Chapter 22

It was the second day since Miguel had boarded the ship.

On this day, the sun was shining brightly, the sea was calm, the breeze was gentle, and the ocean stretched out before them—it was a scene of spring warmth and blossoming flowers.

The Mediterranean Sea was no longer as tranquil as it usually was.

Across the vast, boundless blue sea, two magnificent three-masted galleys, each armed with twenty-four cannons, sailed side by side, cutting through the waves. Dozens of various types of ships followed closely behind. This massive fleet disrupted the serenity of the sea, sailing north with an unstoppable momentum. This was the fleet of the infamous Mediterranean pirate leader, “Black Sea Wolf” Caesar—after his miraculous survival in a previous battle against the Big Chin Barbarossa Brothers and his beheading of their leader, Caesar’s reputation had soared, and his name had spread across the entire Mediterranean coast.

As the saying goes, heroes are never alone. Now, let’s zoom in on the ship to the left of the two leading vessels—this is the ship of Caesar’s right-hand man, Crazy Dog Rick. And at this very moment, we can easily see a lone figure standing at the bow of this overly large and ornate first mate’s ship, silently gazing out at the endless sea—his fiery red hair fluttering in the sea breeze, his weathered heart breaking with the sound of the waves.

…For eight years, he had never made a mistake in his work, but now, having just been scolded by the captain, Rick stood at the lonely bow of the ship, every pore and every cell in his body screaming that if God gave him another chance, he would not hesitate to return to Djerba Island and throw the mascot he had brought on board… back to where he came from.

In the past twenty-four hours, Rick had come to deeply understand from the marrow of his bones that Miguel was not a so-called “mascot.” In just one day, the young red-haired first mate had seen the true nature of this “jinx”—counting the past eight years in his memory, ever since he first set foot on the Wind Fury fleet, Rick had always felt that at best, he was just being used as a servant by Caesar. But in this godforsaken twenty-four hours, the first mate of the Wind Fury had been horrified to discover that he was moving away from the servant class and infinitely closer to the nanny profession.

As Rick himself had said, when faced with Caesar’s shamelessness, he always seemed too naive—if Miguel were truly a mascot, would that cunning man have allowed him to snatch the black-haired young man right from under his nose?

The answer was, NO!!

…This was definitely a fucking trap, you bastard captain!!!! QAQ Watching the seagulls flying freely overhead, only God knew how much Rick wanted to just follow the wind and disappear. With his hands clasped behind his back, the red-haired first mate stood solemnly at the bow, looking in the direction they were heading, not even wanting to glance back at the deck where his once-proud crew stood—

The music of the drummers and buglers continued, but it couldn’t drown out the single word that had been deeply etched into his mind—

It was an onomatopoeic word.

For example: puke.

…

Here’s what happened.

On the first day of the voyage, Rick had known that Miguel might get seasick—in fact, before setting sail, the young man who had just boarded the ship had shyly confessed this fact to him. At the time, the first mate, who considered himself magnanimous, had smiled and thought the kid was adorably naive—in rough weather, even the average sailor would vomit a couple of times, so occasional seasickness was acceptable!

…The reality proved that he had been too naive and too young.

Less than five nautical miles into the voyage, when Rick suddenly remembered the teaching task Caesar had assigned him—to teach the mascot German—and went to the cabin to find Miguel, he found the young man hunched over a bucket, vomiting so hard he couldn’t straighten up—

Rick: “…”

Adhering to his gentle and lenient policy of helping newcomers adapt to their environment, the slightly speechless first mate thoughtfully retreated and closed the door behind him.

At noon, with the sun high in the sky, it was mealtime for the pirates, but Miguel was nowhere to be seen—of course, he was still vomiting.

In the afternoon, as the sun set, Miguel was still missing. When the first mate, carrying a bottle of small beer, went to the cabin to check on the navigator, he opened the door—Miguel was still vomiting.

At night, with the moon hidden behind the clouds, the pirates, lacking entertainment, rolled back into their cabins to sleep. Amidst the snoring that rose and fell, the exhausted first mate listened closely—Miguel… was still vomiting.

Vomiting in rough weather was one thing—but what was there to vomit about in this calm, smooth sailing weather where the ship felt as steady as if it were docked on land?!

Unable to sleep due to the faint sounds of retching, even as a vein throbbed on his forehead, Rick still considerately brought a bucket of fresh water and some fruit to Miguel. Seeing that the young man finally calmed down a bit under his loving care, and not wanting to have sacrificed in vain, Rick decided to sit down by Miguel’s bedside and patiently taught him two simple German phrases—

“Good day” and “Captain.”

And so, the next morning, this scene unfolded.

At dawn, with the first light of morning and a hazy mist over the sea, while the sailors were still deep in their dreams, Caesar had already awakened. On the deck of the captain’s three-masted galley, the tall man held a saber, meticulously practicing his combat skills—in the heat of summer, beads of sweat glistened as they rolled down his sun-kissed muscles in the faint morning light, eventually disappearing beneath the belt at his waist.

The two main ships sailed side by side, maintaining a distance of about ten meters to avoid the phenomenon of ship suction—this was very convenient for certain people on the other ship who had ulterior motives to peep… For example, at this moment, Miguel, who hadn’t slept well all night, was leaning against the ship’s railing, propping up his chin as he admired the scene—

The muscular man in the morning light.

Thud—

With a powerful turn, the sharp saber plunged deep into the side of the ship. The man released the hilt, relaxing his slightly sore palm, and his long, thick lashes fluttered as he lazily lifted his eyes. With his keen eyesight, the captain immediately spotted his grinning slave comrade on the neighboring ship—

On this side, Miguel’s heart skipped a beat at the captain’s gaze, and he suddenly felt that silently gazing across the ships was a somewhat romantic thing to do.

So he waved his hand with feigned nonchalance, and to report and show off his progress in learning, he used the two German words he had learned the previous night to form a sentence that was perfectly appropriate for the moment—

“Good day, Captain… puke.”

Caesar: “…”

[Miguel’s Voyage Diary]

On the first day aboard Big Dog’s ship, just like the first time I boarded his ship face-first, I clung to the mast and puked like a glorious idiot.

…

On the second day aboard Big Dog’s ship, the weather was clear. Although he was a bit harsh with me, Rick is a good guy, pure and simple. Big Dog was dissatisfied with my morning greeting and still refused to talk to me. Stupid dog, pure and simple.

…

On the third day aboard Big Dog’s ship, today, across the ships, Big Dog finally couldn’t help but have a good interaction with me.

Me: “Ah, I’m so dizzy.”

Big Dog: “There’s no waves today, why are you dizzy?”

Me: “It’s not that kind of dizziness! It’s the kind of dizziness you get when you’re on such a ship, sailing on such a blue sea, I’m so happy I’m dizzy, so intoxicated I’m dizzy, so enjoying it I’m dizzy. In fact, ever since I boarded the ship, I’ve been dizzy all the way. I entered your fleet, I’m dizzy. I saw the azure sea, I’m dizzy. I saw a huge school of fish, I’m dizzy. I saw the energetic sailors, I’m still dizzy. I saw you, I’m even more dizzy. Anyway, I’m just dizzy.”

Big Dog: “Rick.”

Rick: “Yes, Captain?”

Big Dog: “…Throw him overboard.”

No sense of humor ╮(￣▽￣”)╭, stupid dog, pure and simple.

…

On the fourth day aboard Big Dog’s ship, we will probably make a stop in Spain in the next couple of days and pull off a job. My seasickness has improved, please rest assured, my fellow countrymen.