Chapter 9

Q: You took away my feelings, my heart, and my money. How are you going to make it up to me? How? How?!

A: With your dog life.

On this sunny spring afternoon, thanks to Old Fante’s drunken ramblings, all the ladies of the night in the twenty-seven taverns of Djerba Island learned the tragic story of their darling, the fair-skinned and clean-cut little treasure Miguel, who had been callously abandoned by a despicable pirate.

Lady of the Night A: Just consider it as being bitten by a dog.

Lady of the Night B: Put a bounty on him! Make that scoundrel either leave the Mediterranean nightlife and find his fun on the other shore or spend the rest of his life with his right hand!

Lady of the Night C: Come here, let me hug you, my poor Miguel!

Lady of the Night D: I want you—marry me!

After Miguel, sweating profusely, managed to stop a lady of the night who was about to lift her skirt and storm off to confront the Barbarossa brothers (completely mistaken about the target), he learned from the drunkards in the crowded tavern that the Barbarossa brothers’ fleet, which had been guarding this small Tunisian island for an entire week, was finally preparing to abandon this prime strategic location and set sail.

“I heard Caesar is indeed dead, and his first mate, Crazy Dog Rick, doesn’t seem to be preparing for revenge,” said a pirate from a small fleet that was also taking a break on Djerba Island during the stormy weather, grinning as he took a sip of cold small beer. “My source is absolutely reliable—I heard the Barbarossa brothers spent three thousand gold coins to buy this information!”

“Bullshit!” another burly sailor laughed and cursed. “A three-thousand-gold-coin piece of information, and you’re just blabbing about it here?”

The fat sailor’s words drew a round of laughter.

“Because the information is outdated now,” the mocked pirate flushed red and retorted, putting down his cup. His face was red from the alcohol, and he stood up unsteadily, muttering under his breath, “And no one said that a three-thousand-gold-coin piece of information had to be true—”

Just as he was about to step out of the tavern, someone grabbed his arm from behind.

“Huh?” The drunk man turned around hazily, only to see a young man with black hair and dark eyes staring at him expressionlessly. “Ah, I know you—I know you—an Easterner. I’ve seen you in a painting owned by our captain. You people live on another continent—”

The pirate hiccupped drunkenly and said, “Ah, a young man who’s traveled around the world, what do you want to know?—”

“The truth,” Miguel said flatly.

“The truth,” the scruffy man sneered, repeating the words, his body swaying unsteadily. “Even if I knew the truth, I wouldn’t just give it to you for free—not even for half a copper coin. Ah, yes, even if you have a face different from ours, it doesn’t matter. If you were a woman, I might—”

Miguel raised an eyebrow, let go of the man’s arm, and watched as the pirate fell to the ground. His nose hit the hard stone pavement outside the tavern. Three seconds later, Miguel crouched down, flipped the half-dead drunk over, and, without blinking, looked at the blood streaming from the man’s nose. He patted the man’s cheek and asked with a faint smile, “What else would you do?”

“N-nothing else! There’s nothing else—I’ll tell you, kid! The era of the ‘Black Sea Wolf Caesar’ is over!”

The man licked the blood that had dripped onto his lips, smacking his lips with relish. He lay on the ground, staring blankly at the blue sky, completely resigned to his fate, stretching out his legs and lying there like a corpse. It was unclear whether he was speaking to the young man crouched beside him or simply talking to himself—

“My greatest wish in life was to join that man’s crew—but I’m not good enough, I didn’t catch his eye… What a pity, without Caesar, the ‘Wind Fury’ is nothing… Ah, come to think of it—Leoza must be happy, yes, he should be happy, Caesar’s dead, his era has arrived—to be honest, what are the Barbarossa brothers? They can’t even compare to Leoza, how can they compare to the ‘Wind Fury’?—and yet, Caesar died at the hands of such people, fate, ah, we pirates…”

As the drunken pirate continued to ramble on the ground, Miguel had already lost interest and stood up. He had no desire to find out who this “Leoza” was that kept being mentioned.

Behind him, the pirate remained sprawled on the ground, drunk and slurring his words as he sang a pirate’s song—

“Under the guidance of the Jolly Roger, hic, toiling for survival… We, hic, are pirates… Pirates with no, hic, a tomorrow, forever drifting, pirates of the seven seas… hic, drifting, pirates!”

…

That day, the Barbarossa brothers’ fleet set sail, taking the filial son Rick with them.

That night, the dining table was left with two abandoned males.

One was named Fante, aged fifty-eight, abandoned by his most filial son.

The other was named Miguel, aged twenty-one, abandoned by the pet he had raised.

