Chapter 25

During the early Renaissance, designers seemed to focus more on the construction of buildings rather than churches—this kept the churches in Italy during this period firmly rooted in the Gothic architectural style, intricate, ornate, and richly colored. The buildings, not yet weathered by history, gleamed magnificently under the sunlight. The faint hymns from the churches filled the air, and a strong artistic atmosphere permeated every corner.

Unlike the restored historical films he had seen on TV, this felt fresh, as if he were walking through a remarkable piece of history himself. At this moment, Miguel, a man with a keen sense of history but not much practical knowledge, strolled slowly across the grass in front of the church. The church bells and the white-winged pigeons fluttering on the grass made him feel as if his body and soul had been cleansed.

For instance, he decided that in the face of this sacred land, he would temporarily set aside his long-term plan of “how to tease and bring down the captain.”

He would return to being a pure, kind-hearted, and simple pirate.

Not one who was solely focused on bringing down his captain—by the way, “bringing down” in this context meant exactly that. Literally.

Unconsciously, he wandered into a relatively quiet spot. Looking up, Miguel realized he had walked to the side of the church’s library.

Curiously, he circled the entrance of the building a couple of times. When he noticed the unfriendly gaze of the clergy member on duty at the library entrance, Miguel had to sadly accept the fact: the library was not open to the public, especially not to pirates.

Whatever, why the glare? As if I care. Laozi doesn’t even like reading, he thought. Pouting, the young man was about to turn back when he suddenly heard a faint scolding sound.

Pausing, he looked around and finally noticed a dark alley between the library and another building. The commotion seemed to have come from there.

His nosy radar went up. After only two seconds of hesitation about “how much of next month’s salary was left,” Miguel came to the beautiful conclusion of “never mind, there’s always the month after next.” So, he turned on his heel, shoved his hands into his pockets, and tiptoed from the sunlight into the dark alley.

Carefully hiding behind the wall, Miguel peeked out and quickly glanced into the alley.

The narrow space was crowded and lively. Three burly men in tattered clothes stood with their backs to the alley entrance—it was impossible to see their faces. One of them had been the source of the scolding earlier. From their swaying and slurred speech, it was clear they were drunk.

As for what they were tightly surrounding, Miguel twitched his lips—he couldn’t see at all. Some unfortunate creature was completely blocked by these not-so-tall, burly men.

At that moment, they said something that made all three burst into lewd laughter. In the midst of this, one of them, too drunk to stand properly, stumbled forward. When his face hit the wall, aside from a dull thud, the narrow alley was no longer so tightly blocked. Seizing the opportunity, Miguel quickly caught a glimpse of what they were surrounding.

Facing Miguel’s direction, the unfortunate soul in the middle was quite petite, probably no taller than 165 centimeters. He—or she—was slightly hunched, wearing a long, floor-length linen cloak with a large hood that covered half the face, revealing only a sharp chin.

Miguel narrowed his eyes. Through the gap, he saw the figure move, and a strand of wine-red hair slipped out from the hood.

It was a girl!

A girl!!!

Miguel was shocked.

The drunkards were ecstatic.

Amidst a series of excited, drunken shouts in Italian, their laughter grew louder. One of them, swaying, reached out a filthy, hairy hand and grabbed the girl’s chin. Oh damn, Miguel thought. The same lewd gesture that looked devilishly charming when Big Dog did it, but coming from these creeps, it was just plain disgusting.

Silently bending down, Miguel felt the cold dagger Ghost Slayer at his waist. Licking his lower lip, he crouched, as excited as a cat catching the scent of fish.

Completely unaware of someone approaching from behind, the drunkards swayed and bared their yellow teeth, reeking of alcohol. They reached out to strip the cloak off the girl who looked like she could fetch a good price.

Just then, one of them was struck hard from behind, almost vomiting the alcohol in his throat.

The slightly taller drunkard cursed and turned around, but before he could react, he met a pair of cold black eyes. In the next second, a shadow flashed before him, and a heavy punch from the young man landed on his face.

Clutching his face and howling, the drunkard instinctively reached out to grab the attacker’s arm, but his fingers only brushed past the warm skin. The next moment, he felt a cold touch on his neck. His heart sank, and the alcohol in his system seemed to evaporate. Desperately, the drunkard swung his arm—and it actually hit the young man’s face as he was attacking from behind.

“Ugh!”

Miguel’s face was struck by the wildly swinging elbow. Enraged, he raised his hand like a blade and chopped down hard on the back of the drunkard’s neck, then kicked the man’s fat buttocks, sending him crashing against the wall.

When Miguel turned to find his next target, he saw the other two thugs scrambling away.

The alley fell silent again.

Throughout the entire heroic rescue, the beauty hadn’t moved—either she had an emotional disorder or she was scared stiff.

Miguel sighed and walked over to the girl standing motionless in the corner. As he approached, his not-so-tall frame still managed to cast a shadow over her. After watching her for a while and realizing she wasn’t going to respond, Miguel unceremoniously reached out and pulled off her hood.

