The Hispaniola had few crew members left aboard. After dragging "Crooked Mouth" Barnaby out of a large storage chest, De Leon counted everyone who had fought on deck, confirming that no one aboard had been killed or seriously injured in the Sahuagin's surprise attack.
The sailors struck by harpoons had suffered only minor injuries. Even the worst off had merely broken an arm, which the Paladin had already healed, restoring it completely.
Trembling, Barnaby was hauled onto the deck by the others. At the sight of the Merfolk remains still strewn everywhere despite being washed by seawater, his eyes widened. His lips moved several times before he managed to speak:
"Just the few of you managed to drive off the Sea Devils?"
"It was all thanks to Sir Renato. His valor has saved the Hispaniola once again..."
De Leon's voice came from beside him, carrying undisguised respect and solemnity.
But before his words had faded, a heavy fist slammed into Barnaby's stomach. The pirate chief doubled over and collapsed sideways onto the deck, his mouth wide open as he dry-heaved. Sour fluid dribbled from the corner of his mouth onto the planks, mingling with the pools of blood that had yet to dry.
"You abandoned the crew and fled in the face of the enemy. By the rules of the sea, that should have been a knife, Barnaby."
De Leon slowly withdrew his fist and looked around at the sailors' varied expressions. His voice was quiet, yet carried an authority that brooked no defiance.
"But I said I would let you set foot on dry land in White Harbor alive, and I, De Leon, never break my word."
The sailors who had taken part in the mutiny exchanged glances. Some lowered their heads, afraid to meet their captain's eyes; others