Chapter 80

Caesar sized up the lively and healthy young man before him, then expressionlessly slapped away the fingers that were still poking at his waist, attempting to cause trouble. Miguel gasped in pain and retracted his claws, rubbing them before lifting his eyelids to ask the man, “How long was I out?”

“Three days,” Caesar replied, standing up from the bedside. He casually returned Ghost Slayer to its scabbard and tossed it onto the desk. Picking up a metal needle, he adjusted the kerosene lamp, making the light a bit brighter. Though the man seemed absorbed in this small task, he didn’t forget to remind his slave, saying indifferently, “You were just hit by a mermaid’s tail. You were the last one to wake up.”

“…I dreamed of my homeland.”

“Sounds like something a dying person would do.”

“I gave up everything and struggled to wake up, just to see you one more time.”

Hearing this, Caesar unexpectedly fell silent. He put down the needle he was using to adjust the kerosene lamp and walked back to the bedside. Miguel could feel the bed sink deeply again—just the depth a grown man would make. Caesar’s tall figure completely overshadowed him, and when the man leaned in expressionlessly, the navigator couldn’t help but shrink back.

“Your homeland?”

“Yeah.”

“Eastern?”

“Far away, in the East.” And several hundred years later.

“That place you mentioned, where humans ride metal objects and fly above the clouds like birds, with the fastest transportation that can get from Germany to the East in just ten hours—hundreds of years later, right? Are you telling me that during these three days, your soul left your body, so you were unconscious, letting the storm rage outside, or the sun scorch the earth, for three whole days and nights, while you lay here, relying on me to force open your mouth and pour water down your throat, diluting any food to keep you alive, and now you’re telling me that during all this, you weren’t here?”

This long, almost poetic string of questions from Caesar made Miguel afraid to nod—though, what the other man said was probably true. But it was clear from the expression on Big Dog’s face that it screamed, “If you nod, I’ll break your neck right now.” Miguel had seen that look too many times.

Miguel stared blankly at his captain until the man pulled back slightly, his rough thumb pressing heavily against Miguel’s jaw. In a slow, warning tone, Caesar said, “I’ve told you before, don’t lie to me. If you dare nod, you’re dead.”

Miguel: “…”

The navigator felt like he had suffered severe internal injuries.

He was like a prince who had killed a witch, hacked through a thorny forest with his sword, and fought a bloody battle with a dragon for three hundred rounds before finally emerging victorious. When he arrived at the princess’s castle, clad in armor, riding a steed, and wiping the blood from his face, the princess inside was sitting cross-legged on her bed, cracking melon seeds and spitting the shells at him. She said, “Why the hell did you take so long? Who are you showing off that face paint for—you think you’re in a movie?”

To put it simply, I offered you my heart, and you fed it to the dog.

Miguel took a deep breath, about to explode, but Caesar suddenly changed the subject, turning the conversation 380 degrees. He stood up from the bedside, crossed his arms, and looked down at his slave with his usual impassive face, asking emotionlessly, “Are you hungry?”

Miguel: “…”

He wanted to pretend to be a bit more dignified, but he found that, at this moment, saying “not hungry” was really hard. So the navigator pushed aside the animal skin blanket covering his legs, propped himself up, and was about to swing his legs off the bed to stand up and find something to eat when Caesar’s question stopped him in his tracks—

“Can you stand?”

Miguel froze mid-movement, looking up at Caesar in confusion. He noticed that the man’s amber eyes seemed slightly unnatural. Caesar cleared his throat, turned his head away, but couldn’t help glancing back at him, touching his nose before saying in a calm tone, “During the interrogation, Rick was also hit in the head by a mermaid—”

The man pointed to the side of his temple and continued, “He was unconscious for two hours. When he woke up, he found that the lower half of his body was paralyzed—”

Miguel’s eyes widened in shock, asking in disbelief, “Rick is paralyzed?!”

“Don’t shout,” Caesar frowned, clearly displeased. “He’s not paralyzed. Don’t interrupt me next time. He’s fine now. The paralysis seemed to be temporary. But since Rick was injured in the same place as you, I’m wondering if it’s because of some impact to the brain—Bakir couldn’t figure it out either. Now, try to see if you can stand up—be careful not to dirty my carpet.”

What do you mean, dirty your carpet?

If you’re worried I’ll fall and hurt myself, just say it. Why so shy?

Miguel chuckled as he moved his legs off the bed, and then…

He knelt down without hesitation.

Caesar: “…”

Miguel: “…”

Caesar sighed, “Lie back down. I’ll have someone bring you some food.”

The black-haired young man was devastated: “Ahhhhhhh, this isn’t scientific—wait, what if I’m paralyzed for life?”

Caesar replied expressionlessly, “The ship won’t miss your share of food. Even if you eat for a lifetime.”

Miguel: “Ahhhhhhh, that’s nonsense! Of course, you have to take care of me. I’m paralyzed because I saved you!”

