Miguel’s speechless gaze, the captain paused, then leaned back to a safe distance, saying indifferently, “No deal.”

Having been in the business for a long time, the woman wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by the Mediterranean’s top dog’s aloofness. Instead, she laughed even more merrily. She wriggled her leg and, like a slippery eel, deftly moved from the captain’s side to Miguel’s, and before he could react, she wrapped her arms around his neck and plopped down onto his lap.

Miguel: “Pfft!”

Prostitute A pouted: “Oh my, so shy! Hold my waist, or I’ll fall!”

Having never had a woman sit on his lap or touched any woman’s waist other than his mother’s in both his lives, Miguel blushed and was about to push her away when he suddenly heard the captain’s voice beside him, speaking in German, almost in a commanding tone. The man curled his thin lips into an annoying smile: “Hold her properly. You can’t let my source of information fall to the floor, or I’ll dock your pay.”

…Damn it, you weren’t exactly polite yourself just now, Captain! (╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻

With stiff hands, the navigator awkwardly held the waist of the woman with the big chest and big butt, his brain frantically searching for an excuse to escape!

However, the prostitute was very experienced. Surprisingly, she understood a bit of German. After hearing the captain’s words, she turned her head, her bright red lips pouting as usual, her cat-like eyes widening: “What information?”

Caesar looked at her in slight surprise but said nothing.

“Ah,” the woman smiled, “you’re here to ask for information?—Well, you’ve come to the right person. On Menorca Island, no one has more information than me—”

Miguel: “Your name is Zhizhi?”

“With a more rolled ‘zh’ sound.”

Still sitting on Miguel’s lap, Zhizhi wriggled her snake-like waist and poked Miguel’s lips with her bright red fingernail, the force almost making the nail pierce the navigator’s mouth—immediately regretting why he had asked, Miguel shut his mouth.

Zhizhi: “Say it—or I’ll kiss you!”

Under the captain’s amused gaze, Miguel awkwardly said: “Zizi?”

Zhizhi: “Not rolled enough!”

Miguel: “Zhi-Zhi?”

Zhizhi: “Don’t curl the end!”

Miguel: “…Zhizhi.”

Smack.

A big red lipstick mark was left on his face.

…Why did I get kissed even though I said it right? The black-haired young man silently wiped his face, forever turning against the word “branch” (枝) in “Zhizhi” (枝枝) from that day on.

He lowered his head, not noticing the captain beside him, who had put away his joking expression and was now slightly displeased, frowning. Meanwhile, Zhizhi acted as if nothing had happened, clapping her hands like a kindergarten teacher and making a sudden 180-degree attitude shift: “Let’s get back to business—”

Miguel: …We can actually “get back to business”?

Caesar: “I hope you won’t disappoint me, Zhizhi.”

Zhizhi: “Oh my, compared to this little brother, the way the captain says my name sounds more like a man calling a woman—it’s so exciting!”

Miguel: …What about me? Does my calling your name sound like an animal calling a woman?

The praised man chuckled indifferently: “I want the most unique legend of Menorca.”

“Huh?” This request seemed to slightly surprise the woman. For a moment, her beautiful face lost its playful smile. As if it were a habitual gesture, she put her long fingernail into her mouth, biting it and making a long, thoughtful hum. Then she suddenly released her teeth and smiled brightly again.

Miguel’s scalp tingled, sensing that something bad was about to happen.

Sure enough, the woman pointed her finger at her own nose: “The most unique legend of Menorca is sitting right in front of you. The legend you’re looking for is me.”

Miguel: …

Caesar: …

Quickly standing up and inserting himself between the two, Miguel patted the prostitute’s head: “Be good, stop messing around.”

Then he turned and patted the thigh of the captain, whose face was dark with impending fury: “Have a sense of humor… It’s said that hitting a woman brings three years of bad luck.”