Captain – Chapter 160 – The Variable

There was still one variable on the Mermaid.

An old man who should have left the warship, or even Yadris, long ago.

Neither Roy, surrounded by enemies, nor Cassius, who had orchestrated the deadly trap, anticipated that the old sailor—who had only wanted to escape the conflict and lead a peaceful life with his daughter—would return at the last moment.

Just before the Mermaid set sail.

On the stormy sea churning with huge waves, on the side of the warship away from the port, a figure suddenly emerged from the water, grabbing with all his might the wooden steps protruding from the pearl-gray hull. He then gasped for air, as if he had nearly drowned.

Old John vigorously shook his face to fling off the streaming water, then struggled to open his slightly hazy eyes and looked up.

The once robust Imperial spy who could easily approach enemy ships by swimming underwater had grown old—so old that after swimming just tens of meters, he was already exhausted.

“Splash!”

Suddenly, the sound of breaking water came from nearby.

Old John, resting against the hull, turned to look and saw the wooden anchor slowly surfacing, pulled by a thick iron chain. At the same time, the sounds of hoisting sails echoed through the wind and rain, reaching his ears.

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The Mermaid was about to set sail, and the vile plot against the captain would soon unfold. If he didn’t hurry, he would completely miss this drama.

With this thought, Old John waited no longer. He gritted his teeth and climbed up the hull bit by bit.

During this time, both the surging waves and the vibrations from the warship leaving port nearly caused him to fall back into the sea. Looking back at the port, now hundreds of meters away, Old John’s lips twitched into an ugly, bitter smile.

If he fell into the raging sea now, not just his old bones, but even a strong, swimming-proficient young man would likely find their grave at the bottom of the ocean.

After some time, the old sailor finally reached his destination.

It was an ordinary gun port, but at the base, which should have been tightly sealed, there was an almost imperceptible crack. Even with this crack, Old John still had to expend considerable effort to open the gun port.

When the gun port was opened wide enough for a person to enter, Old John climbed in, bringing cold wind and rain with him.

Though his strength was nearly depleted, the old man didn’t pause to catch his breath. After briefly orienting himself, he raced along the dim passageway toward the sailors’ resting quarters.

Cassius had definitely posted guards on the lower deck, and they would certainly be alert and perceptive.

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His arrival had been detected as soon as he opened the gun port, letting in wind, rain, and thunder. So he could only race against time, spreading the news of Captain Roy’s return among the sailors before they killed him.

Spreading it to the ears of those who had endured in silence for a full half year.

With his knowledge of the Mermaid’s structure, the old sailor avoided several hurried guards by hiding in various cramped corners and hard-to-spot turns. Through a companionway, he reached the third deck where the sailors lived.

Patiently waiting for a few minutes, taking advantage of his precise knowledge of guard shift times, Old John crept along the single remaining guard’s blind spot, hunching as he entered the bosun’s quarters.

This small space near the sailors’ living area, originally his, now had a new owner. However, that foolish man, who only knew how to impose his authority, was now on the upper deck awaiting the beginning of the ambush against the devil.

Without glancing at the dossiers strewn everywhere, Old John carefully opened the porthole. Fierce sea wind immediately rushed in, causing scrolls and files on the desk and bookshelf to fly wildly, slapping against the walls and wooden door.

Before the guard could open the door, Old John climbed out of the porthole, crawled horizontally across the hull to another window, and began pounding on the glass.

The dull knocking sound woke a sailor sleeping against the wall. He rubbed his eyes vigorously and turned to look at the porthole, nearly crying out in fright at the pale, old face streaming with rain and sweat, illuminated by lightning.

But recognizing the face, the sailor quickly covered his mouth, flipped out of his hammock, and opened the window for the former bosun.

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The porthole was forcefully closed, and some similarly awakened sailors looked over in confusion.

Before the man who had opened the window could ask anything, Old John had already pushed past him and quickly approached the bronze warning bell, pulling the rope with all his might.

The piercing bell sound resounded throughout. The sailors, deeply ingrained with the Mermaid’s strict discipline to the point of instinct, jerked awake and quickly leaped from their hammocks. Soon, nearly three hundred men stood before Old John.

They looked at the old man with bewilderment, not knowing why he had suddenly appeared or gathered them. In fact, Old John no longer had the authority to command them.

“The captain has returned…”

Scanning the familiar faces, the old sailor shouted breathlessly: “Captain Roy has returned! She’s on the deck right now!”

“She’s surrounded by those traitors. We must hurry up there! We must help her reclaim leadership of the Mermaid! That’s how you’ll be free of that new idiot leader, reclaim your rights, and live like human beings!”

Old John spoke very rapidly, his deep brown pupils flickering quickly: “Quick, quick, get moving! Find anything that can be used as a weapon. Any later will be too late!”

The bell’s swinging gradually stopped. The piercing sound soon faded, and with it, Old John’s urgent shouts.

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The old man’s lips trembled as he looked at the motionless sailors. After a long while, he said in a shaky voice: “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with all of you? Don’t you want to return to how things were before? Think about life when Captain Roy was here, and now think about your lives now…”

“Old John, we all want to return to those times.”

A thin sailor spoke up, interrupting him.

This ordinary-looking young man was actually the most respected among the sailors because he was a demoted Fighting Squad deputy leader—Lance Biller, once one of Roy’s most steadfast supporters.

Apart from those who had resisted alongside the former squad leader and become inconspicuous bubbles in the deep sea, the remaining Fighting Squad members still loyal to Roy had survived by enduring humiliation.

They had swallowed their pride, been stripped of their merits and positions, becoming the lowest sailors, eating the most degrading food, yet each doing the work of three or four people. This was why the deputy leader appeared emaciated—this was the price they paid for their lives.

“If Captain Roy has truly returned, we might still muster some strength to fight those guards. But the problem is…”

Lance looked at the old sailor expressionlessly and said softly: “We dare not believe a single word you say. After that day, we stopped believing.”

“Because you were the cause of that betrayal, John Davidson.”