Chapter 29

After a pleasant dinner and the chaotic ship-wide sin-cleansing ritual, let’s now take a look at how far Caesar’s fleet has fallen behind the cunning, chuunibyou youth Leoza.

Data shows that the ship Leoza is using this time—a converted three-masted merchant ship—can reach an astonishing speed of eight knots with a tailwind. Unfortunately, the average speed of the Wind Fury fleet, burdened with extra passengers, is only six and a half knots. In other words, if this southwest wind keeps blowing, even if the Wind Fury goes full throttle, they’ll only fall further and further behind Leoza’s fleet.

However, in a headwind, the weaknesses of a three-masted ship become apparent—because this type of ship is designed for speed, its keel and overall structure are made of relatively lightweight and expensive wood materials. Once it encounters headwinds and rough seas, to ensure its effective lifespan, the three-masted ship must immediately reduce speed significantly and rely on other larger ships to stay safe.

“…But the southwest wind is still blowing,” Miguel closed the document, his expression blank. “It’s dawn, Captain.”

The man behind the desk let out a long yawn: “It normally takes a fleet four days to go from Cagliari to Algiers. We need to catch up with them before they reach the port.”

“Please don’t make unreasonable demands, Captain,” Miguel yawned as well, tossing the document in front of Big Dog. “I’m the navigator. I can only tell you what kind of wind is blowing outside the window, but I’m sorry I can’t control the weather, Captain.”

Caesar said gently, “It’s fine. Thanks to you, I don’t have to pay your wages for the next few months. Thinking about that, I suddenly don’t feel like holding your various flaws against you.”

Miguel: “…”

As if he hadn’t noticed the poor navigator’s conflicted expression, the Captain pushed open the window. The first rays of morning sunlight spilled onto the top deck. The crisp calls of seagulls and the sound of waves breaking against the ship filled the air. The man, who had been staring at the nautical chart all night trying to find a shortcut, stretched his stiff limbs and decided to take a nap after breakfast, and then…

“Captain! Something terrible has happened, Captain!”

Caesar: “…”

Miguel: “Captain, someone’s calling you. He says something terrible has happened.”

Caesar: “Wipe that smirk off your face, you perverted fisherman—do you know what a slave is? It literally means if I don’t sleep, neither do you.”

One sentence takes you from heaven to hell.

So when a low-ranking crew member stumbled up to the top deck in a panic, he was met with two faces full of resentment and deathly exhaustion.

“Speak.”

The Captain, in a bad mood from lack of sleep, was terse.

“This morning, when the duty crew went to the cargo hold to get something, they found it was flooding—eighteen bags of flour are ruined, and the leak seems to be getting bigger. It looks like it was sabotaged! The shipwrights say they need to stop the ship immediately to repair it. It’ll take them an hour, and…”

Caesar frowned: “And what? Finish your sentence.”

“And the leak is in the same spot where Jack’s wife was found yesterday.” After delivering the news, the crew member immediately shut his mouth, nervously glancing at Caesar’s expression.

Miguel: “…”

Thesis: On the destructive power of a pregnant woman (:3)∠).

Surprisingly, Caesar didn’t say anything. After a moment of silence, he walked back into the cabin. Miguel and the unlucky crew member exchanged a glance before trotting after him.

Inside the cabin, on the Captain’s desk, sat a small hourglass—identical to the one hanging on the mainmast of Caesar and Rick’s flagship, just several times smaller. In an age without accurate timekeeping devices, this delicate hourglass was the best tool for measuring time. Every time the white sand ran out, it meant an hour had passed.

Caesar’s long fingers picked up the hourglass, playing with it idly in his palm. As time passed, the atmosphere in the cabin grew heavier. Just as Miguel was seriously considering making an excuse to leave, the man’s low voice finally broke the silence—

“Where’s Jack?”

“Five minutes ago, Rick had him tied up and started the punishment.”

As soon as the crew member finished speaking, Miguel quickly snatched the hourglass from Caesar’s hand and carefully placed it back on the table.

The man, now empty-handed, raised an eyebrow: “What’s wrong with you?”

Miguel: “Timing. You said the punishment lasts twenty-four hours, not a second more.”

Hearing Miguel’s words, Caesar didn’t get angry. Instead, he let out a cold laugh and said in a deep voice, “Forget a second, I’ll make him stay another twenty-four hours—pass the order, stop the ship for repairs, and bring Jack up here. I have questions for him.”

…

When Jack, tied up like a dumpling, was hauled back up from the bilge and thrown at Caesar’s feet, he had just made a round trip to the bottom of the ship—which seemed to have been enough to break him. Blood mixed with seawater streamed down his back, where shards of nails had cut him, staining a small patch of the deck around him red. He gasped and coughed violently, clearly having swallowed a lot of seawater.

Jack’s sorry state did nothing to improve Caesar’s mood.

Standing in the annoying southwest wind, with Leoza’s fleet disappearing over the horizon and the little spy Leoza had planted digging a hole in his ship, the man’s mood was so foul he could have ripped that troublesome, hateful red-haired midget apart and drunk his blood.

The tip of his boot lifted Jack’s chin, and the Captain, his face clearly showing a lack of patience, asked, “How much did Leoza pay you?”

