Chapter 74

Being compared to a fish, Caesar didn’t get angry. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he casually glanced at the small fish swimming around in the wooden box. He then shifted his gaze away and spoke in a light, breezy tone, as gentle as a spring breeze, “My memory is better than you think, you perverted fisherman. For example, there was a time when you wanted to save a bucket of fresh water and a tattered second-hand bedsheet, so you tried to carry me back to the beach in the same position, leaving me to… what was the term again? Ah, right, fend for myself. Another example, you’ve snuck your hand onto my abdomen countless times while I was asleep, thinking I was dead to the world. But how couldn’t you know that area is a sensitive spot for men? Touch it enough, and there might be a reaction. And then there’s… I also remember you had your own dedicated room on my Wind Fury, yet now I’m turning a blind eye as you spend night after night sleeping in my bed like a stray monkey. You’re a slave, yet you still want to keep a pet. For your little pet, Zhizhi, I spent five thousand three hundred gold coins. Lastly, I must commend you for that day under the table—”

Miguel: “…Alright, shut up.”

The man chuckled, shifting his posture to lean casually against the table. In Miguel’s eyes, this was a victorious stance. He tilted his head to glance at Miguel, paused for a moment, and then concluded, “Looking at it this way, I’ve been really good to you.”

Miguel: “…”

This is just unreasonable.

…

Under Caesar’s command, Miguel and Leoza obediently tidied up the Captain’s Cabin, which had been thrown into complete disarray—though not without protest. For Miguel, the Captain’s reasoning was, “You’re the one who brought him here, so you’re responsible for cleaning up the mess he made.” As for Leoza, the Captain’s reasoning was even more straightforward and brutal, “If you don’t clean up, get the hell off my ship.”

Whoever owns the ship makes the rules, so on the Wind Fury, Caesar’s word was law.

Well, as for the Hornet…

Miguel figured that the reasoning might change there. “Whoever owns the ship makes the rules” might turn into “Whoever is the elder makes the rules.” So even on the Hornet, it would still be Captain Caesar’s say.

Long live Captain Caesar.

To avoid being kicked off the ship, Leoza crouched on the ground, cursing as he helped his half-brother clean up the overturned treasure chests. The scattered collectibles had to be picked up one by one and reorganized—limited edition coins in one chest, jewelry in another, precious daggers and muskets placed together, and the high-quality sapphires and rubies kept separate—

The shattered glass shards embedded in the carpet were meticulously picked up by the little slave, who crawled on the floor, searching every inch. In his own cabin, Caesar often liked to walk around barefoot. To prevent his not-so-delicate “paws” from stepping on the glass shards, Miguel spent a good while on his hands and knees, using his 5.3-vision eyes to hunt for every last piece—by the time he stood up, his back ached so much he couldn’t straighten it. Pointing at the dog-like nose of the man who lounged lazily by the bed, puffing on his pipe, Miguel was tempted to fling the handful of glass shards he’d collected right into his face. The navigator angrily declared, “I’m the one who’s been really good to you!”

To this, the Captain responded with a single, drawn-out syllable, which, translated into Chinese without the tone particles, amounted to just a word—

“Touched.”

When it came time to move the displaced table back to its original spot, Caesar finally deigned to lend a hand. Once the Captain’s Cabin was restored to order, under Miguel’s anxious gaze, the man slowly paced around the room, barefoot and looking utterly disinterested, before declaring, “Seems like there’s no more glass shards.”

Miguel, moved to tears, promptly ushered the great Captain back to his throne-like chair.

The wooden box was placed squarely in the center of Caesar’s desk, and the three of them sat around it, launching into a discussion about “how the hell to use this thing.”

Caesar remained silent.

Leoza thought it was a baby mermaid—raise it, and it would eventually lead them to the mermaid’s homeland. The Captain, cigarette dangling from his lips, snorted in derision. He clearly had no intention of waiting until he was old and decrepit to find the Fountain of Youth—

“You think we’re all cursed to live forever, with all the time in the world to waste? It’s only Margarita and Margaret who are cursed…” His finger pointed mockingly at Leoza’s nose, and the Captain’s smile was full of scorn. “Of course, you could always ask Margarita if the fact that you haven’t grown an inch in all these years is just another form of the curse.”

Leoza hated it when people brought up his height.

If it weren’t for the wooden box on the table, he might have flipped the table straight into Caesar’s face.

The two of them exchanged murderous glares across the desk, then simultaneously turned to Miguel—Caesar’s amber eyes cold and indifferent, Leoza’s golden gaze blazing with intensity. Miguel felt like he was caught in the legendary “fire and ice” scenario.

So he shook his head and honestly replied, “I don’t know.”

After two seconds of silence, the Captain, who had clearly never placed much hope in him, calmly announced that they’d continue the discussion after lunch. Court adjourned.

Caesar, as usual, was fastidious. In his mind, meals should be eaten in the designated dining area, so he headed there alone. Leoza, who wanted to stick to Miguel every second, managed to achieve “wherever Miguel goes, I go” after a series of warnings from Caesar. As for Miguel, he somehow managed to procure two loaves of bread. The moment Caesar left, he smoothly took his place in the Captain’s armchair.

An hour later, Caesar returned from lunch.

