Red-Faced Roland's return

"Knock, knock, knock."

A steady knocking with a particular rhythm broke the morning quiet of the noble district. It had neither a beggar's timidity nor a messenger's haste. It carried the certainty of a declaration as it struck the heavy oak door of Baron Caffia's residence.

Outside stood Red-Faced Roland. His face, flushed an unnatural red from years at sea and the effects of alcohol, showed none of its usual humility. In its place were a deeply concealed sharpness and calm.

He straightened his captain's coat, somewhat worn but made of fine material, and gazed straight ahead, as though he could see through the door to the scene within.

When the servant Sebasfu opened the side door, wearing his customary cautious expression for noble visitors, the muscles in his face instantly froze.

Of course he recognized the red-faced captain outside-Captain Roland was the baron's important seafaring business partner, a man whose standing exceeded even the household steward's, because he brought the baron a staggering seventy to eighty million Beli in annual earnings.

What nearly froze Sebasfu's blood, however, was the sight behind Roland. A band of pirates in mismatched clothing, with vicious eyes and assorted swords and blades hanging at their waists, stood silently in a semicircle like silhouettes from hell, casting a murderous air over the formerly elegant space before the baron's residence.

Sebasfu swore he had never seen so many people holding blades at once in his entire life. Even when the baron summoned all his knights for drills, their formation was nowhere near as immediately oppressive or terrifying as this band of outlaws.

A terrible thought instantly seized him: Sea God above! Captain Roland has been captured by these pirates! To stay alive, he's had to bring them here to plunder the baron's residence!

"What's wrong, Sebasfu? Haven't seen you for a few days, and you've already forgotten your Captain Roland?" Roland's voice pulled him out of his terrified imaginings. It was calm, even carrying a faint trace of amusement, but to Sebasfu's ears, it was colder than a midwinter sea wind.

As he spoke, Roland paid no further attention to the dumbstruck servant. He strode straight ahead, passing him with familiar ease as though returning to his own home, and entered the neatly trimmed garden, heading toward the inner courtyard. The pirates behind him poured in silently and in order like a black flood bursting through a dike, their heavy boots trampling the carefully maintained cobblestone paths and lawns.

At the rear of the group, pirates grunted as they carried in more than a dozen heavy-looking, sturdy wooden crates, which made dull scraping sounds as they moved.

At that moment, by the second-floor study window, the steward Benjamin happened to be about to instruct a maid to replace the flowers on the windowsill. He glanced down inadvertently and froze as though struck by lightning. Everywhere he looked, there were blades flashing with cold light and coarse, brutish faces.

He recoiled in fright, tripped over himself in his panic, and fell. The gold-rimmed monocle that symbolized his respectability and learning dropped onto the carpet with a clack.

But he had no attention to spare for it now. His usual elegance and composure vanished completely. He scrambled up on hands and knees, without even stopping to brush the dust off his silk waistcoat, and stumbled out of the study like a frightened, plump rabbit, racing toward the baron's master bedroom.

"Something's wrong! Sir! Mr. Caffia!" Benjamin's distorted, tearful howls echoed down the thickly carpeted corridor.

Inside the bedroom, Baron Caffia was caught in a sweet yet awkward predicament. Last night, he had attended a lavish ball held by the Finance Minister. The young wife of the Director-General of Customs, Lady Aurora-heavens, her passionate dancing and those peaks like snowcapped mountains, half-visible beneath her low-cut gown, had been utterly enchanting, utterly impossible to resist.

With his ruggedly handsome face, the captivating black eyes inherited from his mother, and his meticulously groomed, brilliant blond hair, the baron had successfully won the beauty's favor. Compared with Aurora's fat, bloated husband, who reeked of money and old age, Baron Caffia was undoubtedly the more charming companion.

Glass after glass of sweet wine and liquor... perhaps aged whiskey, perhaps fiery tequila-he could not remember. There had been too many kinds, and the atmosphere had been too intoxicating. When he awoke in his luxurious bed beneath a finest-quality silk goose-down quilt, his hangover headache drew his brows into a tight frown.