“Stop shouting. It’s annoying. You won’t be paralyzed forever.”

The man’s brow furrowed as he helped the navigator, whose legs were as stiff as wood, back onto the bed. He covered him with the animal skin blanket and made sure he was comfortable before leaving the captain’s cabin—it was probably late at night. The deck outside was quiet, likely the time when even the night watch was dozing off. Without calling anyone, Caesar went to the kitchen himself to fetch some bread and fruit for Miguel. After handing the food to Miguel, he turned to the wine rack and poured himself a drink.

Under Caesar’s warning of “Don’t drop bread crumbs on my sheets,” Miguel wolfed down the bread, stuffing his mouth while gulping down the sweet and sour wine. He watched as Caesar leaned against the window, enjoying the sea breeze, sipping his whiskey with a relaxed and lazy demeanor. Finally, Miguel slowed down his eating, chewing quickly and mumbling with his mouth full, “Zo, sho, you haven’t figured out what happened yet?”

The captain turned his gaze from the moonlight outside and looked at the navigator with his usual impassive expression.

The latter wisely swallowed the food in his mouth and took a sip of wine to clear his throat before saying in a clear, melodious voice, “So, you haven’t gotten any answers yet?”

“You’ll never eat on my bed again in your next life.”

“…Don’t get so angry.”

“The mermaids are tight-lipped,” the captain’s gaze turned cold as he mentioned the frustrations of the past few days. “We caught ten mermaids. Two died that night due to severe injuries. The rest were brought on board. They refused to eat or drink, and over the past three days, many more have died… Now, only two are left. They’re healthy and have wisely chosen not to starve themselves as a form of resistance. They’re the ones who can lead us to where I want to go.”

“Where are you keeping them?” Miguel reached for the pineapple on the plate, eating with focus.

He didn’t see the momentary hesitation in Caesar’s eyes. But when the black-haired young man looked up at the captain in confusion, the man’s amber eyes showed no emotion. “In the bilge. One is on Rick’s ship, the other on the Wind Fury.”

“Why separate them?”

“To prevent them from killing each other. Not starving themselves doesn’t mean they’re happy to be alive.”

“Tell me about them,” Miguel said, turning his attention to the last and most delicious dessert—probably a rare act of mercy from Caesar. “Maybe I can help.”

“You mean that innate charm you have with women? I doubt it works on mermaids.”

“I’m seriously trying to help you,” Miguel said helplessly, raising his spoon and making a throwing motion in Caesar’s direction. “How does someone with your personality even have people willing to follow you?”

“Aren’t you the one leading the pack?”

“…Alright, fine, I am.” The captain’s die-hard fan, the navigator, sighed in resignation. “So, what’s the deal with those two mermaids?”

“One is mute, born that way, on Rick’s ship,” Caesar said. “She understands our language but can’t write—she’s timid, always hiding at the bottom of the pool in the cabin. The other can speak and write, but she’s likely the sibling of the mermaid leader we killed. She’s been looking for a chance to rip my head off every day—that’s probably the only reason she hasn’t starved herself. Personally, I think if we’re going to get any information, it’ll have to come from her.”

“Ah.”

“Done talking. How are you going to help?”

“Haven’t thought of it yet.”

“…Why did I even have hope for you?”

“…I don’t know. Maybe desperate times call for desperate measures?”

The man sighed helplessly, took away the empty plate, and carefully wiped Miguel’s hands with a towel before extinguishing the kerosene lamp. That night, perhaps out of fear of aggravating Miguel’s injury or for some other reason, Caesar didn’t sleep on the bed but instead on the large sofa in the captain’s cabin.

The navigator had to admit, it was lonely.

The next morning, just as the sky was beginning to lighten, a sailor burst into the captain’s cabin in a panic—something they wouldn’t normally dare to do, but today was different. He quickly spoke to the captain in German, his words too fast for Miguel to catch, but it was clear from Caesar’s furious expression that it wasn’t good news.

About ten minutes later, Miguel finally found out what had happened.

As a paralyzed man, he was lying on Rick’s back, enthusiastically exchanging paralysis experiences. Then the two of them walked down to the eerily quiet bilge. The kerosene lamp in the bilge swayed back and forth, but it didn’t prevent Miguel from immediately spotting the lifeless body of a mermaid floating in the large, makeshift pool. The thick, foul-smelling green blood had turned the water a faint green.

She had dark skin, long black hair like seaweed, and a beautiful face frozen in the final expression of shock and anger before death.

In her chest was a dagger—a dagger with a dulled blade, no longer sharp. On the dagger, three high-quality sapphires and eighteen first-grade cat’s eye stones glimmered faintly in the dim light of the kerosene lamp.

Miguel raised an eyebrow, realizing with a start that the weapon that had sent this beautiful mermaid to her grave looked eerily familiar.

Ghost Slayer.