Chapter 68

Bakir had obtained the news from a fellow practitioner—though in Miguel’s eyes, it was more like a barefoot doctor from Menorca. He told the ship’s doctor of the Wind Fury that Menorca was filled with countless unique legends, but the most extraordinary of them all was a certain prostitute at the Dite Tavern—the very same tavern Caesar had taken his son to earlier that afternoon, known as the most expensive and aristocratic tavern in Menorca.

But that wasn’t the climax.

The climax was when Bakir revealed that the prostitute’s name was Zhizhi.

Caesar: “Who?”

Bakir: “Zhizhi.”

Caesar: “Who?”

Miguel: “Zhizhi?!”

It was only then that Bakir suddenly remembered that their boss had already personally visited the place that afternoon. Unlike his usual saintly demeanor when watching crew members being punished, the usually sinister ship’s doctor now wore an expression of impatience. He raised an eyebrow and, with a hint of audacity, asked his superior, “Did you see this woman this afternoon?”

Caesar shifted slightly, his fingers subtly tightening together. No one could discern the thoughts running through the captain’s mind at that moment. All they heard was his low, slow voice as he countered, “Why is she the most extraordinary?”

“Because I haven’t finished speaking,” Bakir replied flatly, unimpressed. Under the admiring gazes of the crew, the captain, unusually tolerant, gestured with his hand for Bakir to continue.

“The basement of the Dite Tavern is extraordinary. Didn’t they show it to you? Well, your expression has already answered that question. Maybe the gold you offered wasn’t enough, boss… I mean, my colleague told me that the Dite Tavern is considered the best in all of Menorca because its basement houses a pool of unusually active seawater—it’s said that this pool is connected to the Mediterranean Sea and has existed there since before the tavern was even built.”

Caesar: “Get to the point.”

Bakir: “Were you like this as a child? When someone tries to patiently tell you a bedtime story, do you just rudely demand they ‘get to the point’?”

Caesar: “Laozi never listened to fairy tales.”

Bakir: “I don’t want to criticize your lack of a childhood, Captain.”

“I can explain this,” Miguel chimed in cheerfully. “Given his personality, any story summarized for him would probably end up as just one sentence: ‘The prince and princess overcame hardships and lived happily ever after.'”

Bakir’s expression seemed as though he wanted to give the navigator a thumbs-up for that comment. But before he could do so, the former, under the captain’s calm gaze, obediently wiped the smirk off his face and sincerely made a zipping motion over his lips. He then lowered his head and joined the rest of the crew at the meeting table in their silent, serious demeanor.

Patting Miguel on the shoulder, Bakir turned back to Caesar and continued with the information he had gathered: “My colleagues say that the pool is home to a century-old shark that forever guards it. Inside the pool, there’s a wooden box. It’s said that only the ‘purest person’ can reach into the pool and retrieve the box from the bottom. Once retrieved, it must be opened by another person who ‘does not exist in this world.’ Anyone with a tainted soul who tries to take it will have their hand bitten off by the shark and be dragged into the pool to their death.”

Bakir paused, lifting his eyes to gauge Caesar’s reaction, only to find that the captain’s reaction was no reaction at all.

The man rested his chin on one hand, his eyes half-closed. His other hand lightly rested on the armrest, his long fingers slightly curled as they rhythmically tapped against the wooden surface. The slow, irregular tapping seemed to echo in the hearts of everyone present—

They all knew that Caesar was deep in thought.

Yet no one could guess what conclusion he would arrive at—whether it would be sunshine or stormy weather, all hinged on the captain’s next words… Everyone craned their necks, nervously watching the man who seemed to have dozed off with his head lowered—the silence felt like it lasted an eternity. Finally, under everyone’s anticipation, Caesar’s lips moved slightly.

“Let’s go take a look.”

From those sensual lips came a simple, straightforward command.

The crew collectively exhaled in relief.

They knew this was the captain’s way of showing interest—

Sure enough, the next second, a long, teasing whistle echoed around the table. All they saw was a flash of black, followed by the sound of something metallic hitting flesh—

When everyone turned their attention to Bakir, the latter was holding a money pouch the captain had tossed at him, offering a half-hearted, drawn-out “Thank you.”

Inside the pouch, not a single coin was missing—it held a full six hundred gold pieces.