What felt even more wrong, however, was the time and place. The sun was already high, and as for the place... how had he brought another man's wife back to his own residence? This was terribly improper, terribly rash!

Despite his inward regret, when his gaze fell on the raised figure beside him and certain ambiguous traces on the sheets, one hand unconsciously, almost uncontrollably, gently climbed that enchanting "peak" through the soft silk quilt.

Lady Aurora, pretending to sleep, felt the gentle touch and could not help feeling a flutter of smug delight, immensely proud of her own allure. Yet this intimate stillness was utterly shattered by his steward, a man normally renowned for his gentlemanly manners.

"Something's wrong, sir! Something's wrong!" Benjamin's screams, like those of a rooster being strangled, and his utterly discourteous intrusion through the door instantly smashed all tenderness and intimacy to pieces.

As though a basin of icy water had been dumped over his head, Baron Caffia abruptly sat up. Reacting swiftly, he covered the naked noblewoman beside him tightly with the silk quilt, leaving only her disheveled blond hair exposed. Suppressing his anger, he barked toward the door in a low voice, "Ellie! My clothes!" A maid waiting outside entered trembling, carrying his clothing.

As the baron hurriedly pulled on his shirt, his black eyes fixed on the utterly disheveled steward Benjamin, who had collapsed at the doorway. He forced the words viciously through clenched teeth. "Ben! You had better give me a good enough explanation! Otherwise, I swear I'll have you brushing horses in the stables for a month!"

"Roland... it's Roland..." Benjamin panted, his face white as paper.

The baron frowned, his heart tightening. Had something happened to the fleet? "Was there a storm? Or... is he dead?" He could not help feeling a pang of regret, though he did not know whether it was more for that capable "dear friend" or for his valuable fleet and the enormous earnings he stood to lose.

"No... Roland's back!" Benjamin finally caught his breath.

The baron's brow instantly relaxed, and a faint, relieved smile even appeared. "Could you finish what you're saying in one go? His return is good news!" Still savoring the experience, he even cast an infatuated glance at the raised figure on the bed.

"He's brought lots and lots of pirates! They've already forced their way into the inner courtyard!" Benjamin practically screamed out the crucial information.

"What?!" Baron Caffia felt as though a thunderclap had exploded in his head. His relaxed ease was instantly replaced by immense shock and a trace of fear. He yanked his belt tight and, without even finishing putting on his coat, shoved Benjamin out of the doorway and strode toward the floor-to-ceiling windows leading onto the balcony.

He pushed open the windows, and the sight before him nearly stopped his heart. The formerly elegant, tidy inner courtyard was now filled with savage-looking pirates. Like wild beasts intruding into a garden, they were utterly out of place among the carefully cultivated roses and sculptures.

More than a dozen enormous wooden crates stood haphazardly in the center of the lawn. The giant first mate, Hunt, was idly tearing the root and stem off a valuable orchid and chewing them carelessly, his sharp eyes sweeping the courtyard as though keeping his restless crew in check.

Though the pirates had yet to make any unruly moves, their greedy, vicious gazes swept almost tangibly over the maids huddled together in the residence, trembling with fright. The air was thick with danger that might erupt at any moment.

Baron Caffia took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He quickly put his appearance in order, donning his red coat and yellow waistcoat, symbols of his status, with meticulous care, and tried to restore his usual composed, aristocratic arrogance.

With the steward Benjamin following him-constantly wiping away cold sweat with a handkerchief, his arms trembling slightly-he opened the door, stepped onto the second-floor terrace, and looked down.

"Ah! My dear business partner, Captain Roland!" Baron Caffia spread his arms, plastering an enthusiastic smile across his face and raising his voice as he tried to take control of the situation.

"Welcome back! I wonder what surprises you've brought me this time?" His eyes darted over the crates and vicious pirates, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, but he maintained an outward calm.

