Seated at the very front, Klein—Mister Fool, Mad Admiral, Moretti—could only wear an awkward yet polite smile as he listened to Alger's impassioned speech.
There was no helping it. The primitive accumulation of capital always required somewhat brutal methods.
Who wouldn't go mad with debts of tens of thousands of Gold Pounds hanging over their head?
Those who claimed he robbed everyone he saw and killed everyone he met truly had no idea how long it could take to encounter prey on the open sea.
Unless one dared to block the shipping lanes near a harbor, or had an intelligence network of one's own to provide advance warning, encountering even one ship a day consistently would be considered lucky.
And blocking the area near a harbor—what difference was that, to High Sequence beings on land, from stepping outside and turning right?
As long as one dared to do it, once word got back, an entire ship of High Sequence Extraordinary beings would arrive at the battlefield within an hour. Other than the Pirate King, who would dare court death like that?
With no other choice, Klein could only rely on luck. Facts proved that without Cow Cat's Bell, his luck was merely at a normal level.
When there was no prey, watching his debts mount with every passing second was pure torment...
And when prey suddenly appeared out of nowhere, did they know how thrilled he was inside?
No, they didn't. They only saw the madness on his exterior, never the fragility within!
And then there was his direct clash with the Storm Church—this was even more of an undeserved disaster. Just recalling the situation made Klein want to cough up blood.
He had not wanted to provoke the Storm Church either. If he could have left back then, he