Chapter 52

The next morning, a fierce storm raged. Miguel was wrapped in Caesar’s expensive blanket, sleeping soundly with only his bandaged, furry head peeking out. When Caesar returned to the Captain’s Cabin after breakfast, Miguel lazily opened his eyes, glanced at him, yawned, and pulled the blanket up a bit.

He really was like a pet. The captain stepped forward and mercilessly yanked the blanket away, reaching out to give Miguel’s pale belly a firm slap.

Miguel: “Ah!”

“Up now?” Caesar raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Just like I got up yesterday and the day before.”

“Your German’s improving.”

“Yeah. Want a kiss?”

“Get lost. Fever gone?”

“Yeah. Alive and kicking, ready to be slaughtered.”

Caesar smirked, tilting his chin up with a condescending smile. “Today is indeed execution day. Ready?”

“Yes… no.” Miguel said in shock. “The wound on my head hasn’t healed yet! Even if you speak a bit louder, it hurts! Forget the wound—I’m not mentally prepared either!”

“Once you’re lying down, you’ll find you’re ready for anything.” Caesar tossed the prepared clothes onto Miguel’s face, expressionless. “Get up. Everyone’s waiting on the deck. Except for the guy you stabbed, who’s still with Bakir and has been granted a delayed execution, you’re the only one missing.”

Miguel: “It’s raining outside.”

Caesar: “Yeah, tough luck.”

Miguel: “…”

…

When Miguel followed Caesar to the deck, it was packed with people. All the officers and leaders from the various ships had gathered on the Wind Fury. Most of them stood expressionless with their hands behind their backs, the rain cloth above their heads flapping wildly in the wind. Their presence was more imposing than the captain himself.

Under Caesar’s leadership, the Wind Fury always upheld strict rewards and punishments. Before breakfast, the crew members who hadn’t made any mistakes had already lined up to receive new clothes and gold coins according to their rank. Once the rewards were handed out, it was time for punishment.

Now, the crew members who had made mistakes were tightly bound in the center of the crowd. They hung their heads in shame. Even though the storm outside was raging, with rain-laden winds strong enough to tear off ears, they reflexively looked up at the sound of Caesar’s steady footsteps—only to quickly lower their heads again, too afraid to meet those amber eyes.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, you trash.” Caesar yawned, his expression unreadable. He glanced at the dejected group and said lightly, “I’m used to it, really. Every time we go out, you guys stir up some trouble—it’s gotten to the point where I can’t sleep well if you don’t. Take your lashes, and next time, don’t forget to bring your brains—what do you think the monthly knowledge assessments are for? My personal amusement?”

By the end of his speech, Caesar’s voice had risen slightly. As he spoke these words with a blank expression, a deafening thunderclap roared across the sky. The wind howled, and the man stood in the center of the crowd with his hands behind his back. His beautiful eyes showed little emotion, yet they were enough to command authority without anger. Everyone, including Miguel, who was feeling extremely guilty, was nearly scared out of their wits.

Miguel instinctively shuffled closer to Rick.

Rick grimaced and whispered, “Get away from me, you jinx! You’re going to get me killed!”

Miguel: “Perfect, I was just thinking I’d drag someone down with me.”

Rick: “Get lost! Now!”

Meanwhile, Caesar finished his brief lecture and turned around. When his gaze swept over the crowd and landed on the two whispering figures, Rick immediately shut up. The red-haired first mate straightened up and moved away from Miguel, his face screaming, “I don’t know him.”

Caesar frowned slightly, his eyes like knives as they scraped over the navigator’s face. He commanded in a low voice, “Step forward and join your fellow troublemakers.”

“Yes, Captain!”

Miguel scrambled out of line and joined the group of unlucky souls standing in the center, ready to be whipped. Next to him was the pirate he had disarmed yesterday—number one or two, Miguel couldn’t remember. When their eyes met, the pirate gave him a look of disbelief. The black-haired young man gave him a mocking smile. “Good day. It’s… quite something to see you here. Thanks to you.”

