Chapter 20

When the only first mate of the Black Sea Wolf fleet obediently returned to the main ship with hundreds of contracts in his arms, hoping to find his captain under the warm sunlight, he was met with an empty Captain’s Cabin. The red-haired first mate felt utterly exhausted, realizing that even after all these years, he was still too naive when it came to the captain’s shamelessness—

The Black Sea Wolf had disappeared without a trace, taking the dozens of newly recruited crew members with him.

“Captain? He went to the Saint Monarch!” The sailor who was questioned paused his work of scrubbing the deck and looked up, innocently delivering a brutal blow to the expressionless first mate. “Didn’t the captain tell you?”

Rick: “…He probably only remembers to inform me when he’s about to die.”

The Saint Monarch?

…The Saint Monarch.

Rick began to regret not singing a lullaby to Caesar before he left, to make him obediently take a nap… or simply grab the bastard captain and jump into the sea together to drown.

The Saint Monarch, for most of the crew, was a ship that was both unfamiliar and familiar, holding a very special place in the Black Sea Wolf fleet—thanks to the fact that almost all the crew members turned pale at the mention of it. Due to someone’s twisted sense of humor, the ship was named after Lucifer, the ruler of Hell in the Bible, who, before his fall, was the only six-winged archangel of Heaven, known as the “Saint Monarch of Heaven”—setting that aside, regardless of your beliefs, boarding this ship meant you were about to get very close to the Almighty.

The Saint Monarch would take you on a journey from Heaven to Hell.

Yes, the Saint Monarch was a ship specially designed to deal with crew members who had committed serious mistakes.

The great Captain Caesar, on the very first day of the new recruits’ reporting, couldn’t wait to drag everyone to this place that the old crew members wished they would never see again—a level of honesty that was truly tear-jerking.

When Rick kicked open the door of the execution room with the stack of contracts in his arms, the handsome and mighty Captain Caesar was introducing the famous “Cat o’ nine tails whip” to the future crew members—

“Since the time of the ancient Greek and Roman galleys, this whip has been renowned. Thanks to its elegance and artistry, we are fortunate to find that this beautiful thing has been preserved intact to this day,” the man’s voice was elegant and deep, his eyes lowered, looking at the black whip in his hand as if it were a lover. “The whip handle has nine leather strips, which is where this little darling gets its name—each lash will leave nine bloody marks on the back, and after a few lashes, even the royal regulars will be crying for their mothers.”

New crew members: =口=.

Rick: “…”

Completely ignoring the first mate’s resentful gaze, Caesar smiled faintly, his amber eyes sweeping over the new recruits, his thin lips parting slowly, “On my ship, learn to be good boys… I believe you wouldn’t want to try it.”

New crew members: =口=.

Rick: QAQ Stop talking, you bastard captain!!!!

A suffocating silence filled the room. As he spoke, the man’s gem-like eyes finally settled on a black-haired young man in the crowd—Caesar had almost effortlessly spotted the future mascot of his fleet among the sea of frightened faces—

Not that Miguel was particularly outstanding in appearance, but among a group of panicked, ugly faces, if there was one face that was blatantly filled with an unsettling mix of anticipation and adoration, even a cross-eyed person could spot him at a glance.

While Caesar was lovingly gazing at his little cat o’ nine tails whip, Miguel was lovingly gazing at Caesar.

…

And so, the future trajectory was almost crystal clear. ╮(￣▽￣”)╭

At this moment, the Black Sea Wolf’s mischievous heart was slightly disappointed by someone’s calm reaction.

Wasn’t he scared at all?

Losing interest, Caesar tossed the cat o’ nine tails whip back into its box, casually picking up a pair of handcuffs. The silver handcuffs glinted as they twirled in the man’s elegant, long fingers, making it hard to look away. “I will teach you how to become true ‘Gentlemen of the Sea’—when your lives are balanced, and you can clearly distinguish between life on the ship and life on land, you will find that you are very close to this title…”

The man lazily drew out his words—

“On the ship, work hard, respect the captain, and remember, I am your law; on land, your time, money, and body belong to you, and apart from a few basic rules, if you’re happy, you don’t need to follow any laws—whether from me or any country.”

He slowly raised a finger: “Rule one, never force any woman who is unwilling to be with you.”

A second finger: “Rule two, never reveal any information about the Wind Fury to unauthorized personnel.”

A third finger: “The captain is the captain, even when we’re on land, Laozi is still your boss.”

When raising a fourth finger, the man hesitated slightly, but when his gaze swept over a certain face, he smirked: “Whether on land or at sea, I don’t care if you haven’t touched a woman in three years or if you’re dead and turned to ashes, use your brains to remember: never develop any feelings for the captain beyond respect.”

Miguel: “…”

Caesar paused, then added: “No crushes either.”

Rick: “…Wasn’t there no such rule before?”

“Now there is, idiot.” Caesar expressionlessly took a contract from Rick’s stack, folded it, and casually fanned himself twice, saying, “Above are the rules that apply both on and off the ship—the specific ship rules are already written in your contracts, read them carefully and memorize them. I sincerely hope this is the last time you ever set foot on the Saint Monarch—Rick?”

Rick: “Here.”

“Take them back to the Wind Fury and get ready to sign the contracts.”

Rick: “Got it.”

Finally breathing a sigh of relief, all the new recruits followed their red-haired first mate, ready to leave this spine-chilling ship, only to hear their captain suddenly speak up again…

Caesar: “Wait, the drooling black-haired one—yes, you, come here.”

