Chapter 92

The sudden approach of a formal Royal Navy fleet caught the sailors aboard the Wind Fury off guard. The men’s roars and the chaotic footsteps on the deck created a tumultuous scene. Without waiting for Caesar’s orders, the gunners had already begun heaving the cannons out of their ports. Under the direction of the charge captains, the cannons were loaded, the sails were raised, and dozens of ships turned in unison, forming the most optimal formation for naval combat. The dark muzzles of the cannons silently aimed at the British Navy, which was breaking through the morning fog!

It was a medium-sized patrol fleet of only about a dozen ships. It seemed that even they hadn’t expected to encounter the Black Sea Wolf’s fleet in such a place. Though they were inwardly cursing their luck, it was out of the question for them to cut their masts and surrender immediately. Reluctantly, at the command of their admiral, gunners and musketeers rushed to the decks. The impeccably dressed Royal Navy soldiers raised their muskets, aiming at the pirates on the outermost ships of the fleet.

A bloody battle seemed inevitable.

Naval combat would undoubtedly delay their progress. Caesar’s expression was as dark as ink. Standing on the third deck, his voice was not loud, but it carried clearly through the tense atmosphere, reaching every crew member.

“What are you waiting for? Raise the Black Wolf Flag. Engage.”

With those words, he turned and strode back to the captain’s cabin without hesitation. The floor-to-ceiling windows of the cabin slammed shut behind him.

The pirates on deck were momentarily stunned, staring at each other. A few seconds later, one of the sailors, as if waking from a dream, repeated the captain’s order. The deck erupted into chaos—the German national flag that had been fluttering atop the mast was slowly lowered, and in its place, a pirate flag bearing the image of a snarling black wolf with sharp teeth was raised.

In the Mediterranean Sea today, this flag had almost become a symbol of death.

“Damn it, they dare to ambush us! Kill them!!!”

“Second squad, assemble! Loot their money, cannons, and even their underwear—leave them nothing!”

“Where’s the captain?—The captain’s not here! Then where’s the first mate? Over there—”

“First squad, assemble! Prepare the assault boats for boarding!”

The drum and brass band, ordered to continue playing even during naval battles, stood in perfect formation on the deck of the Wind Fury. Their music shifted to an intense war song. Amidst the music, the pirates raised their weapons high, shouting and charging fearlessly toward the enemy, launching their first wave of attack.

…

Above the Mediterranean Sea in the early morning, the once-calm waters were no longer peaceful. The sounds of cannons and muskets intertwined into a powerful symphony. After the battle with the Barbarossa Brothers, this was the first time the Wind Fury had engaged in a proper naval battle—and against the wealthy Royal Navy, no less. The pirates were ecstatic; they were practically drooling at the thought of looting. Who knows how long they had been yearning to trade in their worn-out cutlasses? The sea gods knew their clothes, worn for over half a year, were in desperate need of replacement!

The Wind Fury shuddered violently as cannon fire grazed its hull. The ship groaned under the strain, and the helmsman, drenched in sweat, gripped the wheel tightly, trying to steer the ship away from the concentrated fire of the British Navy. The unlucky helmsman, who happened to be on duty today, was as frantic as an ant on a hot pan. He glanced at the deck every three seconds—desperately hoping to catch sight of the tall, commanding figure of the captain.

Meanwhile, the captain of the Wind Fury was swiftly arming himself. As usual, he blindly grabbed two muskets from his drawer and hung them at his sides. Daggers were placed in every convenient spot on his body. When his hand reached into the drawer for the third time, he paused. Then, with a flash of metal, a familiar, heavy object was tossed through the air. Miguel instinctively raised his hand, and the next second, the familiar weight made the corner of his lips curl up.

“Take Ghost Slayer,” the man said without looking up as he adjusted his belt. “If you break it this time, I’ll kill you—stay in the cabin and take care of Margaret.”

The young girl, understanding the implication immediately, turned to glance at the black-haired young man sitting on the bed. She blinked, her pale hands gripping the hem of the captain’s shirt even tighter.

Caesar looked up, his amber eyes fixed on the navigator. His expression was cold as he spoke, almost word by word: “That’s an order.”

Miguel smiled. “Got it.”

The navigator’s smile was relaxed, as if Caesar had just said, “I’m going downstairs to get breakfast.” It was simple and carefree. Sunlight filtered through the mist into the room, illuminating Miguel’s face, but the smile seemed unusually sharp.

Some words were on the tip of his tongue, but they were abruptly halted. It was hard to describe the feeling, but Caesar’s pupils contracted slightly, his heart skipping a beat.

A sense of unease, intense and overwhelming, washed over him.

“We’ll win, but there will be casualties,” the man said, closing his eyes to suppress the emotions surging in his chest. His handsome face was devoid of any extra emotion, making him appear exceptionally cold. “…If you’re among them, I won’t save you this time.”

“…Don’t worry, I’m a cripple. Where could I even go?”

Miguel chuckled, seemingly oblivious to the man’s turmoil. He waved his hand nonchalantly, his reply carefree.

And with that, Caesar left without looking back.

Outside the captain’s cabin, the man’s deep, steady voice began issuing commands. Then, the Wind Fury started to move, and the frequency of the ship’s shuddering from cannon fire suddenly slowed.

Miguel leaned against the bow and closed his eyes. He couldn’t see what was happening outside, but as his eyes shut, it felt as if he could penetrate the thick cabin walls, the hull, and the stairs, arriving at the helm on the second deck. It was as if he were standing there, watching the man’s slightly rough hands grip the helm that never seemed to obey any other sailor. With ease, the man turned it, leading everyone in organizing the attack and avoiding the danger of being sunk.

“I won’t save you this time.”

The man’s icy words seemed to echo in his ears again.

A furry creature brushed against his side. Even with his eyes closed, he knew it was Margaret. The girl who had always lived in darkness could no longer adapt to sunlight. Her hands and feet were cold, and she clung to the navigator’s strong arm like a serpent, curling up beside him like a fragile creature caught in a storm.

Gripping Ghost Slayer tightly, Miguel slowly opened his deep black eyes. He mechanically turned his head, reached out, and patted the girl’s head, smiling faintly. “Clinging so close, even though you already know I’m not a good person?”

After slipping Ghost Slayer into the belt holster, the black-haired young man paused for a moment, then stood up from the bed. He strode to the window and flung it open.

…

This time, you won’t want to save me again, Big Dog.