Wine-red hair cascaded out of the hood, spilling softly over the dirty cloak.

The red-haired girl: “…”

Miguel: “No need to thank me. Just call me Red Scarf.”

The red-haired girl: “…”

They finally made eye contact.

Miguel was surprised to see that the girl had golden eyes—pure gold. She tilted her head slightly, revealing a sharp chin, fair skin, and a face that was delicately beautiful but carried a hint of coldness that didn’t quite match her age.

…A little beauty.

Being stared at so intently by this little beauty made Miguel a bit self-conscious. Clearing his throat, he awkwardly reached out and ruffled her hair—turning her neatly arranged hair into a bird’s nest.

Miguel: “…”

The little beauty: “…”

Stiffly retracting his hand, the awkward atmosphere was making it hard for Miguel to handle. Using the excuse of needing to pee to make an exit as a hero didn’t seem appropriate, so his eyes darted around until he awkwardly squeezed out in English: “Little sister, did you get separated from your family?”

No response, just a blank stare—until Miguel started to feel uncomfortable, and the girl finally let out a grunt from the depths of her throat.

Miguel: “You can talk! I thought you were mute!”

The little beauty’s eyes lit up.

Miguel wanted to slap himself—in the past twenty years, he had never admitted to being a rough guy. Now, he deeply realized that he might not even qualify as a rough guy… probably falling into the category of “low-IQ rough guy.”

Not far away, the church bell rang loudly, seemingly reminding the two of something. Deeply shaken, Miguel vaguely remembered the meeting spot with Big Dog. Rubbing his probably bruised cheek, the black-haired young man looked around and reluctantly shoved his hands back into his pockets.

“Well, I’m off,” he said, glancing down at the girl who was still looking up at him, forcing himself to use a sickeningly sweet tone to talk to her. “Go find your family quickly. There are… bad people here.”

Still, she said nothing, just kept staring at him, and then let out another grunt.

Miguel sighed, gave up, and turned to leave to find his Big Dog—

Suddenly, his wrist was grabbed from behind.

The black-haired young man stumbled.

Damn, this girl’s so strong, is she not afraid of never getting married? Miguel turned back, bewildered, and felt his palm being pried open, a cold object placed in it.

Looking down, it was a massive sapphire ring.

Massive.

Very massive.

Miguel: “…”

The little beauty’s expression remained cold as she put her hood back on. While Miguel was still trying to figure out how to politely decline her gift, she had already brushed past him without a second glance, walking out into the sunny area of the alley.

Miguel stood there in a daze for a while. By the time he snapped out of it, the little beauty was long gone.

Miguel made his way back to where he had parted ways with Caesar. The man, who had clearly finished his task long ago, stood there impatiently waiting for him—and when he saw the bruise on Miguel’s face, his expression turned from sour to downright murderous.

“Where did you go?” Caesar clicked his tongue, reaching out to grab Miguel’s chin and turning his face to inspect the injury. “How did you get beat up like this?”

“Being a hero, rescuing a trapped noble girl,” Miguel mumbled, swatting away Caesar’s hand. “Did you meet your benefactor?”

“Yeah,” Caesar’s expression flickered for a moment, a hint of displeasure flashing in his amber eyes. “Ran into a small issue, but it’s nothing serious—what noble girl?”

Miguel obediently pulled out the massive sapphire ring from his pocket.

Caesar glanced at it casually, then paused, his gaze fixed on the sapphire in Miguel’s palm. He fell silent.

Three seconds later.

“Throw it away.”

“Huh? What…”

“Throw it into the sea.”

“…Are you insane?!”

“The Black Death is spreading everywhere. How dare you take something from a stranger? Throw it away.”

“Black Death my ass! Look at this sapphire, it’s sparkling! It’s bigger than your dog eyes!”

“I have gemstones a hundred times better than this… though I won’t give them to you. But you need to throw this one away.”

“Can you make some sense when you speak?!”

“Less talk. Throw it away now.”

“Hello, Mr. Logic! Goodbye, Mr. Logic!”

…

On the other side of the square.

Amidst the chaos, a tall, burly man dressed finely but with an eye patch stumbled out of the crowd, panting as he approached a small, cloaked figure.

“Captain!” The man’s fierce expression turned cautious as he reached the figure. “The message has been received.”

“…”

“Captain?!”

“Got it. Stop shouting.”

Lazily removing the hood, wine-red hair cascaded down, shimmering in the afternoon sun. The delicate face still held a trace of youthfulness—at first glance, one might mistake him for a young lady out for a stroll. But upon closer inspection, the sharp jawline suggested otherwise.

The boy’s golden eyes gleamed with amusement.

“C-Captain?”

“…”

“Captain Leoza?”

“Let’s go,” the boy drawled, smirking as he patted the shoulder of his terrified attendant. “Tell the crew to get ready. I can’t wait to see Caesar’s frustrated face.”