As the new crew members exchanged glances, trying to figure out who the “black-haired” unlucky one was, Miguel lazily smiled and walked toward the man. Under Rick’s urging, the group began to move, and as the last person left the execution room, he instinctively glanced back, only to hear a crisp click and see a flash of silver as their great captain decisively slapped the handcuffs he’d been twirling onto the wrists of the new recruit.

“…” Miguel was stunned. He moved his wrists, the chains clinking against the handcuffs, producing a pleasant sound. Slowly raising his cuffed hands to the man, the black-haired young man finally spoke, “Big Dog, this… isn’t appropriate, is it?”

“These handcuffs were practically made for you,” the captain said, unmoved. “Last reminder, call me ‘Captain.'”

As he spoke, Caesar reached into his pocket, rummaging around impatiently before pulling out a crumpled old contract—covered in Arabic, it was clearly not the Wind Fury’s contract. Miguel’s eyes involuntarily followed the contract, and just as he was about to get dizzy from the movement, he finally saw Rick’s signature in the bottom right corner.

The perverted fisherman’s wide-eyed expression made the man snort in displeasure.

With a loud smack, Caesar slapped the Wind Fury’s contract onto the only table in the execution room, his expression indifferent: “Sign this contract, and your friend will be free.”

Miguel glanced at the man, his hands cuffed together. The Wind Fury’s contract was considerately written in English—a whole page of rules and regulations that clearly illustrated just how nitpicky the captain of this fleet was:

(1) Every crew member has the right to participate in major decisions, even if it’s just about snagging some fresh food or alcoholic drinks, every crew member has the right to their share.

(2) Every crew member should come to the ship’s deck in a pre-arranged order (currently based on rank) so that, in addition to their share of the loot, they can also receive a new set of clothes.

(3) No one on the ship is allowed to gamble with dice or cards, and when the captain is in a bad mood, no swearing in his presence. Violators will be fined, and if this month’s wages are negative, it will carry over to the next month.

(4) Lights must be turned off at 8 PM, and anyone who wants to continue drinking must do so on the deck.

(5) Every crew member must keep their pistols, cutlasses, and cannons clean and in good condition.

(6) Women and children are strictly prohibited from living on the ship. Anyone who sneaks a woman on board in disguise will be punished with death.

(7) Anyone who deserts the ship or flees their post during battle will be punished with death or exile.

(8) No fighting among crew members on the ship. All disputes must be settled on land.

(9) Anyone who loses a limb or becomes disabled in battle will receive an additional 800 gold coins from the captain, and those with minor injuries will also receive compensation.

(10) Musicians can rest on Sundays, but on other days, they must play music for the crew’s entertainment.

“Is that all?” The handcuffs jingled as Miguel pulled the contract away from the sunlight, then set it down and took the quill pen that Caesar handed him, already dipped in ink. Since his hands were cuffed together, he had to grip it with both hands.

“Sign in the blank space.” The man’s tone was businesslike and devoid of emotion. As Miguel shrugged and bent down to sign, Caesar suddenly said, “Wait.”

He yanked the contract away from under Miguel’s nose, quickly adding two more items in bold strokes:

(11) It is strictly prohibited to develop any feelings for the captain beyond respect.

(12) No crushes either.

Miguel: “…I thought you were just joking.”

“Now you should know how serious I am.” Caesar watched expressionlessly as Miguel reluctantly signed his name under the new rules, then took the contract back, blew on it, and stuffed it into his pocket. Then, he pulled out another piece of parchment—

“Hey,” Miguel frowned, “is this ever going to end?”

Caesar paused, raising an eyebrow.

“…” Miguel forced a flattering smile, “At least let’s continue somewhere with better lighting…”

Caesar slapped the parchment onto the table again: “Slave contract. You cost my fleet a slave, so now you’re replacing him.”

Before Miguel could react, Caesar swiftly drew “Ghost Slayer” from his waist, grabbed his hand, and without hesitation, sliced a cut across his palm. The black-haired young man instinctively flinched from the pain, but that didn’t stop the blood from gushing from his palm.

“Make your mark on this, and you can leave.” Caesar shook Miguel’s hand over the contract, then returned the dagger to its sheath, his tone finally betraying a hint of impatience.

“…You could’ve just pricked my finger! Why make it so bloody?” Miguel complained, leaning in to look at the contract.

Caesar: “Stop complaining… What are you still looking at?”

“Wait, wait.” Miguel pointed vaguely at the second item on the slave contract, “The nationality part seems a bit off. I’m not German.”

“You’re my person, I say what nationality you are, so stop talking nonsense.” The man’s response was domineering.

…Damn it! The dignity of a descendant of the Yellow Emperor has been challenged!

Miguel straightened up proudly: “My country doesn’t recognize dual citizenship.”

“No country has such a strange rule.”

“I say it does!”

“…Whatever. Just sign.”

The captain conceded.

Grabbing the quill, Miguel crossed out the word “German” next to the nationality section and, with shaky hands, wrote “CHINA” next to it. Then, in the blank space of the contract, he signed his name—Miguel’s decisiveness surprised Caesar somewhat. He had expected the perverted fisherman to resist the “slave” identity, but it seemed…

He had overestimated his sense of shame.

Miguel looked up and shoved the slave contract at Caesar: “That’s it?”

Caesar: “That’s it.”

“Alright.”

The black-haired young man responded indifferently, then raised his cuffed hands and yanked hard—

Snap—

The seam broke.

Clang—

The metal handcuffs fell to the floor of the execution room.

“The dagger is good…”

Miguel flexed his wrists, which were red from the cuffs, and arrogantly planted a foot on the table. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminated his dazzling, cocky grin—

“But don’t underestimate me, Captain!”