Chapter 225
Chapter 225
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 225
Chapter Title: The Pirate Parade
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Dong! Dong! Dong!
A bit farther out to sea from Olivia's beach.
As the steady drumbeats echoed across the waves, the flags atop the masts fluttered busily, signaling. The ships turned in unison, executing a grand sweep.
The flawless coordination evoked the image of a professional navy honed over years of drills.
"Man, the baron's got some serious luck."
Dwayne, aboard the flagship Cimaria alongside Jerome, let out a dry chuckle.
"Who would've thought the Olivia locals were this skilled at handling ships? If we make them veteran sailors to train the fresh recruits pouring in from Olivia, we could slash training time big time."
"Yeah, this one's pure luck."
He'd expected folks tough enough to survive in pirate-infested waters to have some ship-handling chops or grit, but this exceeded all expectations.
No matter how beachside and fishing-boat savvy the residents were, operating warships was a whole different beast. No way they picked it up in just a few days.
This level of precision had to come from drills long before their arrival.
'All thanks to old man Delo.'
In the flagship's command room, old Delo—whom Jerome had initially turned down—had eagerly rallied volunteers from the locals to form a preliminary navy.
And promoting them to veterans to quickly integrate Saladin's incoming forces from Olivia? That was his plan too.
"I've got a knack for people, that's for sure. Even the guy sweating it out up north."
Steering the talk to Saladin brought worry back to Dwayne's face.
"Think Saladin's holding up? Word is the resistance from Duke Albans and the Mercado slavers is fiercer than expected. Shouldn't we reinforce him now?"
Dwayne's concern wasn't overblown. Urgent reports from Sharon Kingdom confirmed the Ain folk had stormed Duke Albans's estate and gotten thoroughly trounced.
Despite Jerome's explicit warning about human malice.
"The estate's stalling for one clear reason. They're waiting for something—guaranteed to be Empire backup."
High odds, for sure.
The 27th Holy Knights who kidnapped Milia mid-journey and tried assassinating Prince Peter were proof positive of Empire spies embedded in Sharon.
"The Empire's no fools. They'll send powerhouses to crush the Ain. Can Saladin and the Misha siblings handle that alone?"
From Dwayne's high-level vantage, overseeing the big picture, it was a fair question.
But one thing...
"Pfft."
Dwayne's worry on this point was just too much—he couldn't hold back the laugh.
"Dwayne, you still don't get Saladin, do you?"
"...Huh?"
"Sure, the guy's sly and loves his sweets."
...I didn't say that.
"But that doesn't make him weak."
Jerome couldn't see his own face, but he knew. Not a trace of anxiety in his northward gaze.
"Whatever the Mercado slavers plot, whatever reinforcements the Empire sends—watch. Unless it's throne-holders or the Four Marches level, Saladin will sort it out himself."
"Waiting for something? What're you on about?"
Ash echoed Saladin's mutter.
"Think about it. How long do you figure threatening kids will work? Short-term, it ties our hands, but long-term? It just pisses us off—no real gain. So the answer's obvious: hit their short-term goal and call it."
Saladin's eyes flicked to Baukalrak and Ash.
"Remember who jumped you en route from Sharon to the Dragon Mountains?"
"...!!"
Only now did Ash and Baukalrak, their vision narrowed by the brutal deaths of their young kin, start grasping the bigger picture.
"Grrr. So what now?"
"What else? Save the kids. We're getting pummeled without reinforcements as is—if we waste time, what happens when theirs show?"
Baukalrak growled at Saladin's words.
"Grrr... I get it. But how? No way to pull it off."
Smooth!
Baukalrak extended his palm, revealing the gash torn by Fran Kingdom magic bombs.
"They know the kids are our leash. Pouring that much firepower to guard 'em—how the hell do we snag 'em?"
Ash and Yorn's eyes turned to Saladin too. No ideas for freeing the restrained kids either.
"Okay, Ash maybe, but Sir Yorn—you can't be this clueless..."
Hah.
Saladin sighed and pressed on.
"You're getting steamrolled because their malice runs deeper than you imagine. Solution's simple."
Saladin's gaze shifted to the Azanta Palace dungeon holding the captive pirates.
"We do the same."
Rattle! Rattle!
The endless caravan of wagons was a spectacle in itself.
The horde of pirates who'd teleported in via Azanta Palace's array yesterday were now streaming into Mercado en masse.
"Whoa, lined up like this? Insane."
"Kosax auction folks said Neptune Pirates are up today."
"What? That big crew led by Red Hood Samuel?"
Someone recognized Samuel's face yesterday, and word had spread.