Watching the baron's performance, Roland showed a barely perceptible, mocking smile. Rather than hurrying forward to pay his respects as usual, he waited until the baron descended the stairs before approaching. The two embraced firmly, and Roland could feel the stiffness in the baron's body.

After the embrace, Roland stepped back confidently. His voice carried clearly, abandoning the deliberate flattery and accommodation he normally displayed before nobles and becoming steady and forceful:

"My lord, what I've brought this time is more than a little surprise. It's an opportunity to make a fortune, an outstanding opportunity to take your power and wealth to another level in Bernia... no, throughout West Blue!"

His words were like the whispers of the serpent in Eden, full of temptation, slipping straight into Baron Caffia's ears.

At a wave from Roland, the pirate beside the nearest wooden crate immediately and deftly pried its lid open with a crowbar.

"Whoosh-"

As though an invisible cold current had swept through the courtyard, the moment the lid opened, a biting gleam spread out almost tangibly. Inside lay neat rows of standard-issue blades, their lines smooth and their surfaces polished enough to reflect a face. Even from a distance, one could feel the bone-piercing chill emanating from their edges.

Without even handling them, Baron Caffia's years of experience with weapons told him at once-these were excellent blades! Fine weapons that could raise his guards' strength by an entire level!

Before he could examine them closely, the second crate was opened. This time, Baron Caffia's breathing abruptly quickened, and his eyes locked onto its contents.

Armor! Complete suits of full-body armor gleaming with a dark metallic luster! He could not help hurrying forward and crouching down, almost losing his composure as he lovingly stroked the cold plates. The breastplate was noticeably thickened, with cleverly designed slopes and ridges that could effectively deflect enemy slashes and arrows.

He carefully examined the connections between the plates and found them so tight they were almost seamless. He flexed the joints by hand and found them exceptionally supple, without any of the stiffness of ordinary plate armor. Finally, he tapped the breastplate lightly with his knuckles. Instead of a dull thud, it produced a clear, lingering metallic ring-proof of high-quality steel and outstanding forging craftsmanship!

"Here, we have eight hundred blades of the same quality," Roland's calm voice came from behind him, "and one hundred suits of full-body armor like this."

Baron Caffia abruptly stood and turned around, his eyes blazing with undisguised greed like an erupting volcano. The words almost tumbled out of his mouth. "These... are these all for me?" He could almost see a private army equipped with these fine weapons and armor, utterly loyal to him.

Roland stepped forward and personally shut the open lid with a snap, cutting off the alluring cold gleam. Wearing an inscrutable smile, he shook his head. "Yes, but not entirely. My lord, forgive my bluntness, but a pie this big... you can't eat it all by yourself."

He made an inviting gesture, his manner so composed that he seemed to be the master of the residence. "Let's discuss the details inside, my lord. Ben," he turned to the still-shaken steward and instructed him naturally, "go brew a pot of the finest black tea."

Baron Caffia looked at the pirates standing silently below, radiating an oppressive murderous air, then at the utterly changed Roland before him. He drew a deep breath and nodded. "All right. Let's talk inside."

In the baron's luxurious study, thickly carpeted and filled with precious antiques and books, Roland began calmly weaving a vast blueprint filled with temptation and danger, like an experienced spider. He described a trade network built on fine armaments, an opportunity to shatter the existing order and redistribute its rewards.

Baron Caffia was initially doubtful and wary, but little by little, he was drawn in by the enormous profits, increased power, and the Underworld he might one day control that Roland described. He listened in rapt fascination, his eyes growing brighter and brighter.

As Roland spoke, one carefully worded invitation after another, each concealing a subtle edge, went out from Baron Caffia's study. Like threads spun by a spider, they flew toward the residences of other nobles in the Kingdom of Bernia who, like Baron Caffia, harbored ambitions that had been suppressed.

These threads quietly connected the greed and filth concealed beneath those glittering exteriors, weaving secret nodes that all pointed toward the bloodshed Boer was about to unleash in Silver City's Underworld. An invisible web was slowly spreading under Roland's direction.