Pirates at Each Other's Throats

The pirates' feast had just begun in the mill.

Now that the chief had been killed, it naturally fell to the second-in-command, the longest-serving man, to call the shots. That was also why he had insisted on avenging Ulf. Only by avenging the chief could he rightfully become this band of pirates' new chief.

But all he thought of was using revenge to establish his authority. He had never considered that his usual harsh, stingy treatment of his men had won him no loyalty. Besides, there was also the third-in-command, who had always been at odds with him.

"...Brothers, I've brought out every bit of stored meat, vegetables, and fruit, and even got some liquor from that old bastard Gary's house. Tonight, eat and drink your fill. At dawn tomorrow, we'll sail out and raid Whiting Bay and Milkhouse Manor, slaughtering every one of those damned islanders to avenge the chief." Sitting at the head of the table, the pirates' second-in-command looked righteously indignant.

"These past days, everyone has rested enough. While that bastard John hasn't returned to the island, we'll make one more vicious haul. I've decided it—this time, all the spoils go to everyone. Nothing needs to be handed over."

The second-in-command spoke generously, then turned to the third-in-command beside him. "I trust the third-in-command won't covet those seized goods?"

The third-in-command had always been at odds with the second-in-command. In the past, with Ulf keeping him in check, he had always yielded to this fellow. Now, before their great vengeance had even been taken, the second-in-command had shamelessly seated himself at the head of the table. Naturally, he refused to accept it.

"The second-in-command has taken enough gold and silver on ordinary days, so naturally he wouldn't covet the pots, bowls, and ladles of peasant households. Though I might have the mind to covet them, I have no desire to fight my brothers for profit." The third-in-command lashed out at the mulberry while cursing the locust, speaking in a strange, mocking tone.

The second-in-command at the head of the table flushed with rage, yet could not vent it. Choked by those words, his pale face turned red.

The third-in-command also knew that morale was scattered at this moment and they could not fall apart any further. He snorted coldly. "Enough. I never wanted to attack Whiting Bay in the first place. This is our nest, after all. But now that we've torn all pretense from Baron John, we can never return here again."

"But raid if you must; just do less of that village-burning and civilian-slaughtering business, lest we go to hell someday." Clearly, the third-in-command had not yet crossed the bottom line of being human.

The second-in-command also understood that now was not the time for infighting. Suppressing his anger, he grabbed the wooden cup before him and took a savage gulp. "If fine wine and good food can't shut your mouths, then eat!"

The fierce bandits around the table hurriedly echoed him, raising their cups and beginning to eat and drink.

In the mill, after serving the fierce bandits, the old pirate lackey carried a broken wooden bowl containing only some meat broth toward the corner.

Tonight, he had managed the feast alone. He had been so busy that he had not eaten a single bite. The second-in-command feared he might line his own pockets, so when the food was distributed, he had specifically assigned a lackey to watch him. He had not even had the chance to sneak a mouthful.

"Ponytail, move over a little and make room for me." The old pirate lackey's mouth watered at the meat broth in his bowl. Smiling, he squeezed in beside Ponytail. There was a bonfire in that corner, and several lackeys were already crowded there.

Ponytail squatted on the ground with half a bowl of meat broth in his hands, wondering how he could avoid this "delicacy." Layers of sweat had seeped from his forehead. When the old pirate lackey squeezed over, he leaned aside with the motion, then suddenly slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. The broken bowl and its meat broth spilled everywhere, while Ponytail's own half-bowl of broth tipped over and emptied as well.

"You old bastard, what are you squeezing in for?" Ponytail cursed at the fallen old pirate lackey, making as if to kick and beat him.

The few fierce bandits closest to the corner turned and saw Ponytail bullying the old pirate lackey. They immediately cursed, "Ponytail, are you looking to die?"

Ponytail immediately shrank back.

"It's fine, it's fine, brothers. I'll just go get another bowl." The old pirate lackey slowly climbed to his feet, smiling ingratiatingly as he tried to dissuade the two bandits.

