Chapter 65

The long-winded and ill-timed tester finally left. When Miguel hurriedly crawled out from under the table, Caesar had to quickly use his hand to block him, or else he would have bumped his head on the wound. The collision seemed to have caused the captain quite a bit of pain, as he frowned and rubbed his palm, while confidently demanding that his little slave help him put on his pants.

As Miguel bent down to help him with his pants, the man casually poured some rum onto a handkerchief nearby and used the alcohol-soaked cloth to wipe the navigator’s face. The two of them worked in silence, each busy with their own tasks (not really). The smell of alcohol mixed with semen was strange, and Miguel’s face still had some small scratches from the earlier sea battle, which stung and made him grimace. Moreover, Big Dog’s paw was quite strong—Caesar had probably never tried to hold his own son, or else they wouldn’t have safely made it through infancy and lived to this day.

When Caesar finished cleaning Miguel’s face, the black-haired young man’s face was flushed red, as if he were drunk.

“Your face is so red. Are you shy?”

“I’m not shy,” Miguel touched his face, which was burning with pain. “You rubbed it too hard, be gentler—”

“There’s nothing to be shy about. This is routine on the ship. Go ask Rick, he’s definitely shot his load in some other crew member’s mouth,” the man said expressionlessly, shoving the handkerchief stained with his own fluids into Miguel’s hand as he spoke words that were anything but comforting. “If he denies it, he’s lying.”

Miguel: “…”

Caesar: “Besides, you’re my personal slave. You should be prepared for things like this to happen—taking care of your master’s needs is a professional code of conduct that a qualified slave should always remember, right?”

Miguel: “Do I look like I’m easy to fool?”

“I’m not lying to you,” the captain said with a sincere expression. “It’s really like that—okay, now stand up and let Daddy see if your wound has reopened.”

“It has.”

Finally, the conversation took a slightly normal turn. Miguel obediently answered and turned to fetch the first aid kit from Caesar’s quarters—even though it was stipulated that the captain and the crew would be treated equally in times of food shortages, on the Wind Fury, there were still some unspoken privileges for the captain. For example, the medicine allocated to the captain was different from that of the regular crew, and the quality of the captain’s medical supplies was much better.

After Caesar discovered that Miguel never used his own allocated medicine and always came to use his instead, he simply waved his hand and canceled the monthly medical allowance for the navigator.

When the bandage was torn off, the rough edges scraped against the red and swollen wound, causing some pain. Miguel took off his shirt and lay down on the table, staying still as Caesar evenly sprinkled a white medicinal powder on his back. The powder turned into a transparent paste upon contact with the skin.

After applying the medicine, the captain didn’t rush to wrap the bandage. Instead, he patted Miguel’s sturdy waist and said in a tone as casual as discussing dinner plans, “Take off your pants.”

Once again, Miguel instinctively grabbed the waistband of his pants like a chaste maiden.

“Hurry up,” the stingy captain urged. “Don’t make me say it again. Fuel prices are rising now, and if I don’t carefully study the nautical chart, I’ll end up taking a longer route. The wasted fuel costs will be deducted from your pay.”

“Then study the chart!” Miguel said, baffled, as he half-sat up and haphazardly pulled the nautical chart back in front of the man. “Look at it, study it—what does that have to do with me? Why should I take off my pants just because you’re studying a chart? Does having a naked man who’s secretly in love with you standing next to you double your work efficiency? Does it?!”

Miguel’s words reminded the captain that the poor boy still didn’t know that the key to the nautical chart had already been completely tattooed on his butt a few hours ago.

With a wicked smile, the man stroked his chin, grinning like a landlord. “A bit of artistic behavior can indeed make me feel more relaxed, and when I’m relaxed, my work efficiency naturally doubles. You make a good point.”

“You’ll regret this,” the navigator said with a deadpan expression, trying to scare him. “I’m not like you, I’m very… sensitive. You—you just looking at me could make me cum! And then I’ll get it all over your chart!”

“Enough nonsense,” the captain said, unthreatened. “Take them off.”

On the ship, the captain’s word was law, even if the captain was a madman. So, Miguel tearfully took off his pants.

“Turn around.”

“Don’t even think I’ll pick up the soap!”

“Are you insane? There’s no soap here.”

Caesar cursed in confusion, but his right hand didn’t stop moving. He picked up the quill pen on the table, dipped it in ink, and frowned as he leaned closer to the tattoo on the navigator’s body—

The complete compass design, if examined closely, was filled with symbols that perfectly corresponded to the coordinates on the nautical chart—the compass could indeed lead its owner directly to the key clue of the mermaids’ lair, but what Leoza didn’t know was that when the compass was combined with the nautical chart, as long as one had the basic structure of the compass and the initial general direction, they could use this chart, which was created alongside the compass, to accurately locate the clues leading to the mermaids’ lair.

