In bright San Juan Bay, the tide surged in wave after wave, slapping against the two Caravels in the shallows. The sea breeze carried a damp, briny tang, along with a lingering reek of blood and smoke that would not disperse. The morning sun shone down on decks piled with corpses and crawling with captives, while the mercenaries' wild, excited shouts came from within the cabins.
"Haaha! This bag of pearls is mine! Huh? These pearls are pink? Are they worth money? Whatever, I'll stuff them in my pack first!"
"Gottverdammt! Why are all these sacks filled with bundles of cotton thread? How many native tribes did these Castilians slaughter to snatch back this much cotton thread? This stuff is heavy as hell. How are we supposed to haul it back? Better sell it at a discount to the Cuban savages!"
"Idiot! We can't call them 'savages' anymore. We have to call them 'Cuba Warriors'! They're our big customers now. Maybe we can do some business."
"Right! I heard the sailors say before that glass beads can be traded for the natives' good stuff! They've also got that Cohiba spice or whatever. Burn it and smell it—especially fragrant!"
"Damn it! That kind of spice will definitely be worth money if we haul it back. The noble lords will pay a high price for it! Burning it ourselves is too damn wasteful!"
"True enough. Better save it to sell! Huh! There's a little wooden chest here too! Let me see what good stuff is inside... hm? Damn it! It's useless sea charts!"
"At least it's a roll of sheep parchment! We can sell it to a savage—cough!—Cuba Warrior chief!"
"You illiterate idiots! Give me that sea chart! I'll take it to Lord Martin later. He'll definitely want it!"
The great ship