Fante: “Why did you come here?”

Miguel stretched out his long legs: “To pretend to be your son.”

Fante: “If I had a son who spoke Arabic as poorly as you, I’d throw him into the sea to feed the sharks and then kill myself.”

Miguel: “…”

Fante: “I don’t need your sympathy!”

Miguel: “Who said I’m here to sympathize with you? Who’s going to sympathize with me if I sympathize with you?”

Fante: “Then why are you here?”

Miguel: “To eat!”

Fante: “Go back to your own doghouse to eat!”

Miguel: “The dog ran away! It’s not a doghouse anymore!”

Fante: “You’ve only had him for less than a week! I raised my son for twenty-five years!”

Miguel: “One night as husband and wife, a hundred days of grace! (in Chinese)”

Fante: “What?”

Miguel: “…If you’ve fucked, you’re bound for life!”

Fante: “Your chaste and virtuous woman mentality is going to scare me to death—wait, did he fuck you?!”

Miguel: “…No.”

Fante: “Get out.”

The entire night, Miguel drank until he felt like his stomach would burst—though he wasn’t actually that sad. It was just that when two abandoned males stared at each other, it was easy to develop a certain negative emotional resonance. They emptied all of Old Fante’s stored alcohol, toasting from “May you live a long life” to “Celebrating your abandonment.” By midnight, when the true night of Djerba Island arrived, both men were already passed out in this quiet, humble little house.

At the time, neither of them knew that this night would bring such a dramatic turn of events.

When torches lit up in the darkness, Miguel rolled over and fell from the table to the floor.

The old man he landed on groaned and woke up. Then he noticed that the night outside was unusually bustling, with people running around and shouting, much livelier than usual—what was going on? Old Fante kicked the young man off him, cursing as he struggled to his feet. He poured himself a cup of water and stumbled outside, opening the door to find that it wasn’t just lively—it was complete chaos.

“Is Djerba Island sinking?” Fante grabbed a young man holding a torch who was about to pass by.

“The ‘Wind Fury’ has appeared!”

The words “Wind Fury” struck like a scythe of death. Fante’s heart sank as he realized that the fleet his beloved Lake was on had not escaped the devil’s revenge. Suddenly, he was sober.

“C-Caesar’s not dead! He’s alive!” The sailor who had been grabbed was trembling with excitement. “The Barbarossa brothers’ ships were intercepted less than three nautical miles east of here—didn’t you hear? The first cannon blast shook the entire island! I heard they’ve already started boarding!”

“Hahahaha, I knew Crazy Dog Rick wouldn’t let this go! Good job, Rick! Good job, Caesar! Long live the ‘Wind Fury’!” A sailor ran past, laughing maniacally.

…Damn it, how bad is the Barbarossa brothers’ reputation?! Old Fante’s face turned pale: “How long has the battle been going on? What’s the situation now?”

“It’s been three hours. Big Barbarossa is already dead, and the younger one is still alive, leading the fleet back—oh, old man, you look terrible—hey, you don’t have relatives on the Barbarossa brothers’ ship, do you?—hey, hey, where are you going?—come back!!—”

The answer to this confused sailor was Old Fante’s retreating figure, running toward the docks without looking back.

…

Even many years later, those who witnessed this naval battle would still remember it vividly.

In their memories, the Black Sea Wolf was like a true Grim Reaper wielding a scythe. From spreading false information to launching a sneak attack, and then to his signature boarding battles, this famous captain announced his grand return in his own way—

Leaving the command to his first mate, Caesar personally joined the fight, boarding the enemy’s main ship and personally decapitating Big Barbarossa.

That night, the Black Sea Wolf launched the most ferocious counterattack against the Barbarossa brothers—never before in naval history had there been such a brutal battle. Blood dyed the Mediterranean red…

When Miguel, suffering from a splitting headache due to his hangover, finally rowed his rickety little boat to the main battlefield, the naval battle was nearing its end. Various pirate ships were scattered haphazardly across the sea. Using an oar to push aside the corpse of a pirate whose face was half burned off, the young man looked up—

With his sharp eyesight, he immediately spotted the most magnificent and massive three-masted warship, where Big Barbarossa’s head was dangling in the wind.

Miguel: “…”

So, Miguel, who was merely passing by, began to seriously consider whether he should row his boat back, because he was quite certain he didn’t want to end up dangling in the wind anywhere.

However, someone quickly made the decision for him.

A coarse fishing net fell over his head—

Miguel: “Huh?”

“Captain! We caught one! Alive! Looks like he was trying to escape!”

Miguel: “…Fuck.”