The second-in-command at the head of the table had already been holding a bellyful of fire. Seeing that old pirate lackey being bullied by Ponytail, he raised his voice and cursed, "You old piece of trash, getting bullied by that rotten bastard! What use are you? Wasting food."

"Stop eating and get the hell out to stand watch on the ship!"

Seeing the second-in-command angry, no one dared move.

The old pirate lackey stood frozen in place, clutching the broken bowl.

"Get out!" the second-in-command roared.

The old pirate lackey, who had only just climbed up, blinked back aged tears. Turning around, he hunched his old back and silently left the mill.

"You two, go slap that rotten bastard twice and undo that bastard braid of his for me." The second-in-command grew angry at the sight of Ponytail's braid.

The two fierce bandits immediately turned and stepped forward, savagely slapping Ponytail across the face.

The second-in-command cast the third-in-command a smug glance. He knew the third-in-command protected this street thug, so he had deliberately humiliated him, intending to crush the third-in-command's spirit and let the lackeys know what happened to those who followed him.

The third-in-command ignored it completely. Burdened with worries, he had no appetite for the food before him. He merely held a slightly cracked wooden cup and casually drank beer.

After downing a cup on an empty stomach, the third-in-command was about to pick up a piece of beef and put it into his mouth when a figure suddenly rushed in.

The intruder was drenched in sweat, his arms covered in scrapes from falls and his shoes caked with mud. Before he could even steady himself, he let out a startled cry amid ragged breaths. "Third-in-command!"

"You little bastard, I sent you to scout Brodick. Why the hell have you only just crawled back?" The second-in-command's seat faced the mill door. He was the first to recognize the intruder as the little lackey the third-in-command had sent scouting that afternoon.

"Something's wrong! There really was an ambush at Brodick. When we took the small road back, we found..."

The little lackey urgently reported that, while returning along the small path, he had discovered many fresh tracks of men and horses coming from the north of the island. He concluded that Baron John had arranged for men to attack the bandit nest in the mill.

"So you really are a traitor!" The third-in-command slammed the table and rose, drawing the single-handed sword from his waist in one motion and pointing it at the second-in-command.

The second-in-command had no idea what the other man meant, but the sword point aimed straight at him explained everything. He hurled the wooden cup in his hand at the third-in-command, who had drawn steel against him. "You dare draw a sword! Kill the traitor!"

As he spoke, he kicked the wooden stool backward and drew his hand-and-a-half sword from his waist, thrusting at the third-in-command.

The third-in-command immediately swung his sword to parry. With an upward diagonal sweep, he knocked aside the incoming blade, then slashed down with the momentum. The two long swords scraped together in the air with a piercing shriek.

The fierce bandits around the mill's wooden tables froze for an instant, then remembered the secret orders they had received that day. They drew swords and knives one after another, hacking and stabbing at the "enemy" faction.

The mill instantly erupted with the clash of weapons. The pirate lackeys who had no idea what was happening scattered aside, and the mill became a chaotic mess as flashing blades and bloody shadows filled the air.

Ponytail, cowering nearby with his face swollen, had never expected such a change. Half frightened to death, he crawled out through the mill door amid the chaos.

On the road from the mill to Mooring Cape, the old pirate lackey, holding a broken piece of firewood for light, heard some noise from the mill behind him. He turned to look, assumed the pirates were drunkenly making merry, wiped away the old tears at the corner of his eyes, and walked sorrowfully toward the cape with his back bent...

Among the shrubs halfway up the southern slope below the mill, robust August mosquitoes bit at exposed skin. The warriors itched all over from the bites, but dared not swat at them and make noise. They could only keep scratching, growing increasingly agitated.

A moment ago, a torch had emerged from the mill. Everyone's hearts had leaped into their throats, but when they saw it heading not toward the slope but toward the cape, they relaxed slightly.

