Chapter 23

On the fifth day of Miguel’s boarding, the Black Sea Wolf fleet did not head directly to Spain as planned. Instead, they chose a straight northern route to Cagliari—a port belonging to Italy, located midway between Italy and Tunisia. As an independent island and the future capital of Sardinia, the island’s prosperity was evident.

Dancers, merchants, mercenaries, thieves, and pirates from various fleets gathered here. Though it might not compare to the freedom of Djerba Island, known as the “Pirate’s Paradise,” as soon as ships approached, the bustling liveliness of this Italian island could be felt from the docks.

After the ship docked, the pirates, who had long been bored out of their minds, rushed ashore. Unfamiliar with the place and knowing no Italian, Miguel obediently chose to stay on the ship. The best way to pass the time was to pester the short-tempered medic, Rick. In the first mate’s cabin, Miguel snatched the nautical chart from under Rick’s impatient nose and took a look. Immediately, he was horrified to discover that their next destination was Algiers.

Miguel: “…Did I open the chart wrong?”

Rick: “What’s the matter?”

Miguel: “Aren’t we supposed to be going to Spain?”

Rick: “The captain said we could take a break in Algiers before that.”

Miguel: “…”

Normal route: Tunisia → Spain.

Current route: Tunisia → Italy (opposite Tunisia) → Algeria (next to Tunisia) → Spain.

A two-week Mediterranean tour…

What was originally a four-day “shortest distance between two points” route had been turned into a two-week “Stairway to Heaven” with a sharp 90-degree zigzag. Looking at this unconventional route, Miguel couldn’t help but sigh at the eccentricity of Big Dog. Either he had a hole in his brain, or he was just throwing money around for fun.

Rick: “…Weird, right?”

Miguel: “Weird.”

Rick: “But he’s the captain.”

Miguel: “Being the captain doesn’t change the fact that he’s a pervert.”

End of conversation.

While the naive new navigator marveled at the captain’s brain structure, he had no idea that the King of Hell had arrived, and disaster was about to strike.

As soon as the fleet entered the port, the captain of the Black Sea Wolf personally boarded the first mate’s ship. Amidst a string of nervous greetings like “Captain” and “Boss,” the man, with his usual aloof demeanor, didn’t even bother with the customary nod. He strode purposefully forward—

The King of Hell’s steps came to a halt at the door of the navigator’s quarters.

After three seconds of silence, the man raised his foot and kicked the door open with a violent force.

The door creaked and swayed helplessly. Inside the now-empty room, everything was neatly arranged. The cabin was sparsely furnished, with few personal belongings, indicating its occupant had just moved in—a vomiting oak barrel was solemnly placed on the floor beside the bed. The man’s calm gaze swept the room, finally landing on the pitiful barrel. Without a word, he gestured behind him, and three lackey sailors rushed in.

Lackey Sailors: “Captain!”

Caesar: “Throw it away. I don’t want to see it again.”

With that, the captain turned and left without a second glance, making his way straight to the first mate’s cabin.

The door to the first mate’s cabin was wide open. When Caesar arrived, he immediately saw the situation inside—

His first mate was sitting behind the desk, playing with a compass on the nautical chart (or so it seemed). His slave, meanwhile, was crouching on the table, chin in hands, watching the first mate with an innocent expression (or so it seemed).

…A harmonious scene of two men in cahoots.

Caesar’s face darkened, and the nameless anger in his heart flared up. In two or three strides, he entered the cabin. Before the two men inside could react, he grabbed the one crouching by the table like a chicken and, under Rick’s wide-eyed gaze, effortlessly lifted the 175-centimeter-tall Miguel into a horizontal carry, then…

Without hesitation, he threw him onto a sofa about five meters away.

Miguel: “Don’t—throw me again! Damn it!”

Caesar: “Shut up. Next time, I’ll throw you out the window.”

Outside the window was the vast blue sea. Rick fell silent, suddenly realizing that this scene felt familiar—like when his boss had once lifted a tall, burly dancer in a similar manner and arrogantly declared her to be his for the night.

“…” Glancing at Miguel, who was struggling to get up from the sofa after the impact, the red-haired first mate rubbed his temples and decided to chalk it up to coincidence.

With a long arm, the captain dragged a chair by the window over and sat down comfortably, lazily crossing one leg. As the sea breeze blew in through the open window, Caesar’s mood improved slightly—just slightly.

His amber eyes shifted, and his cold gaze swept over the faces of the other two in the cabin. Suddenly, he smiled. Having studied his boss’s moods for thirty years, Rick felt a chill run down his spine. He knew something bad was about to happen. Sure enough…

“What were you talking about just now? You looked like you were having a grand old time.”

Narrowing his eyes, the Black Sea Wolf basked in the sunlight like a well-fed beast—though no matter how much he tried to appear amiable, the murderous aura of a predator ready to pounce was impossible to hide.

Miguel and Rick quickly exchanged a panicked glance.

Miguel: Did you laugh?

Rick: I didn’t laugh. Did you laugh?