Surprisingly, Jack looked momentarily confused.

He gasped weakly, his tired eyes scanning the surroundings before finally settling on Caesar’s expressionless face. The cold, amber eyes staring back at him were terrifying.

Closing his eyes slowly, Jack, who hadn’t made a sound despite the excruciating pain of his wounds soaked in seawater, now trembled as if he were truly facing the King of Hell: “I don’t know what’s going on, Captain. I didn’t betray you.”

A suffocating silence followed.

No one dared to speak.

Tick. Tick.

By the stairs, Miguel absentmindedly poked the small white hourglass he’d brought down with him.

“Poking it won’t make it go faster,” Berry appeared out of nowhere, leaning in close to Miguel and whispering mysteriously, “Really, I’ve tried.”

Giving the strange kid a blank look, thunk, the black-haired youth silently placed the hourglass back on the stable stairs.

“Take him back down, keep dragging him.”

Not far away, Caesar’s flat, emotionless voice rang out.

“Ah, Captain Caesar is such a good man,” Berry whispered to Miguel as if talking to himself, “He believes Jack. If it were me, I wouldn’t be so lenient.”

“That’s why he’s the Captain, and you’re just a worker, idiot,” Miguel rolled his eyes, stuffing the small hourglass into his pocket. Annoyed by Berry’s babbling, he casually handed the apple he’d swiped from the breakfast table to the kid. “Here’s a snack, brat. Goodbye.”

…

The ship stopped for an hour. After the repairs, the fleet set sail again.

In the evening, lying on the Captain’s desk, Miguel carefully flipped the hourglass over for the twelfth time. Not far from him, the man, now resting with his eyes closed, was draped in a jacket. His tall frame sank deeply into the soft armchair, his breathing even, and with each rise and fall of his chest, his long, thick eyelashes fluttered slightly.

Miguel propped his chin on his hands, sprawled on the table, and watched for a while, finding nothing else to do, until…

“If you keep staring, I’ll gouge your eyes out.”

From the armchair, the man spoke abruptly without warning.

The black-haired youth on the table instantly smiled, his eyes curving into crescents: “Awake, are you?”

“Having a pervert hovering nearby, no one could sleep soundly.” Caesar slowly opened his eyes, the exhaustion in his amber eyes completely gone. Just an hour of rest was enough to rejuvenate the Black Sea Wolf.

As for the personal attack, the shameless masochist navigator took it in stride. Under the man’s warning gaze, Miguel got up from the table and walked to the window. Outside, the red sun was sinking below the horizon, signaling the end of another day…

“Still a southwest wind?” the man’s voice, slightly hoarse and magnetic from just waking up, came from behind Miguel.

“Yeah,” came the low response.

The cabin fell into a brief silence. Miguel looked around, starting his specialty of making small talk.

“Big Dog?”

“Call me Captain. Speak.”

“Your crew seems to really like you. They all think you’re amazing.”

“Huh?” Behind Miguel, the man, who had been halfway through a yawn, paused. Then, with a smug smirk, he snorted, “Obviously.”

Smiling, the young man took a step forward, reaching his hand out the window. The cool sea breeze, still carrying a hint of the sun’s warmth, brushed through his fingers. His slender fingers twitched slightly, and Miguel suddenly looked up. His pearl-like black eyes reflected the fiery red clouds that were rolling in, pushed by an invisible hand toward the zenith.

Behind him, Caesar was still muttering to himself—

“I don’t feel like chasing anymore. Blow, blow, blow your damn southwest wind—screw that red-haired midget’s ancestors. Let him make a profit on those muskets. If I keep chasing full throttle for three days and nights, I might not even break even—”

“Let’s chase.”

“That red-haired midget better not cross my path. Three days without a beating, and he’s already causing trouble. When I catch him, I’ll definitely—what?”

“Let’s chase.”

Turning around, Miguel stood with his back to the sunlight. From Caesar’s perspective, the black-haired youth was enveloped in a soft red halo. From within the halo, his calm voice rang out.

“…The wind’s going to change. Within an hour.”

Something about the sight made the man momentarily speechless. Narrowing his eyes, he finally managed to squeeze out a sentence: “What nonsense are you talking about?”

“If I say it’s going to change, it’s going to change,” the perverted fisherman’s voice finally showed a hint of irritation as he spoke insolently to his superior. “If you don’t believe me, why’d you even let me on this ship?”

“…”

“…”

“…Where’d you get that disgusting feather fan?”

“…Under your desk. Probably left here by one of the prostitutes.”

“You’re not a woman. Why are you waving it around? Throw it away!”

“It’s called style! You wouldn’t understand!”

How rare it is to have a chance to play the role of Zhuge Liang in life!

…

An hour later, Miguel lazily flipped the hourglass on the table for the thirteenth time.

At the same time, a chorus of howls erupted from the crew outside—

“Captain! The wind’s changed! A northeast wind is blowing, Captain!”

Inside the Captain’s cabin, silence reigned. The Captain and his slave stared at each other.

The slave smiled smugly, putting down the hourglass: “From now on, call me by my nickname: Sai Zhuge.”