The Young Master's Hand Was Truly Ruthless

The rising sun over the eastern sea cast the mill's shadow long and slanting, while bursts of crowing roosters and barking dogs drifted from nearby Rocklanza Village.

After a brief battle and a night of uproar, the abandoned mill had now returned to peace.

More than a dozen naked corpses had been carried to the open ground outside the mill and laid out in a row, like salted fish on a beach, bellies turned white, rubbed with coarse salt, waiting to dry beneath the sun—a familiar yet bizarre sight.

Most of the Bandit Suppression Army warriors, tormented by fear and excitement all night, could finally hold on no longer. After simply gnawing on some hard bread taken from the backs of horses and mules, they spread a layer of straw in the mill where the blood had yet to dry and fell asleep fully clothed. Snoring soon rose from every side.

Meanwhile, Old Joey, Black Charcoal, and two hunters forced themselves to stay alert as they patrolled around the mill with short spears and hunting bows.

The pirates had all been dealt with. What Old Joey and the others guarded against were the villagers from Rocklanza Village who had come to watch the excitement.

Those villagers had heard the commotion from the abandoned mill last night, but the pirates had always been vicious, coming into the village from time to time to bully and humiliate the common folk. No one had dared step outside in the dark.

It was not until dawn that two or three villagers with friends or relatives among the pirates dared to sneak over and watch from afar, only to be driven off by men Roger had sent.

Now that the sun had risen, more than a dozen figures could be seen wandering between the mill and the village. They dearly wanted to come over and see whether they could pick up some scraps, but the armed, fierce-looking "strong men" made them stop short in their tracks.

Beside the corpse-drying ground outside the mill, an old, rotting ox cart had been overturned in the wild grass. One old man, one youth, and two grown men—four pirates stripped of their clothes and armor—had their hands tied behind them and were fastened to the cart's wooden frame. They were not much better off than the salted-fish corpses drying nearby.

Baldhead and Ponytail stood guard over the four with bows, crossbows, and short spears, especially the two grown men, though escape was hardly possible for them.

Roger, who had not slept all night, still felt brimming with energy. He plunged his right hand into a sack of salt and stirred it several times, coating his fingers with fine grains, then slowly drew it out and reached toward the no-longer-bleeding wound in a pirate's chest.

The salt-coated fingers lightly burrowed into the gash. The grown pirate, who had fainted from excessive blood loss, woke instantly from the pain. Veins bulged across his forehead as his legs kicked frantically against the ground, tearing through several layers of turf. Muffled howls spilled from his mouth, blood-tinged drool ran from the corners of his lips, and tears streamed down his pale cheeks.

"Bastard! Demon! Son of a bitch! If you've got guts, come at me! Come at me!"

Beside the struggling pirate, another pirate whose hands and feet were bound tight cursed fiercely at Roger, who was savoring the torture. Fresh blood seeped from the roughly bandaged wound on his inner thigh.

Roger turned to look at the pirate third-in-command, who was screaming himself hoarse. "Olaf, I'll say this one more time. As long as you tell me where those gold and silver treasures are hidden, I can give him a quick death."

After a night of searching, the Bandit Suppression Army had looted plenty of weapons, armor, and stolen goods from the mill hideout and pirate ship—woolen cloth, wool, furs, and the like.

But there was little gold or silver. Excluding the odds and ends the "warriors" had secretly pocketed in the chaos, the various coins and gold and silver items combined were worth no more than seven or eight pounds. Perhaps those sacks of wool and scattered hides and cloth could fetch a few more pounds.

These pirates had run rampant for years. They could not possibly have only this much.

The pirate thug they had interrogated just now had nearly been tortured to death, yet he had only revealed three other temporary pirate hideouts. He did not know which one might contain the treasure, and Roger could hardly search them one by one. Perhaps none of them was where the pirates had hidden their gold.

So he could only hope that this pirate third-in-command would provide some useful information.

But Roger had heard Ponytail say that this third-in-command was not an utterly vicious pirate. Born to a minor noble family, Olaf possessed quite a bit of a knight's chivalrous spirit. Torture might not necessarily work well on him.

Naturally, Roger had other methods for chivalrous men. So, right in front of the third-in-command, he tortured his trusted subordinate. Making him watch his own man suffer might prove more effective than torturing him directly.

"Not to mention I don't know where Sea Wolf hid the gold and silver—even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. You demon aren't a good person either. If I told you now, you'd definitely kill all of us at once so you could keep those valuables for yourself." The third-in-command instinctively distrusted the perverted demon before him.

Roger showed a faintly kindly smile. "Then you've misunderstood me. They call me Demon Roger, that's right. All my enemies think I'm a demon. But if you stand behind me, you'll find that my shadow is actually an angel."

The third-in-command on the ground turned his head aside, his face full of contempt.

Roger sneered and said slowly, "It seems you only want to be my enemy."

"Then let me tell you this: if I can't have something, no one else gets it either. If you still refuse to speak before the people from Brodick arrive, I'll kill every last one of you immediately."

After saying that, Roger picked up a wooden ladle from the bucket behind him, scooped up some water, and rinsed the pirate's wound, washing away the salt and blood.

Once the salt water had been washed from the wound, the pirate's agonizing pain eased, and he fell unconscious again.

After finishing the rinsing, Roger picked up a hunting knife and cut another deep gash across the pirate's bare chest. Then he set down the knife, reached his right hand into the sack of salt again, and slowly stirred it, smiling as he watched the new wound seep blood.

The thug on the ground no longer had much sense of pain. When Roger had cut his flesh with the hunting knife just now, he had barely reacted.

On the other side, the old and young pirate lackeys had turned ashen. A large patch beneath the young lackey was already soaked, while the old lackey's face was covered in tears and snot as he turned his head aside, not daring to look.

They might have been lackeys, but they were still pirates. They had witnessed plenty of scenes where ruthless men tortured others to force out the locations of gold and silver, but this was the first time in their lives they had seen someone so perverted.

It was not that his methods were especially cruel. It was mainly that twisted expression of enjoyment on his face that made their hearts quake with fear.

"Olaf, if Ponytail hadn't pleaded so hard for you, you'd already be lying over there in the sun." Roger glanced at the corpse-drying ground beside them.

The young Ponytail behind Roger, holding a short spear and wearing a guilty expression, shifted awkwardly. His braid had been tied up again.

Turning his gaze back to Olaf, Roger met the hatred in the other man's eyes. "I spared your life. You should do something worth a life."

"Perhaps with the addition of these two lives, one old and one young. If you keep being stubborn, they'll be next. You'll be the last."

The bound third-in-command Olaf struggled again, loudly cursing and demanding that Roger give him a knife.

Baldhead, holding a loaded crossbow, was not like Ponytail, who had once received kindness from Olaf. His bloodshot eyes glared as he pressed the cocked crossbow to the third-in-command's forehead. "Say it, or I'll let you have a taste of a crossbow."