Chapter 50

As dawn finally approached, the fleet of the Black Waves ceased their attack. Amid a long horn blast, the cannon fire that had raged all night shifted from intense to sporadic—on the Wind Fury, Rick stepped onto the ship’s railing, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Whoever dares waste another cannonball will be used as cannon fodder!” After that, the cannon fire finally came to a complete stop.

Three minutes later, with a thud, Caesar returned to the Wind Fury. With a calm command of “Raise the sails, set sail,” a thousand sails unfurled across the sea.

“Anyone who dares say ‘Welcome back’ can expect a lashing,” Caesar’s amber eyes swept coldly over the eager faces of the crew members crowding around. Without lingering, he strode toward the ship’s infirmary, “Where is he?”

“Who… who are you talking about?” The crowd exchanged confused glances.

The captain frowned, “The new navigator.”

“You mean your little shadow? He’s running a high fever, and earlier he got into a fight with three guys from the fourth fleet. He’s with Bakir now—” Berry bounced along behind the captain like an excited rabbit.

“What?!” Rick exclaimed in disbelief, “That little bun got into a fight with our own people? I don’t believe it!”

Glancing at Rick, who was about to face disaster, Caesar nodded thoughtfully and quickened his pace. As if completely forgetting that “internal conflict” was a highly sensitive crime, the man appeared calm as he walked, asking, “Was there bloodshed?”

“Yes,” Berry replied cheerfully, “Miguel stabbed one of the pirates.”

Oh, so he even used a knife? Growing some balls, huh? Caesar sneered.

“But he didn’t kill him!” the boy hurriedly added. He trailed behind Caesar, pretending not to hear Rick’s muttered complaints about who the real shadow was. Being much shorter than the man, he struggled to keep up, panting as he spoke, “Miguel’s aim wasn’t great. That beautiful dagger is still stuck in the poor guy’s stomach. According to Bakir, it didn’t hit any vital organs. As long as there’s no infection, he’ll survive.”

Hearing this, the man at the front suddenly paused.

The group following behind him stopped in a panicked rush—they stared in terror at the captain’s back, none of them able to guess what expression was on his face at that moment.

“No casualties?”

“None.”

“Alright, got it.”

He responded in a flat tone, showing no significant change in emotion. With that, he kicked open the door to Bakir’s infirmary—a string of curses from the ship’s doctor followed, and the next second, the door slammed shut in everyone’s faces.

The pirates: “…”

Rick: “What the hell?”

Berry: “Holy crap.”

Rick: “I’m a wounded man too! What’s with slamming the door—and locking it? Damn you, you bastard captain!”

Crewmate A nudged his companion: “See, I told you, there’s definitely something going on between the captain and Miguel.”

Crewmate B: “Spending all that time together… I heard the captain hasn’t been with any of his Mediterranean lovers since Miguel showed up.”

The crew: “Ooooh! (⊙o⊙)”

Berry: “Nonsense! They definitely aren’t together yet! Definitely not!”

Rick, with a dark expression: “You gossip mongers… but I agree with this kid.”

Crewmate A, eyes shining: “Rick, you’re the first mate, you must know something—”

Rick: “What I know is that tonight Miguel bragged to me about sleeping with the captain as if it was something to be proud of. They’re definitely innocent… though I doubt it’ll stay that way for long.”

The crew: “Wow! (⊙o⊙)”

Rick rolled his eyes: “Wow my ass. Caesar’s a stubborn, smelly bastard who snores at night. I wouldn’t even hug him if he paid me—”

Berry, disillusioned, shouted: “What?! The captain snores?!”

Actually, he doesn’t—the guy sleeps like a gentleman. Rick fell silent for a moment, then, remembering that he was still bleeding and locked outside the infirmary, he decided to stir up trouble. He pretended to raise an eyebrow impatiently, “Yeah, even if he snores like a pig, he’s still your captain—what are you all standing around for?! Get back to work, stop making a scene!”

The captain snores like a pig?

…Yeah, yeah, I don’t even snore like a pig!

Does that mean we’re more refined than the captain?

…Yeah, yeah, we’re more refined than the captain!

Misled by Rick into thinking they’d discovered something groundbreaking, the crew stared in disbelief. Berry raised his hand, “I have something to say, can I speak, Rick?”

Rick: “No.”

Berry: “Come on, let me talk!”

“Stop whining, I hate whiny brats the most. It’s disgusting.” The red-haired first mate didn’t even turn around as he pushed hard against the infirmary door, which didn’t budge. He muttered a few curses under his breath, “If you have something to say, spit it out. If not, get back to your posts.”

Berry hesitated, then reluctantly said, “Miguel said we shouldn’t sail too fast tonight. There might be a storm from tonight till the day after. We should find a port to dock.”

“Huh?” Rick stopped banging on the door and turned around, looking at Berry as if he were a monster, “How could it rain in this weather? Don’t you see—”

Plop.

A large drop of liquid landed on the red-haired first mate’s nose.

Plop, plop, plop.

Pitter-patter—

Crewmate A: “It’s… it’s raining, Rick!”

Rick: “…”

Crewmate B: “It’s pouring! Did we get all the food we put out to dry this afternoon?”

Rick: “…”

Crewmate C: “What do we do now, Rick?”

Rick: “Unfurl the tarps, tighten the ropes, full speed ahead to Valencia—the warehouse manager, tally up the remaining cannonballs and this haul’s profits, and deliver them to the captain’s cabin before dawn—what are you all standing around for? Get moving!”

