Captain – Chapter 438 – Secrets in the Shadows

After passing numerous intersections and maze-like building clusters under the strengthening winter sun, the carriage finally reached the innermost part of the estate—the living quarters of the Anderson family members.

Unlike the majestic walls and luxurious buildings that rivaled the Auran royal palace on the outer side, the actual residences of family members with the purest bloodline who wielded various worldly powers were surprisingly ordinary.

Lifting the curtain, the buildings that came into Roy and Caine’s view, though varying in style and materials presumably designed according to each member’s preference, were generally no different from ordinary houses in Hipalia.

This city within a city resembled a collection of dwellings from different historical periods and regions pieced together.

Like splashing completely different colors onto a scroll painting.

As they drove inward, Roy and Caine recognized many Auran-style mansions, and even spotted a dilapidated-looking house that was clearly modeled after the distinctive “hole houses” of the ancient Southern Islands.

“I never expected that even among merchant families like the Andersons, there would be pirate enthusiasts. I thought Don was the only oddball. But… these houses are completely uninhabitable.”

Besides the hole house, the captain also saw the short, white coffin-like dwellings most common on the western coast of the Southern Islands in recent times, as well as the bizarrely shaped artistic buildings of Providence.

It was well known that pirates generally lacked artistic sensibility and were better at destruction than creation. Therefore, the houses that had been passed down and renovated over the ages guaranteed neither comfort, economy, nor safety. In Roy’s words, they simply weren’t places meant for human habitation.

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“To be honest with you, Captain, not just the Anderson family—actually, most of the great families and royal houses in the Federation have connections with the Southern Islands. In the Western Seas, when passing through pirate territories, one only needs to present a ‘transit document’ to ensure safe passage.”

Long before the carriage entered the residential area, Theodore had been standing at the entrance, respectfully awaiting their arrival.

After receiving the carriage, he walked alongside the window, accompanying the two and always ready to fulfill their needs or answer their questions.

“Transit document?”

Catching an intriguing term from the old butler’s words, Roy asked curiously: “The Western Seas have such things? Who issues them, and those guys actually respect this system?”

Knowing that the “those guys” in the captain’s mouth referred to her colleagues in the west, Theodore’s face appropriately showed a bitter smile: “They are issued by the pirates of the Western Seas that you mentioned, Captain, to certify that a ship is under the protection of the Southern Islands.”

Blinking her eyes, it took the girl a moment before she responded with an “Oh,” realizing with a strange expression: “So it’s basically the same as paying protection money, after which you get a, um, certificate or something? But there are so many pirates in the Western Seas, you can’t possibly pay each group, can you?”

For those fellows in the Western Seas to resist targeting these fat sheep, the fees collected must be exorbitant. If one had to pay multiple groups, the profits from the trade would hardly cover the hole.

“Of course not, Captain Roy. Not all pirates have the right to claim a piece of this pie.”

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The butler shook his head, the bitterness on his face disappearing, replaced by a smile: “The strong rule—this principle applies everywhere. Just like how the Anderson family conducts business without needing any transit documents.”

“Similarly, only the most powerful pirate dominating this region can offer protection to those weaker ones, ensuring they remain undisturbed at least on the western coast of the Islands.”

“That would be the Night Curtain of the Western Seas, Captain Enzo.”

Clearly not expecting her curiosity to lead to that madman, Roy deflated like a punctured balloon, leaning softly against the chair back, responding with clear disinterest:

“Oh.”

This was clearly meant to end the topic. Translating the captain’s meaning: who cares about that guy? No matter how powerful he is, his ‘transit documents’ are just worthless paper outside the Western Seas.

However, this did explain why many years ago, merchants from the west would cry out waving yellowed pieces of parchment when encountering the Mermaid’s raids.

So those were actually protection orders from that madman?

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Lost in these random thoughts, the girl had no intention of speaking further, treating the old butler’s words as mere stories. In doing so, she unconsciously overlooked an important piece of information—the connection between the Federation and the Islands.

The connection between those two powerful figures.

On the other hand, the First Mate, who had been listening all along, whether due to particular sensitivity to information regarding the Federation and the Islands, keenly captured this information. But lacking understanding of the Great Captain and many inside details, he couldn’t—and had no way to—delve deeper, only furrowing his brow slightly and making a mental note.

There existed some hidden connection between the Southern Islands and the Federation—this was certainly intelligence that couldn’t be ignored.

Seeing that the captain had lost interest, Theodore also ceased speaking. But in the depths of his seemingly gentle eyes flashed an almost imperceptible relief, evidently having gained something from the previous conversation.

So this young lady… didn’t know about those secrets.

This aligned perfectly with the master’s wishes.

Silence fell both inside and outside the carriage as it continued forward quietly. Soon it slowed down and, at the old butler’s signal, stopped in front of an old, light-colored stone house.

With soft footsteps, servants who had been waiting for a long time hurriedly came forward to respectfully open the door.

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As the captain and First Mate successively descended from the carriage, the old butler gestured toward the open wooden door, pitted with marks from time, wind, and rain, making a “please” gesture and saying gently: “Please, the master has been waiting for you in the reception hall for some time.”

Raising her eyes to survey this antique-like residence, the girl gained a more direct understanding of the family head’s rigidity and conservatism that the ship’s doctor had mentioned. Without further delay, she exchanged a glance with her First Mate and followed the old man who led the way into this residence that had weathered the vicissitudes of time.

Whether due to its extreme age, this mansion showing little trace of wealth had a rather simple interior structure.

After climbing a short flight of stairs and passing through a short corridor with coat racks and wooden cabinets for personal items, they came to the reception hall mentioned by the old butler. It was not as grand as the girl had imagined, but rather small and cramped, with somewhat simple furnishings.

In the center of the hall stood an old wooden desk, upon which were placed a copper candlestick, a black inkwell with a quill pen, and neatly stacked parchments—presumably a daily workspace.

Besides a portrait hanging directly opposite the desk depicting a family of three, there were no other decorations in the reception hall. And because the candles were unlit and the curtains only slightly drawn back, the entire room was particularly dim. Unless one came close, it was difficult to see each other’s faces clearly.

And Mr. Rowell, the current head of the Anderson family and renowned worldwide, now sat behind the desk, his face hidden in shadows, his expression unreadable, his tone revealing no emotion whatsoever.

“Please, sit down.”