Thank Caesar’s ancestors, neither of us laughed. After this silent exchange, both turned their innocent gazes to the captain. Miguel rubbed his waist and got up from the sofa: “We didn’t laugh. You must have seen wrong.”

Caesar snorted dismissively.

“What’s wrong with laughing?” Miguel, emboldened for some reason, said in a deliberately casual tone. “Laughing is good for you, it adds ten years to your life—”

Rick: Shut up, you idiot! Σ(っ°Д°;)っ

Caesar’s calm side-eye silenced Miguel instantly. After a moment of silence, Miguel studied the man’s expression carefully, then suddenly widened his eyes in mock surprise: “Are you jealous?”

Rick: “…I suddenly feel the need to pee.”

Caesar: “…”

Miguel stared: “…Are you really jealous?”

Caesar: “…”

Miguel’s eyes widened further: “Big Dog! You’re jealous!”

“I’m not.” Caesar uncrossed his legs and pressed his lips together. “And call me captain.”

Rick: “…I really need to pee.”

Caesar: “Sit down, trash. I have something to discuss with you. Why do you think I’m here?”

I thought you were here to pick a fight—Caesar’s favorite pastime when he’s bored, isn’t it? Rick sat down nervously, his chair instinctively scooting back a bit.

The captain cleared his throat, finally regaining some semblance of humanity and no longer looking like a monster. “This morning, I held a meeting on the main ship…”

“A meeting? I’m the first mate. Why wasn’t I informed?” Rick looked confused.

“Ah, that,” the man’s expression remained unreadable as he nodded casually. “My communicator must have forgotten to notify you. Useless trash. I’ll have him whipped when we get back.”

Rick: …No need, I’ve already got the hint. Thanks, Captain.

“The main topic of the meeting was about the navigator situation,” Caesar continued slowly, as if oblivious to the first mate’s expression. “Since our fleet is short on navigators, we’ve decided to cancel their days off and implement a shift system. They’ll receive an extra month’s salary as a bonus at the end of the month—Billy, as the chief navigator, will be on my ship on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays, he’ll switch shifts with this guy—”

He gestured vaguely in Miguel’s direction. “This shift system also ensures the safety of our voyages—if one of the navigators makes a mistake, the other can correct it the next day.”

Miguel: “Huh?! Really?”

Caesar: “You look like an idiot—if you keep throwing up on my ship, you’re dead. You have one last day to fix that disgusting habit of yours!”

Miguel: “Can I control seasickness?”

Caesar: “Swim a few laps in the sea with the ship, and you’ll get over it. How about that?”

Miguel: “…I think I can still be saved. I’ll change.”

Amidst the bickering, Rick fell silent for a moment.

Then he decided to accept the captain’s proposal, which, though flimsy, sounded somewhat reasonable.

As for the real reason behind this sudden change… Rick had survived under Caesar’s watch for so long for a reason. His male intuition told him—the captain’s possessive instincts were screaming. So, he wisely chose not to pursue the truth.

Plus, with this arrangement, he’d have four peaceful days a week without the troublemaker around.

How wonderful (:3)∠).

Absolutely perfect (:3)∠).

As Rick was mentally celebrating and preparing to put on a normal expression to agree to the captain’s new rule, the table in front of him suddenly rattled. Caesar’s dangerous voice sounded above his head: “What’s the matter? Can’t bear to part with him?”

Rick looked up in confusion to find that the man had somehow risen from his chair and was now standing over the table, his tall figure casting a shadow over Rick.

…This posture was probably a metaphor for Rick’s life.

“Absolutely not,” Rick said sincerely. “As you wish, Captain.”

Caesar: “Good. Now let’s address the next issue.”

Rick: “…Captain, I really need to pee.”

Caesar: “What were you two discussing earlier, huddled so close together?”

Rick: “Our navigator had some questions about the current route.”

Miguel: “I didn’t.”

Rick: “Why deny it? If you have questions, just ask. Caesar is a considerate and approachable captain. He won’t scold you.”

Miguel: “…” You red-haired bootlicker.

Caesar smiled and leaned back in his chair, this time relaxing comfortably against the backrest. “Curious why I took a detour to Cagliari?”

No one in the room dared to answer that question. The two men’s silence pleased Caesar, who narrowed his eyes and curled his lips slightly. “Three days ago, I received word that an Abaji merchant convoy would be restocking here. The goods include high-quality gold and a small batch of muskets, which they plan to sell at a high price to pirate freelancers in Algiers…”

Muskets?! Rick immediately sat up straight, his eyes gleaming.

Miguel: “?”

“However, as per my personal habit, I only believe half of what informants say. I always trust my own eyes.” Caesar spoke slowly. “By my calculations, they should be arriving soon… Rick, inform the crew to disguise themselves well. If anyone ruins this for me, they won’t want to know what’s coming to them.”

“…Heh.”

Miguel chuckled softly, propping his chin with one hand as he watched Big Dog from his spot on the sofa.

The intense gaze made the man frown uncomfortably.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Miguel snapped out of his thoughts and smiled.

…I just think you’re full of crap, you damn dog.