Jeremiah

Inside the room, the gazes of two pirates fell upon him.

A casual, indifferent voice rang out.

"Too slow. Do you lot still want to pay the tax or not? I don't have all day to waste here!"

Alexei frowned. From the moment he had stepped through the doorway, he had smelled a pungent odor of alcohol.

He looked into the room with a blank expression. The empty room lacked any extra decorations; a heavy long table sat in the center, neatly arranged with papyrus and ink bottles, while a pair of filthy deerskin boots were propped up on it, shaking impatiently.

The man leaned back in his chair, several empty wine bottles scattered haphazardly by his feet. He held another in his hand, which clinked against the scimitar at his waist, making a crisp, metallic sound.

"Kid, I remember you." He raised the bottle, glancing sideways at Alexei in the doorway. "Your precious count is too scared to come over again, right? No matter. As long as the tax is paid on time, the Black Sail Fleet doesn't care whose name is hung on this place."

The Black Sail Fleet of Gem Bay roamed the Storm Ocean without equal. When this fleet patrolled the seas, even the imperial navy would return to port to avoid their edge.

The man tilted the bottle to pour it into his mouth, amber liquid sliding from the corner of his lips, tracing through his curled beard and down his neckerchief onto his dirty clothes.

"Hm? Empty?" He lifted his head, drunk, and shook the bottle before his eyes. "If you ask me, the only decent thing on this pathetic island is the fruit wine."

Then, with a flick of his hand, the bottle traced an arc through the air, dropping onto the floor beside Alexei before rolling away with a gurgling sound, splashing wine onto his polished military boots.

"Kid, get me two more bottles of wine."

Very well, it seemed he wouldn't need to think about how to provoke a conflict.

He set his documents aside, took a sharp step forward, and stood before the pirate, looking down at him with an expressionless face.

Legend had it that the people of the northern White Crow Duchy had the blood of giants flowing in their veins. Once Alexei stood straight, he was nearly as tall as the door frame, his pale, almost translucent blonde hair shimmering like swirling cold mist under the midday sun. He had only taken a single step, yet the pirate at the table felt as if a wall had crashed down upon him.

A look of panic flashed across the pirate's face, but then, as if remembering something, he didn't move; instead, he revealed a mocking smile.

In the corner of the room, within the shadows cast by the walls and cabinets, a figure slowly stood up.

As he rose, the light in the entire room seemed to dim.

Alexei felt his entire body constrict, the air in the room turning into thick sludge. His vision gradually darkened, while the figure of the man in the shadows grew increasingly imposing.

This was an exceptionally robust man. The bronze muscles bulging on his body looked like an anvil hammered by a blacksmith. He had no hair, not even eyebrows, and every visible inch of his skin was covered in black lines and symbols of varying thickness, looking twisted and eerie.

But what terrified Alexei most were his eyes. In the center of those pale eyeballs were not the pupils of a normal person, but square pupils like those of a cold-blooded reptile.

Viscous, cold, slippery, twisted.

All sounds gradually faded away. He felt as if he had dived alone into the deep sea, the clamor of the mortal world nothing more than vague, bubbling sounds above the surface. Before his eyes, only this strange man remained.

Some chaotic sounds appeared in his ears... no, they didn't appear; they had been there all along, he just hadn't noticed them before, and only now could he hear them.

The tattooed man stared at him, yet it seemed the focus of his gaze wasn't on him at all, but rather on some existence behind him. Alexei stared blankly into those pitch-black, abyss-like square pupils, feeling as if they were a door.

A door that was slowly opening.

Suddenly, a hand rested on Alexei's shoulder.

The endless falling stopped, as if someone had grabbed hold of him.

"Why are you standing there stunned? Our guests want wine; go help them get a bottle."

Theus turned to look at the pirate at the table, smiling to reveal his stark white teeth: "Two gold rums. No credit accepted."

Only then did Alexei snap out of it. He coughed violently, spitting out some water as if he had been choked.

"Two gold rums?! Why don't you just rob me? Do you dare to swindle Captain Jeremiah?" The pirate stood up with a jerk, sneering as he pulled back the hem of his clothes, revealing a scimitar and two short flintlocks clearly tucked into his belt.

After speaking, as if remembering something, he glanced nonchalantly at the tattooed man behind him.

Then, Jeremiah's pupils constricted slightly; he discovered that the man who was always expressionless actually wore a look of confusion.

That man hesitated? He could hesitate too? Jeremiah knew his background; he was a man under the Pirate King, someone even he couldn't command.

Jeremiah relaxed his hand, and his clothes slid back down. He sat back in his chair: "I am here to collect the sea tax for the Governor. Is this how you treat guests?"

Jeremiah's strength was mediocre; he had become a pirate captain by knowing how to trim his sails to the wind. As soon as he saw something strange about the other side, he immediately became reasonable.

Theus gently patted Alexei's back. Seeing that he had stopped coughing and was gradually breathing steadily, he sat down at the table and looked at the pirate captain who was feigning composure.

Jeremiah snorted coldly, reaching into his bosom to pull out a roll of filthy parchment.

"This is the tax list from the Governor. The taxes Castel needs to pay are all here."

He slapped the parchment onto the table and pushed it over, then leaned back with an expression of waiting to see a good show.

The list was real; the Pirate King had indeed given them a list to collect taxes, but...

It was written in Pirate Script.

Pirate Script was a general term. Most pirates were illiterate; they recorded the treasures they plundered using a very primitive method of drawings and symbols.

Over time, it gradually formed a crude language, but it was at least enough for basic communication. After the King of the Seas in Gem Bay unified the pirates of the Storm Ocean, he began to mandate the use of Pirate Script.

This hadn't been in effect for long, and Jeremiah was certain that Theus absolutely could not understand this tax list written in Pirate Script.

Heh, aristocrats—experience the feeling of being illiterate. He wanted to ponder how to mock this Count later.

Well, it was best not to go too far; after all, Jeremiah didn't intend to burn bridges yet, but watching this pampered noble squirm should be quite entertaining.

Just as he prepared to watch the joke, Theus's next sentence left him stunned.

"No need to look. From today on, Castel will no longer pay the sea tax."