The pirate’s expression, as if he’d eaten something disgusting, made Miguel feel slightly better.

Meanwhile, Rick, who had escaped punishment, pursed his lips and took the long list of offenses from a crew member. He began reading them out one by one—

“Tom, from the deck crew of the third ship, attempted to flee the battlefield during the organized attack, seeking to reap the benefits without effort. Charged with minor dereliction of duty, thirty-five lashes. Cher, from the mechanical team of the fifth ship, attempted to force himself on a civilian woman during the attack. Charged with severe misconduct, keelhauling. …

Basca, from the assault team of the fourth ship, attempted to plunder the personal property of a fellow crew member during the attack, leading to an altercation. Charged with instigating a private fight, fifty lashes. Milai, from the assault team of the fourth ship, attempted to plunder the personal property of a fellow crew member during the attack, leading to an altercation. Charged with instigating a private fight, fifty lashes. Rice, from the assault team of the fourth ship, attempted to plunder the personal property of a fellow crew member during the attack, leading to an altercation. Charged with instigating a private fight, fifty lashes. Due to severe injuries, execution of punishment is delayed until recovery. Miguel, navigator of the Wind Fury—”

Miguel’s ears turned red as he suddenly recalled the intense shame of being publicly criticized during a school assembly for misbehaving.

Rick looked up and gave Miguel a glance, taking great pleasure in watching the young man’s face turn as red as a boiled shrimp. Satisfied, he continued, “Miguel, navigator of the Wind Fury, engaged in a dispute with a crew member during the organized attack while defending personal property. During the altercation, he accidentally inflicted severe injuries on the crew member due to excessive defense. Charged with excessive defense in a private fight, twenty-five lashes.”

“That’s all.” Rick closed the list. “May you live long, troublemakers.”

After Rick finished, Caesar waved his hand with a grim expression. Several sailors immediately stepped forward, hauling out the long benches Miguel had seen before. The navigator was then unceremoniously grabbed by two strong crew members from the main ship and forced onto the wooden bench.

“Be gentle! Can’t you see he’s injured? Do you think the captain will let you off if you hurt him?”

Bakir’s nagging voice rang out as a sailor clumsily tried to press Miguel’s head down. Miguel looked up at him. The ship’s doctor had somehow emerged from the crowd and stood at the forefront, his face a mix of worry and frustration—

His motherly concern seemed to envelop the entire deck.

… Truly, the heart of a healer knows no bounds.

Miguel lay on the bench, inadvertently missing the sudden commotion in the crowd behind him—

It started when Caesar, with a dark expression, demanded that the executioner hand over one of the cat o’ nine tails whips.

Not only the executioners from the Saint Monarch, but even the crew was shocked by the captain’s request. The crowd buzzed with whispers. Some of the older crew members remarked that it had been years since they’d seen the captain personally administer punishment—in the past, he had always avoided it, finding the flying flesh and blood too messy.

Recalling the past, those who had been whipped by the captain rarely survived—either dying from the pain on the spot or succumbing to infections and sepsis later.

Glancing at the iron-faced captain, no one dared to say a word. One of the executioners handed the cat o’ nine tails to the captain and silently retreated into the crowd. Holding the freshly sterilized whip, Caesar walked over to one of the troublemakers tied to the bench, ignoring the murmurs around him.

Miguel, pale-faced: “No! Change the executioner!”

Caesar: “You asked for it yesterday.”

Miguel, tears streaming: “I just heard Berry say the last person you personally whipped died—Holy shit, last night was flirting! Flirting, you get it? Flirting can’t be taken seriously!—Change the executioner, please get a professional!”

Caesar: “Enough. Stay still.”

Miguel: “Change the executioner! Change the executioner! Rick—help!”

Rick? Bold of you to call someone else’s name in front of me. Caesar narrowed his eyes, a cigarette dangling from his lips, grinning like a rogue. “Stop whining. Not even God can save you now.”

Miguel: “Your face tells me you’re planning to kill me!”

Unfazed by the accusation, the captain smiled, crouching down to eye level with the terrified navigator. He said lazily, “Want a tip?”

