Chapter 33

Not far away, Leoza’s Hornet gradually sailed away from the reef area, carrying boxes of solid high-purity gold and a few crates of coveted muskets—unfortunately, it failed to take away the wrath of Black Waves along with it.

The first unlucky guy who climbed up the ship’s rope with a heave-ho was not greeted with applause or the warm smiles and hugs of his companions. When the poor sailor finally reached the gunwale, the first thing that met him was the captain’s merciless kick.

Splash—

The clueless fool fell sideways into the sea, creating a huge splash.

“Sorry about that,” the man said expressionlessly, one foot resting on the gunwale as he leaned down lazily to look at the innocent sailor flailing in the water. His apology was anything but sincere. “My foot slipped.”

Caesar’s foot slipped many times after that.

By the time the third crew member was kicked into the sea, anyone who still didn’t understand what was going on must have left their brain at home when they woke up that morning. Nevertheless, every crew member dutifully and laboriously climbed up the rope, lining up obediently at the gunwale only to be sent flying back into the sea in a perfect free-fall arc by Caesar.

On the small assault boat, Miguel silently watched his unfortunate brothers-in-arms drop into the water like dumplings. He stood there for a while, even observing which posture looked the most graceful when falling. However, the big boss on the ship wasn’t having it. Leaning out slightly, Caesar lit a tobacco roll, placed it between his lips, and said impatiently, “What are you gawking at? Get your ass up here.”

Miguel had no choice but to climb up. Grabbing the thick hemp rope and clamping his legs around it, the black-haired young man, who hadn’t yet mastered the art of rope climbing, swayed awkwardly. When he finally got close to the gunwale, he looked up at Caesar, who was glaring down at him. “Where’s Jack?”

“With the ship’s doctor. He’s not dead,” the man replied curtly. He glanced down at the perverted fisherman and immediately noticed something different. “Where’s your shirt?”

“…It was hot, so I took it off. Then I lost my grip, and it got blown away by the sea breeze,” Miguel said without batting an eye.

Caesar raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to swim all the way to Algiers?”

“…It got torn during the fight,” Miguel said, his face full of resignation.

Caesar nodded. “Looks like you’re aiming for Spain then.”

Rolling his eyes dramatically, the black-haired young man said with a hint of embarrassment, “I was captured and thrown into the bottom of Leoza’s ship. My cellmates were a bunch of perverts who hadn’t had a taste of meat in eight million years—just like you.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve never gone hungry since I learned how to eat meat,” the captain said indifferently. “Did they fuck you so hard your ass split open?”

“My neck’s about to break. Can I come up before I answer your barrage of questions?” Miguel, hanging from the rope with no leverage, was not only dizzy from swaying but also struggling to speak while looking up.

Unfortunately, Caesar ignored him. The captain took a deep drag of his tobacco roll, then pressed the burning end against the rope Miguel was holding—the dry hemp curled and blackened under the heat, the charred spot extinguishing the spark in the sea breeze. From below, Miguel watched in horror—he felt as if the cigarette butt had been pressed directly onto his forehead.

“Cut the crap. Answer me. Did they or didn’t they?” the man asked in a low voice.

“They didn’t,” Miguel blurted out, almost shouting in panic. “Do I look like someone who’s easy to bully?”

For once, Caesar didn’t argue with him. The tall figure shifted, and because of the backlight, Miguel couldn’t quite see the man’s expression. He only saw Caesar extend his hand, gesturing in the way he often did to summon his pet.

Feeling the call of his master’s affection, the shameless Miguel grinned and eagerly climbed up.

Only to meet the sole of Caesar’s boot with his right cheek, sending him tumbling sideways into the water.

Splash. Another huge wave.

…

“Damn it, he kicked me in the face!”

During dinner, Miguel grabbed a wet handkerchief for the fourth time to wipe his face, all the while complaining to the red-haired first mate sitting next to him. Meanwhile, the subject of his complaints was sitting not far away, completely ignoring him as he meticulously cut into a piece of beef rib.

“You should be grateful he only kicked your face. You’re lucky the captain had cooled down by the time you got back,” Rick said kindly. “You should’ve seen his face when we found Jack half-dead hanging under the ship, and you, who had supposedly gone to rescue him, were nowhere to be found. Tsk tsk, I think he might’ve wanted to chop you into pieces at that moment.”

“Really?” Miguel asked, a bit excited. “He was that worried about me?”

“…” Over at the dining table, Caesar’s knife slipped slightly.

“Not at all,” Rick said with a straight face. After noticing Miguel’s hopeful expression, he added with a hint of pity, “It’s just that none of us can bear the guilt of losing a navigator every time we have a sea battle. Navigators are as rare as treasure, and if word gets out, who’d dare to join the Wind Fury?”

Miguel: “…”

“Of course, you can pretend Caesar was worried about you,” Rick patted the stunned black-haired young man on the shoulder. “So you shouldn’t have asked. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

“Shut up, trash,” a deep, magnetic voice floated over from not far away. “If you’re not eating, get out.”

Rick made a zipping motion over his lips and went back to munching on his barley bread. Miguel looked up at Caesar, feeling a mix of emotions—but no matter how much he stared, the man refused to look up and engage in some kind of soulful exchange. Helpless, Miguel lowered his head and began poking at the jackfruit on his plate with his fork.