In other words, once the initial sailing direction was confirmed and the basic shape of the compass was obtained, the occasionally malfunctioning compass had already lost its significance to Caesar.

The key to the mermaids’ lair had already been turned into a tattoo and left on the navigator’s butt.

Now, all that was needed was to find the missing points on the corresponding nautical chart and connect them all—

Caesar was examining it so closely, and the answer was almost within reach, which made him extremely excited. When his hot breath sprayed onto Miguel’s bare waist, the navigator’s legs went weak, and he couldn’t help but scoot forward—

Only to have his buttocks slapped twice by the captain, who was extremely annoyed at having his train of thought interrupted by the movement.

“Stop moving!”

“Don’t breathe on my ass like that, I’m going to get hard, I’m going to get hard—damn it!”

“I’m not breathing on your ass,” the man said through gritted teeth, unfazed by the accusation. “I’m not even touching you, and you’re getting hard—and you dare to curse!… If I actually touched you, wouldn’t you just die from exhaustion? Have some dignity, it’s embarrassing to say it out loud.”

Miguel: “…”

The world fell silent.

The captain’s words struck Miguel like a bolt of lightning. For a moment, he suddenly felt that Caesar really was treating him like a son—if you thought about it, if this guy had his first sexual experience at fourteen and got someone pregnant, his son would be eighteen now… Damn it, that would only be three years younger than me!

I wonder what Big Dog’s son would think about a guy who’s only three years older than him but is desperately trying to join the family registry as his stepmother?

“Stop thinking about nonsense,” the captain said without looking up, quickly marking the remaining points on the nautical chart. “You can put your pants back on.”

Miguel pouted and grumbled as he put on his pants, occasionally glancing over to see what Caesar was doing—with just one look, he noticed the additional marked points on the previously blank areas… Earlier, the man had hesitated when marking that section, but now he was swiftly filling in the gaps—clearly, those were the points Caesar had just added.

“My ass gave you that kind of inspiration?”

“The tattoo,” the man replied simply, quickly using a ruler to connect the marked points.

“You tattooed the treasure map on my ass?” After putting on his pants, Miguel leaned closer to Caesar, not at all surprised. “I knew it… I was actually feeling guilty for losing your compass earlier. So, how are you going to make it up to me?”

“I already made it up to you,” the captain said as the answer was almost within reach. His hands moved even faster as he connected the points on the chart, and in just a few seconds, he selected two points and connected them. “Haven’t you been fantasizing about your master’s holy body for a long time?”

Miguel: “…”

Caesar: “Now you’ve got it, huh? The grace of your master.”

Miguel looked as if he’d been struck by lightning: “… Sir, hello, do you even realize what you’re saying?”

Caesar: “Found it.”

Miguel: “Found what?”

“The clue,” the man tossed the quill pen aside and made room for Miguel to take a look. The navigator curiously leaned in and saw that the nautical chart was filled with intricate ink lines, all converging at a single point. Caesar pointed at the focal point and smiled. “Menorca… The clue we’re looking for is actually in Menorca.”

Miguel didn’t say anything. He stared at the converging point, and once again, that familiar, uneasy feeling washed over him—

This time, he felt like he was almost able to grasp the source of this discomfort, to think carefully about why… but unfortunately, he was interrupted by Caesar’s words.

The man reached out and ruffled his messy hair. “You can use the bathroom. Go wash up, but be careful not to touch the wound. Once we reach the port, Daddy will take you out for a treat.”

Miguel: “I like men.”

Caesar: “I’ll satisfy you.”

Miguel: “You’ll do it yourself?”

Caesar: “Don’t push your luck.”

Miguel: “Then forget it. Just make sure to pick someone with big boobs…”

Caesar: “Don’t worry, their ass won’t be small either.”

…

As the two exchanged their pointless and trivial banter, the sun outside slowly sank below the horizon. As night fell, the Wind Fury fleet was racing at full speed toward their destination, Menorca.

On the ship, the band started playing as the bonfire was lit. Aside from the unlucky ones on night duty, the pirates who had just survived a sea battle and were about to resupply brought out their best food and drinks, gathering around the bonfire for a night of drunken revelry.

On the lively and cheerful deck, no one noticed a black-bearded pirate who had gotten drunk early, leaning against the stairs with a half-empty bottle of rum in his hand. His eyes were glazed over, and he was mumbling a song that few could understand…

This is my empire, my power sweeps all,

Yo—ho—ho—

Who is singing the sailor’s song?

Yo—ho—ho—

The mermaid’s song echoes,

Yo—ho—ho—

No one knows, it’s the prelude to death.

Come, brave sailor,

Come into my arms!

Come, merry sailor,

Come into my arms!

The end of life is the continuation of life…