Captain – Chapter 455 – Who Will Go Bring Her Back?

Regardless of how she felt being carried, whether she resisted or not, the captain was eventually “lured” back to the captain’s quarters by her first mate. The crew members along the way had clearly received warning glances from someone, either staring at the sea or adjusting their already neat short shirts, not daring to take a second look.

After the two little creatures playing overhead flew down and darted into the captain’s quarters, the wooden door closed silently, separating the inside from the outside into two different worlds. Only then did the “strange” atmosphere on the deck finally dissipate.

On the crossbeam of the Mermaid’s main mast.

Concealed by the night, no one could discover that in that bitterly cold spot perched a ball of grayish-white fur. Upon careful observation, one would realize it was a cat curled up in a ball, pretending to doze.

Whether because the sea breeze was too cold, or because the departure of those two creatures finally freed its ears from the disturbing flapping sounds, the fur ball shifted, resuming its cat form, and stretched comfortably.

Standing up against the cold wind, the Siamese cat looked down upon the deck of the Mermaid and the lightless sea beyond, languidly surveying its domain, apparently accustomed to this sense of loftiness.

But the pleasant moment didn’t last long.

From the dim sky above, a sudden flapping of wings was heard.

Although the sound was extremely distant from the Mermaid, difficult to detect beneath the howling cold wind and the rising and falling tides, it clearly couldn’t escape the cat who had extended its senses to patrol its territory.

“Meow.”

Watching that raven—invisible to human eyes—rapidly flying through the night, the Siamese cat drooped its eyebrows and called out resignedly, with a sense of weariness at encountering an old acquaintance.

That bird wasn’t him, of course, just something with a familiar scent.

It seems more trouble is coming, fortunately none of my business.

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The cat thought lazily, lowering its body to perform a perfect dandelion-like landing from such a height, but suddenly, as if remembering something, it stood up straight again and looked up at the sky.

Its gorgeous blue eyes reflected the cloudless, starry sky, but it was clearly not looking at those glass bead-like stars, but at the hidden behind appearances, occasionally glancing…

Deep, abyss-like eyes.

After looking up for a long time, the night sky remained the night sky, and the stars remained stars. Everything appeared as it should, but the light and shadow in the Siamese cat’s eyes changed, beginning to reflect a different kind of brilliance.

Like a mirror reflecting light, or like a colorful gemstone presented in sunlight.

“Meow.”

Finally, the cat withdrew its gaze and leaped down from the crossbeam, leaving only a deep meow.

Not bad, at least more sophisticated than those inferior maps.

Such was the cat’s assessment.

During this destined restless night, the Mermaid, carrying the young master of the Anderson family, successfully departed from Hipalia. However, what Roy and the others, the main actors in that farce, didn’t know was that shortly after they left the port, another warship also set sail under the cover of darkness.

That ship carried the former marksman who had once served the Golden-Eyed Devil, Victor Varen.

And that letter which would stir up endless waves had already arrived ahead, carried by the raven Carlos.

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Southern Islands, Providence.

In this core of the pirate world, there was a forbidden area that no one could enter without permission. This rule could not be violated even by the legendary figures who held power like royalty in the islands.

This forbidden ground, given extremely heavy mythical coloring and described in countless ways in pirates’ mouths, was actually just an old, dilapidated wooden cabin. Everything inside resembled artifacts from hundreds of years ago, even the floorboards, which had been renovated due to too many holes, creaked when stepped upon.

Its mystery was largely because people didn’t know its location and had never seen its true form.

The space inside the cabin wasn’t large. Though called a house, it was even smaller than a nobleman’s dining room. In the center stood a long table on the verge of falling apart. On the table lay an extremely heavy book with yellowing page edges, with a colorless gemstone embedded in its cover page.

To call it colorless wasn’t entirely accurate, because the edges of the gemstone faintly emitted a seven-colored radiance, and that cold light, like silk threads, illuminated the large words written in ancient Auran script.

“The Pirate Chronicles.”

Besides this, several high-backed chairs were placed around the long table.

Excluding the head position facing the door, six chairs were arranged in sequence on both sides of the long table. These seven seats in total symbolized the Devil and the six Legendary Pirates who were first enfeoffed in ancient times.

Since then, the number of the highest authorities in the Southern Islands had been fixed at seven: each generation’s Great Captain and at most six Legendary Pirates enfeoffed by him.

This tradition continued to the present generation without change.

Looking at today’s Southern Islands, even adding the Golden-Eyed Devil and the Blood-Eyed Butcher who were simultaneously enfeoffed on the Mermaid in the past decade, the number of Legendary Pirates was only five.

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And coincidentally, three of these people, who were normally extremely difficult to encounter and almost impossible to meet together, were now gathered in the wooden cabin, occupying three seats on both sides of the long table. According to longstanding rules, their respective first mates stood quietly behind them, serving as observers of the meeting.

However, because it was so late, no fire or candles were lit in the cabin, and the starlight was largely blocked by the half-closed wooden windows, leaving the room dim and the faces of the participants shrouded in shadows, indistinguishable.

But what was puzzling was why they would choose to hold this meeting in such deep night, and why from the beginning to the end no one spoke or showed impatience, as if waiting for something.

So, what exactly were they waiting for?

The answer was soon revealed.

After the gemstone on the Pirate Chronicles had cycled through its seven colors with the passing of time, a faint sound of wingbeats was heard outside the cabin. Strangely, in just the space of a breath, the sound stopped, because its originator had already arrived.

As if in an instant, it had crossed boundless space.

And that arrival was the raven named Carlos.

If anyone who had seen it knew its current position, they would surely be deeply shocked, because not long ago, it had departed from Hipalia, yet now it was already in Providence.

The vast distance between the two seemed nonexistent to it.

This could not be explained by any science or common sense.

But as if long accustomed to this, the people in the room showed no surprise, only casting curious or indifferent glances at the letter in Carlos’s beak.

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With a few hops, the raven crossed the long table and came to the head position, placing down the envelope it carried.

“Your letter, master.”

Placed at the end of the long table in the head position was a large wooden chair resembling a throne. Shadows hung like gauze curtains, and if not for the occasional faint breathing sound coming from within, one might not even be able to tell if someone was seated there.

Long after the raven’s voice fell, the person in the throne seemed to awaken, responding with a low “Oh,” and then a spark lit up in that patch of shadow, vaguely showing he was lighting a cigar.

But neither the flame of the match nor the light of the cigar illuminated his face, only revealing his messy light brown beard and the dark gray square stone ring worn on the index finger of the hand lighting the cigar, looking as if covered with a layer of dust.

The man casually threw the extinguished match on the ground, not caring at all whether the residual heat might ignite the dry wooden floor. After taking a few rapturous puffs of the cigar, he asked: “What were we supposed to do again?”

“A meeting, my master.”

Carlos’s eyes, like black pearls, gleamed with an unusual light, reflecting the shadowy man like a dark pool, and said humbly.

“Oh, right, we’re having a meeting.”

The man sat askew, completely informal, leaning on the throne’s armrest. After nodding approvingly, he took another big puff of his cigar. Only after satisfying his craving did he tap the envelope with his finger, seeming to know its contents without needing to look: “So after all this time, have you decided…”

“Who exactly is going to go bring that little brat back?”