“Oh, by the way, I heard Leoza, that little bastard, kissed you?”

Screech—

Clang—

The sound of knives slipping on plates, multiplied by two.

Silence.

An awful silence.

Caesar calmly put down his utensils and elegantly wiped his mouth with the napkin beside him.

Meanwhile, Rick, who had just dropped a bombshell without realizing it, looked innocent. “What’s wrong?”

“…I ran into him once in Cagliari. We’re barely acquaintances—geez,” Miguel, unnerved by Caesar’s strange behavior, scratched his head in frustration. “He’s just a kid. What’s there to fuss about? I wouldn’t know how to console him if he started crying, so what’s the harm in letting him kiss me? It’s not like I lost a piece of meat.”

“Crying? Leoza? Does he even have tear ducts?” Rick made a weird face. “Also, other than his height, what part of that little bastard is like a kid?”

“Everything about him is like a kid,” Miguel looked at Rick as if he couldn’t understand why he was making such a big deal out of the red-haired boy. “He’d burst into tears at the drop of a hat, rolling on the ground begging me not to leave, with tears hanging in the corners of his eyes—it was terrifying… His personality is quite simple too.”

“Ah, seems like we’re not talking about the same person,” Rick interrupted with a deadpan expression, clearly giving up on the conversation.

“So how did he agree to let you go in the end?” The man’s lips curled into a faint smile, though the amusement didn’t reach his amber eyes.

“…I told him I’d come find him someday,” Miguel said. “…Of course, that’s if you approve.”

Caesar sneered. “I definitely won’t approve.”

…Straightforward, blunt, and overbearing—exactly the kind of man Miguel admired. Truly domineering.

“He’s just a kid. He said he was forced into becoming a pirate,” the black-haired young man, who hadn’t slept for dozens of hours, yawned and said absentmindedly. “He probably has some unspeakable troubles.”

“He’s a lunatic. Stay away from him and stop causing trouble for me,” Caesar snorted, frowning. “At least you’re only somewhat noticeable and not actually good-looking. Otherwise, who knows how much more trouble you’d bring me.”

…What’s with this sudden and completely uncalled-for personal attack? Who’s not good-looking, damn it? I’m at least… decent-looking, right? …At least better-looking than all the rough guys on this ship, pah!

Just as Miguel was about to say something, a loud bang interrupted him. Right where his hand had been resting on the table, a shiny dagger was now embedded, straight and deep.

“What the…!!!!!”

Upon recognizing the dozen or so sparkling cat’s eye stones on the dagger, Miguel let out a yelp and scrambled to pull the dagger out of the table. “Ghost Slayer!” The black-haired young man, tears streaming down his face, took the sheath from the man’s frowning hand and slid the dagger back into it. He then nuzzled it affectionately with his face. “My precious little treasure!”

“If you lose it again, you can sink into the sea with it,” Caesar said without looking, his expression unchanging. He kicked the perverted fisherman, who was still cooing over the dagger, with his long leg. “Tomorrow’s Friday. Get back to Rick’s ship and stop being an eyesore. Just looking at you gives me a headache.”

…

The next day, as one of the naughty children captured by the enemy, Miguel was punished with the task of scrubbing the deck.

It was a simple but tedious job—fetch seawater—pour it on the deck—scrub furiously with a wooden brush—clean it—a sailor walks by, leaving a trail of muddy footprints—the dozen or so deck-scrubbing brats curse at the sailor’s retreating back—fetch seawater—pour it on the deck…

The only fun part was learning new curse words and gossip.

“I heard that this time when we go to Spain, the captain plans to meet with the Spanish royal family.”

“Oh, really? (⊙o⊙)”

“Yes, yes!”

“But what does the captain want to do? My God, do you think the royals might trick him into going there and then hang him?”

“What nonsense are you spouting? Shut up! Spain wouldn’t dare do that—the big nobles have plenty of under-the-table dealings with us. I heard the captain wants to get something from them, which is why he’s going to Spain!”

“Oh, really? (⊙o⊙)”

“Yes, yes!”

…

Miguel listened to this mindless chatter with a headache, mechanically scrubbing the deck. His entire mind was occupied by the sound of the wooden brush scraping against the planks—

Until the word “dagger” caught his ear.

Crewman A: “I saw it! The captain swung from the very top of the Wind Fury’s mast, using a rope to land on the first mate’s Black Wolf—tsk tsk, those muskets were firing non-stop, taking out an entire assault boat of Leoza’s men in an instant! Not a single cannonball was wasted! A friend of mine on the Black Wolf told me that when they threw the bodies into the sea, every single one had a hole blown through their foreheads—tsk tsk, that’s such a high distance! The captain just flew onto the Black Wolf, and with a crack! He—”

Crewman C: “He what? He what?”

Crewman A: “He snapped that little thief’s neck—apparently, the thief had stolen some treasure from the captain’s chest, a dagger. I don’t know much about it, but they said it was some kind of masterpiece by a legendary dagger craftsman!”

Miguel: “Oh, really? (⊙o⊙)”

Crewman A: “Yes, yes!”

…