Not long afterward, they faintly heard a chaotic clatter from the mill below. This place was still some distance away, and the night was pitch-black, so they had no idea what change had occurred in the mill. Their hearts again leaped into their throats.

Baldhead carried a cocked crossbow over to Roger and whispered, "Young Master Roger, what happened? Why hasn't Ponytail given the signal yet? Was he killed?"

Roger turned and glanced at him. Looking closely, he discovered that Baldhead's crossbow was already cocked. He rebuked him in a low voice, "Who told you to cock it? What if it goes off?"

Baldhead gave an "ah," not knowing what it meant for it to go off.

"Don't point it at me." Roger could not be bothered to explain.

"Go tell everyone one by one. In a moment, follow close behind me when we charge down. Don't break formation."

Baldhead answered with an "okay" and carried the crossbow to pass the message along to those behind them. The cocked crossbow still waved randomly toward human silhouettes.

Thanks to the ample nutrition he had received at the monastery, Roger estimated that he was one of the few among them capable of seeing at night. He stared hard at the mill two hundred paces away, doing his utmost to make out what was happening.

From afar, several figures rushed out of the mill door. Against the faint glow of the bonfire still burning outside the mill, they kept darting about as though fighting.

Roger grew tense. Ponytail had not yet given the signal, and fighting had broken out in the mill. It was highly likely that the poisoning plan had been discovered.

I still made it sound too simple. Roger inwardly groaned.

Suddenly, someone kicked apart the bonfire outside the mill. Red embers scattered in all directions. Then, the pile of kindling beside the fire slowly caught flame. A figure picked up the newly burning kindling and scattered it around the mill's foundation...

"Burn you all to death, burn you all to death, burn you all to death..."

Outside the mill, Ponytail, his hair disheveled, used the flaming firewood in his hand to ignite the dry grass near the mill's foundation. He kept muttering to himself, his face possessed.

The mill's foundation was built of stone, and the dry grass could not immediately set the mill's wooden structure ablaze. Yet the flames illuminated the surrounding area.

After lighting one spot, Ponytail immediately ran to the next, setting fire all around the mill.

He had suffered beatings and curses all day. Now he had gone mad, completely forgetting the plan to wave a torch as a signal, and forgetting to hide. He only kept shouting that he would burn every pirate to death.

Soon, Ponytail had circled the mill. Dry grass all around it had caught fire, the blaze was spreading, and the darkness around them was lit up.

Returning to the mill's front entrance, Ponytail found a bundle of dry grass from somewhere, lit it from a spark, and stared wide-eyed as he prepared to rush into the mill.

He had taken only two steps inside when a fierce bandit clutching his stomach stumbled out and crashed into Ponytail's shoulder, sending him staggering as the dry grass in his hands scattered across the ground.

He turned to look at the fallen bandit, who was clutching his stomach and convulsing without pause. Filth sprayed from the corners of his mouth, and his face began turning blue.

"Vomiting, fainting, blue skin..." Ponytail muttered a few words to himself. Then his whole body shuddered, and his mind instantly cleared.

"The poison is taking effect!"

He turned to look into the mill. Several men from the two groups of fierce bandits who had just been fighting had already collapsed. Vomiting and pained groans occasionally came from the corners. At a glance, he also saw the third-in-command leaning against the wall with several knife wounds, and the second-in-command, his entire body blue-black, eyes full of ferocity, frothing blood from his mouth.

Looking closely, the entire room was filled with severed limbs, spilled entrails, corpses, and bloody water. Several fierce bandits and lackeys were still rolling on the ground, grappling and killing each other.

His legs went weak. After the mad frenzy faded, Ponytail collapsed to the ground. In the final instant before his strength vanished, he finally remembered that he was supposed to hide according to the plan. Struggling, he crawled beneath the long table in the mill.

"You little bastard? How did you..." Ponytail saw the little lackey hiding beneath the long table as well.

The little lackey who had rushed in to sound the warning quickly put a finger to his lips. "Shh, don't make a sound..."