“…” Miguel quieted down slightly.

“Relax your ass. It’ll hurt more, but at most, your skin will tear. It won’t damage the bones.”

“!!!!!!” Screw your tip!

Miguel was about to lose his mind. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, a cork was shoved into it. Caesar’s amused voice floated above him. “Bite down. Don’t want you biting your tongue in excitement. Consider this a freebie, no charge.”

Miguel was stunned: … Charge? Money?

“To avoid strange infections, the punishment tools from the Saint Monarch are rigorously sterilized—and it’s expensive. To make sure you remember this lesson, I won’t be paying a single penny. So, on the Wind Fury, the cost of sterilizing the tools is deducted from the punished crew member’s wages.”

… Holy crap!! What’s the difference between this and making a condemned prisoner pay for their own execution in my past life?!! (╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻

Beast!! (╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻

Scum!!! (╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻

Caesar stubbed out his cigarette and stood up, lazily grinding it under his foot as the crew watched in horror. “Only real pain will make you remember. The blood you shed today had better stay with you for life—then it’ll be worth it,” the captain said lightly. “Begin the punishment.”

As soon as he spoke, the whip in his hand rose and landed squarely on Miguel’s back. The whip was long enough for the lash to stretch from his spine down to his buttocks. The cat o’ nine tails struck multiple spots at once, and while the pain elsewhere was bearable, the tip of the whip felt like it had sent him straight to God.

The second lash landed in the same spot. Miguel clenched his eyes shut, his back convulsing violently. Compared to the other troublemakers who were crying and cursing after spitting out their corks, the delicate navigator held his ground.

The third lash fell, and a bead of sweat rolled down Miguel’s temple, only to be wiped away by the rain-laden wind.

The fourth lash, and Miguel tasted blood in his mouth. He must have bitten down too hard, causing his teeth to bleed.

The fifth lash, and the excruciating pain suddenly turned numb. Lying on the bench, Miguel began to wonder why he was suffering like this just for being a loyal supporter of the Communist Party of China.

The sixth lash, and Miguel sniffed, catching a whiff of urine in the air. Someone had lost control of their bladder—he just hoped it wasn’t him.

The seventh lash, and Miguel started to wonder if he’d taken off his clothes earlier. If not, he’d have to pick the fabric out of his bloody back later, which would be another ordeal.

“Endure it. It’ll be over soon.”

Caesar’s low, hoarse voice came from above, sounding like it was coming from far away.

Over my ass—we’re not even a third of the way through. Stop lying.

Miguel snorted through his nose—the first sound he’d made since the whipping began.

Not far away, the red-haired first mate and the motherly ship’s doctor were having a heated discussion—

Rick: “The way the captain’s wielding that whip—it looks fierce and sounds brutal, but I can tell at a glance that for our bastard captain, it’s no different from petting a mascot.”

Bakir: “As a professional, I can say that thirty lashes with a cat o’ nine tails would damage the bones. Twenty-five lashes? Just enough to break the skin and make a point.”

Rick: “The captain’s going easy on him.”

Bakir: “Yeah, the captain’s blatantly going easy on him.”

Rick: “But our bastard captain’s smart. By being so straightforward and brutal, no one dares to question it…”

Bakir: “Who would question it? Look around you—there are plenty of people who feel sorry for the navigator’s delicate skin… A bunch of fools blinded by appearances. As a professional, I’d say with proper care, he’ll be up and about in seven days.”

Rick: “And who’s going to care for him? Look at how precious he is—he’ll probably be carried straight to the Captain’s Cabin after this.”

Bakir: “Tsk tsk.”

Rick: “Tsk tsk tsk.”

The twenty-fifth lash fell.

Miguel spat out the mangled cork. The next second, his chin was lifted, forcing him to look into those calm amber eyes.

“Still conscious? Not bad.”

“Let go,” Miguel exhaled a bloody breath. “My teeth hurt.”

Caesar released him and personally untied him. Then, in front of everyone, he picked Miguel up and carried him straight back to the Captain’s Cabin.