"Heard Jerome from Olivia captured the whole lot."
"Damn, kid's barely out of his teens, but he's the real deal."
"Today's gonna be good."
Saladin, quietly eavesdropping, clenched his fist out of sight.
'Perfect.'
With all eyes on them, every captured pirate offered up for Mercado auction.
Ain supply drying up had dimmed Mercado's shine—they wouldn't pass up this windfall.
Refusing? Proof they weren't what they used to be.
It'd spark debates on Duke Albans's competence for targeting Mercado.
Like it or not, they'd auction them.
Shing!
Entering Mercado toward Kosax auction house, guards crossed halberds like they had with Jerome before—but with deadlier glares.
"These are royals-approved lots. Why block entry?"
Miron, leading the wagons, bellowed.
"No royals or affiliates allowed now. Olivia's Baron Jerome's tight with His Majesty—denied."
"What nonsense? All this land's Sharon royal domain—such treason!"
"No entry."
As guards and Miron bickered, onlookers buzzed.
"Can't auction?"
"Royal vs. ducal feud over slaves real?"
Murmurs rose.
'You feel this shift too, Duke Albans—not some dimwit.'
Saladin figured the duke, neck-deep in kingdom slave trade for years, sensed the mood.
"Fine. Let them in."
Sure enough, Duke Albans's amplified voice boomed from the auction pinnacle soon after.
"......"
Guards grudgingly uncrossed halberds at his firm tone.
"Pass. But Sir Yorn and you stay out."
Basic precaution—what if they targeted His Grace?
"Fair enough. We accept."
Yorn surprisingly complied. No ulterior motive there.
'Just here to auction?'
Wary but obedient, guards parted—His Grace ordered it; their job done.
Rattle! Rattle!
Wagons streamed into the auction house.
Too many to count properly.
"Total headcount?"
A guard asked Miron, overwhelmed.
Miron smirked knowingly.
"2,603."
Infuriating grin, but time short till auction start, backlog heavy.
"...2,603. Noted."
Creeeak!
Wagons filed toward the slave holding warehouse.
But had they recounted despite time? They'd spot Miron's fib.
Total pirates: 2,606, not 2,603.
Creeeak! Thud!
"Stay put, you pirate scum."
Auction back: wagons lined, staff shut warehouse doors.
No guards despite notorious South Sea pirates.
Makes sense—mana-sealing shackles on all. Even swordmasters immobile.
"......"
Silence blanketed the warehouse. Then, one cloth-covered wagon stirred.
Click, click!
Shockingly, a "captive" pirate snapped his shackles.
Reason simple: fakes.
'Oof, chafed my wrist. Tch...'
Pat, pat!
Saladin dusted his wrists, grumbled, flicked fingers. Nearby "quiet" figures shattered theirs too, rising.
Silent as ghosts despite packed wagons—no other pirates heard.
'Alright then.'
Time to move.
Swish!
Saladin and two puppets slipped from the warehouse.
Crunch, crunch!
Kosax auction house, second-floor office.
Late night, but quill-scratch persisted.
Rushing to catalog the sudden royal pirate shipment.
'What's your game, Peter?'
Unlike busy staff, central-seated Duke Albans pondered Peter's intent.
Most Sharon folk oblivious, but Peter and Mercado were in shadow war.
Handing over Olivia slaves now?
Incomprehensible. Diversion for estate strike?
No—reports confirmed zero activity.
Elves or lycans hidden among pirates for ambush?
Guards ordered: check for Ain, skip count.
None found.
'Not smuggling Yorn.'
Neither king nor duke had game-changers.
If so, no conflict—stronger side steamrolls.
Yorn closest bet, but not solo-assassin strong.
Too risky—failure meant deposition. Duke dismissed it.
'Admitting defeat, thrashing in vain?'
Possible. Ain hostages neutered them; Fortuna aid imminent. Maybe he clocked it.
Or late epiphany on prior king's legacy—embracing slave trade. Pirates as Mercado olive branch.
Pollyannaish, but Duke hoped.
'You've strayed, but repent and I'll guide you right.'
To sustaining this milky-honey industry, reviving the kingdom.
Swish!
Deep in thought? Rubbing throbbing eyes, Duke stepped to window for air.
"Sigh, Tolkien. What now?"
Prior king, Sharon van Tolkien—dead friend's name on wind. No reply, as expected.
Not seeking one anyway.
"What now? Cut the dramatic backstory crap."
"...?"
Should've been empty. Why voice?
Head snapped up. Ceiling.
One of three oddly perched figures spoke.
"Peekaboo."