Kicking open the door to the Captain’s Cabin, one look at the scene inside was enough to make him furious.

Leoza was sprawled out in front of the desk, basking in the sunlight, snoring like a fluffy, stupid cat. Meanwhile, his little slave was sitting in his chair, one hand propping up his chin. The black-haired young man’s eyes were lowered, and the sunlight streaming in from behind him cast a faint halo around his head. He was absentmindedly tearing apart the bread in his hand, tossing the crumbs not into his own mouth but expressionlessly into the wooden box.

Caesar didn’t know how long Miguel had been repeating this cycle before he returned.

All he knew was that he’d seen few fish die of starvation, but he’d seen plenty die from overeating.

“What are you doing?”

The man’s expression darkened instantly, his amber eyes deepening in color. He strode over to the desk and slapped Miguel’s hand away with a loud smack—the sharp sound startling both of them.

But Miguel quickly reacted. Aside from the initial moment of shock, his expression remained calm. He looked up, his gaze as placid as still water, moving from the man’s face down to his waist, where a dagger hung—Ghost Slayer. Ever since it was taken out of the treasure chest months ago, the dagger had never been put back. It was either in Miguel’s hand or hanging from Caesar’s waist.

Leoza had woken up at some point. His golden eyes narrowed as he silently observed the scene before him, and the red-haired teenager couldn’t help but smirk with amusement.

Under Caesar’s hesitant gaze, Miguel stretched, letting out a long yawn. He stood up, patted his numb buttocks, and casually glanced at the statue-like man before saying indifferently, “It won’t die from overeating, so calm down. I only fed it a couple of breadcrumbs.”

The man quickly glanced at the wooden box. Indeed, only a couple of tiny breadcrumbs floated on the water’s surface. The transparent little fish surfaced, bobbing its head as it quickly nibbled at the crumbs.

Miguel stepped aside, allowing Caesar to reclaim his seat, then climbed into bed for a nap—in the stuffy, swaying cabin, he drifted off to sleep. In his half-conscious state, he saw Caesar pull several thick books from the shelf. The books clearly hadn’t been touched in a long time, and in the sunlight, the rising dust nearly enveloped the man in a halo of light.

Miguel didn’t know when he fell asleep.

When he woke up, night had already fallen. On the deck, the band that had been playing all day had finally stopped, and the drunken laughter of the sailors, which had seemed to echo constantly, had also vanished—this at least indicated that it was late enough for him to have missed dinner.

The surroundings were quiet, save for the creaking of the oil lamp hanging from the cabin ceiling as the ship swayed. Miguel moved Leoza’s arm, which was draped over his waist, and got out of bed.

The Captain’s Cabin had been lit with oil lamps and candles at some point, their dim light barely illuminating the room. A tall man stood behind the desk, leaning over it with one hand, intently flipping through a heavy book spread open on the surface. Beside him lay a piece of parchment with some notes—undoubtedly written by him, as he still held a quill in his hand.

The wooden box containing the little fish was still placed beside the man, and from his calm expression… the fish was still alive. It hadn’t died from overfeeding.

Miguel vaguely remembered that Caesar had been in the same position before he fell asleep.

He got up, and as his bare feet touched the carpet, a slight sting made him pause. Lifting his foot, he calmly pulled out a tiny shard of glass that had escaped his earlier search, wiped away the blood, and tossed the shard under the bed. Still barefoot, he silently approached the desk.

“Awake?”

The man behind the desk didn’t look up but spoke just as Miguel drew near. His voice was hoarse and low, clearly the result of not having spoken or drunk water for a long time.

Miguel paused for a moment before finally responding, as if he’d just remembered.

“Move aside,” the man said, turning another page in the book, “you’re blocking the light.”

The navigator dragged another chair over to the other side of the desk and plopped down—at which point Caesar glanced up at him briefly before returning to his work.

Miguel watched him for a while, then asked, “Did you ask Zhizhi?”

“I did. She said she doesn’t know.”

“Found any clues?”

“No.”

“Eaten anything?”

“No.”

“How about some sleep?”

“Still looking.”

“Tomorrow’s dawn won’t come?” Miguel chuckled, his tone laced with mockery.

Caesar finally looked up, meeting the young man’s smiling black eyes, and said slowly, “Can’t sleep.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Miguel cursed under his breath, then reached out to snatch the man’s quill. Anticipating this move, Caesar quickly pulled his hand back, but in the struggle, the sharp tip of the quill slashed across Miguel’s palm. The wound stretched across his entire hand, first turning white, then red and swollen. Blood immediately began to pour out, streaming down his wrist.

“Well, well,” Miguel glanced at it and said wryly, “look what you’ve done. You’ve cut my lifeline, you bastard.”

Caesar didn’t respond. Miguel paused, then looked up to find the man’s gaze fixated on the wooden box, as if entranced.

Miguel clicked his tongue and leaned over to follow his gaze—

Only to discover that during the earlier struggle, a drop of blood had accidentally fallen into the wooden box.

Strangely, the blood didn’t disperse in the water. Instead, it coagulated into a small, red sphere floating on the surface. The transparent little fish swam up from the bottom and, just like it had with the breadcrumbs earlier, began nudging the droplet of blood with its head, pushing it in a specific direction.