Outside the infirmary, the crowd scattered. Amid the sudden downpour, the deck turned into chaos.

In stark contrast to the noisy deck, the infirmary was eerily quiet.

After directing the busy Bakir to open the door for the “red-haired monkey banging on the door” (his exact words), Caesar took over the only armchair in the infirmary. He frowned as he dabbed a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant on the cut on his face. With each dab, he regretted not ripping Leoza’s head off earlier.

Next to him was a hospital bed, where Miguel lay, his face flushed with fever, almost unconscious, his breathing scorching hot… Every time the man glanced at him, his frown deepened. He would look, then immediately turn away, only to sneak another glance a few seconds later.

Like a thief.

When Rick entered the infirmary, he saw this harmonious scene—by the way, he personally thought the sight of the captain holding a tiny cotton ball and wincing as he tended to his own wound was hilarious.

Seeing the first mate enter, Caesar didn’t say much, just gestured with his chin toward his feet, signaling him to help—at the captain’s feet, Bakir, the only doctor, had already put on medical gloves. Wearing a mask that only revealed his eyes, he knelt on the ground, expressionless as he poured half a bottle of disinfectant onto the wound of the patient beneath him—

The man screamed, his whole body convulsing, looking like he might pass out from the pain.

Caesar frowned, and Rick quickly rushed over to help Bakir hold down the man’s limbs. In the process, the red-haired first mate clearly saw what was stuck in the poor guy’s stomach—a dagger adorned with eighteen first-grade cat’s eye stones and several flawless sapphires, an absolutely priceless, one-of-a-kind weapon: Ghost Slayer.

That little bun Miguel actually stabbed someone? Was he possessed?

The next second, before Rick could think further, blood spurted out. Bakir pressed down on the sailor’s wound with one hand and swiftly pulled out the dagger—blood splattered onto his mask. Without blinking, he grabbed the bottle of hemostatic powder prepared at his feet and dumped half of it onto the gushing wound. He then raised his hand and said to Rick matter-of-factly, “Hand me the bandages.”

Rick was stunned, then grumbled as he fetched them: “I’m a patient too—here, take it.”

Bakir let out a disdainful laugh from behind his mask: “When you’re lying here, I’ll take good care of you too—hey, you over there, the pain-averse crybaby, take your pet collar.”

A flash of silver, and the man who had been sitting motionless by the bed reached out and effortlessly took hold of Ghost Slayer, still warm with fresh blood. Holding the dagger, Caesar examined it expressionlessly, then casually wiped the blood off on Bakir’s clean, pristine bedsheet.

Bakir, who had seen the captain’s casual move in its entirety, widened his eyes: “Caesar, you bastard!!!!!”

Caesar: “It’s just a wipe, it won’t kill you. Stop yelling, you big baby.”

With that, he turned his head and absentmindedly glanced at Miguel on the bed.

Still sleeping like a log.

…Huh? Wait, “still”?

Still what? …Weird. Frowning for what felt like the hundredth time that night, the captain scratched his head in annoyance.

Bakir was still yelling: “It will kill me! I just changed the sheets!”

Caesar glanced at him, slightly impatient: “This guy’s been sweating a lot. You were going to change them anyway.”

Rick: “Hey, can someone bandage me up? I’m still bleeding!”

Bakir: “Huh? This idiot’s been sweating?”

Caesar scoffed, his expression disdainful: “Could he be any dumber?”

Bakir said patiently: “Stabbing one of our own isn’t dumb enough for you? That’s a serious charge, and I’m not even counting the other two guys he managed to dislocate bones on—how many lashes is that?”

Holding the long-dried cotton ball, the man fell into rare silence.

As expected, Bakir added fuel to the fire: “Oh, what’s the matter? Did your math suddenly fail you, or did you forget the nitpicky rules you set yourself? By the way, I’m the only doctor here, responsible for the lives of all eight hundred of you, including you, Captain. Even if you’re the captain, you should be sucking up to me.”

This time, Caesar reacted. He looked up and gave the doctor a cold smile: “Dream on.”

Rick, looking helpless, had no choice but to assert his presence again: “…Can someone pay attention to me?”

“A thirty-two-year-old man who’s afraid of pain doesn’t get to boss the doctor around,” Bakir said with satisfaction, seeing the man’s face stiffen. Feeling particularly pleased, he came up with a terrible idea—

“You have hot water in your room, right? Take Miguel there for a bath. Sweat it out, and he’ll be fine by morning.”

“Why should I do it?” the man frowned, “Rick, you go.”

“Hell no,” Rick rolled his eyes and grabbed a pair of scissors from the medical kit, sterilizing them over a candle flame, “Didn’t your mother teach you to clean up your own toys?—Your pet, you deal with it,” At this point, the red-haired first mate sniffed the air, then made a disgusted face, “Ugh, give him a bath, he’s all sweaty and starting to stink.”

Caesar said expressionlessly: “Then let him stink.”

“This guy just accurately predicted a storm. Right now, our ship is heading full speed toward Valencia,” Rick said without looking up, carefully cutting away the clothes stuck to his wound, “At least as a navigator, our mascot is surprisingly competent—”

The man raised an eyebrow, looking arrogantly disdainful: “What are you trying to say?”

Rick put down the scissors, his face full of resignation: “Take good care of him, don’t break him. You can’t afford to replace him.”