Bakir: “Thanks. You still owe me three hundred, don’t forget.”

Everyone: “…”

The captain sneered, “If this turns out to be false information, you’ll be spitting this pouch back out, along with your entire year’s salary—because you made the captain waste a trip. And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that disappointing me has severe consequences.”

Bakir: “Being this demanding will make it hard for you to find a wife, boss.”

Caesar replied matter-of-factly, “I already have a son. What do I need a wife for?”

Bakir immediately turned to look at Miguel, who rolled his eyes at him. The captain, following his gaze, paused on Miguel’s face before reluctantly clarifying, “Not him. I mean my actual son.”

Miguel: “Dad.”

Caesar: “Good boy.”

Everyone: “…”

After dinner, night fell. The lively nightlife of Menorca was just beginning. Leading a group of somewhat worldly officers from the Wind Fury, Caesar marched toward the Dite Tavern for the second time—this time with a determined stride that made it clear the captain was not in the best of moods.

Because, as Bakir later explained, Zhizhi was the only person who could dive into the pool and retrieve the wooden box without being bitten to death by the shark—thus making her, along with the magical pool of seawater in the Dite Tavern’s basement, one of Menorca’s most legendary superstitions.

The captain argued, “Maybe she raised that shark herself.”

Miguel: “…Just accept the facts. She told you herself this afternoon, but you rudely cut her off before you could hear it all.”

Caesar: “The purest person in the world is a prostitute. You believe that?”

Miguel: “Of course! Everyone has parents, you know!”

Caesar: “…”

“What’s with the sneer?” Miguel trotted behind the captain, the two of them walking so fast that the others were deliberately left a short distance behind. The navigator glanced around furtively before pulling a small, uneven metal object from his pocket and shoving it into the captain’s hand. “Here, here, it’s for you.”

Miguel mumbled, his head lowered, too embarrassed to look at Caesar’s expression.

After an awkward silence, the man expressionlessly held the object between his fingers, examining it under the neon lights of the bustling streets—it was a crudely made, aesthetically questionable trinket, clearly bought from a street vendor. It was a dog’s head, with two fake rubies for eyes.

For a moment, Caesar, utterly speechless, thought Miguel was silently taunting him—but then he reconsidered, deciding the guy probably wasn’t that smart. In the end, he refrained from resorting to violence and simply shoved the bizarre object into his pocket, commenting, “Hmph, I’ll take it. It’s ugly.”

Miguel: “…At times like this, even a polite ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

Caesar turned his head, his handsome face half-hidden in the shadows of the night. He leaned down slightly, his nose almost touching Miguel’s as they walked side by side. After a moment, the captain replied earnestly, “Can’t do it.”

“I picked it out especially for you,” Miguel said, exasperated. “And you just shoved it into your pocket like that.”

“It’s the worst thing in my pocket,” the man said indifferently, straightening up and putting some distance between them. “That alone is already an honor.”

Miguel: “Cold, heartless, unreasonable—you’re so cruel, so cruel, so cruel—”

The captain sneered, completely unfazed. “You’re crueler. You went out for one afternoon, spent all ten of my gold coins, and brought back this piece of junk.”

“…”

“If we don’t get any important clues about the mermaid’s homeland tonight, I won’t be able to afford to keep you.”

“What?!” The son was shocked. “Where’s the logic in that?”

The father calmly glanced at his son and replied, “I’m tired.”

For the first time in his life, Miguel felt a twinge of guilt—he didn’t dare tell Caesar that he’d been scammed out of those ten gold coins in a moment of stupidity. He could only swallow his blood and tears, pretending to be innocent as he told his master that he couldn’t help himself and had spent all ten coins at a “remarkably exceptional” street stall. Of course, this wasn’t a particularly clever excuse, but it at least fit his usual behavior. The captain merely sneered and waved him off into the “pig” category.

That night, to keep up the lie, he only nibbled at his food before pretentiously setting down his utensils, clutching his growling stomach as he smiled and said, “I’m so full.”

It was all tears in hindsight.

But at least the trinket made it into Caesar’s pocket tonight.

Someday, Miguel was confident he’d get it hung around Big Dog’s neck—like a dog collar, not just to keep him from running away, but to declare to the world: This one’s taken, keep your distance.