Chapter Eighteen: Jeremiah

Alexei felt the blood rushing to his head. He set the documents aside and lunged forward.

It was said that the people of the White Crow Duchy in the North carried the blood of giants. Once Alexei stood straight, he was nearly as tall as the door frame. His pale, golden hair, almost translucent, shimmered like chilling mist under the midday sun. He had only taken a single step, yet to the pirate by the table, it felt as if a wall were crashing down upon him.

A flicker of panic crossed the pirate’s face, but then, as if realizing something, he remained still, instead offering a mocking grin.

In the corner of the room, within the shadows cast by the wall and the cabinets, a figure slowly stood up.

Alexei caught a glimpse of the shadow from the corner of his eye, but he dismissed it. The man was too far away; he could easily knock down this arrogant pirate before dealing with any intervention.

*It will work.*

Yet, in the next instant, his charge came to a sudden halt.

The blood in his veins still boiled with heat, but an icy sensation against his neck froze him in place.

What had happened?

That man had been standing in the far corner of the room, separated by a long desk, yet he had crossed the distance to his side in a heartbeat!

The cold touch pressed against Alexei’s neck. He dared not move, not even knowing what weapon the man held, able only to glance at him from the corner of his eye.

The man was exceptionally robust. His bronze-colored muscles rippled like an anvil forged by a master blacksmith. He was hairless, lacking even eyebrows, and every inch of his visible skin was covered in black lines and symbols of varying thickness, looking both twisted and bizarre.

His gaze was fixed straight ahead. There was no killing intent in his ink-black eyes; Alexei even felt that the man wasn't looking at him at all, as if he were nothing more than a useless rock.

He stood like a stone statue, devoid of movement or breath, as if he had always been there and Alexei had simply walked into him.

Alexei swallowed hard, his mind racing for a solution.

From the long table came the pirate’s languid voice:

"Oh, what a handsome lad. Why not consider joining Captain Jeremiah’s *Black Sheep*? You’d surely be the most popular one come nightfall."

He sauntered over to Alexei, only to realize he was significantly shorter than the other man and had to crane his neck to look him in the eye. He turned and walked back a few paces, putting some distance between them before looking back.

"Pah!"

He spat on the floor, hands on his hips, inadvertently brushing aside his tattered coat to reveal a scimitar and two flintlock pistols tucked into his belt.

Alexei felt a sinking dread. He had assumed these two pirates wouldn’t dare cause trouble, not here on land. It now seemed that with their skills, they could easily carve a path back to their ship. It was no wonder they dared to collect taxes for the Pirate King as a duo.

He stood there, stunned and helpless; the Royal Military Academy had never taught him how to handle a situation like this.

*Creak—*

Just as the standoff intensified, a sound came from the doorway. The aged wooden door was pushed open.

All three turned to look.

Hughes walked in.

Water still dripped from his hair, which he was drying with a soft piece of deerskin. As if oblivious to the tense, drawn-out atmosphere, he sat directly in the room's only chair.

"What? Is Gem Bay no longer collecting money this year, but people instead?"

He looked at the ledger on the table and spoke in an unhurried tone.

Alexei had felt a spark of hope when he heard the commotion at the door, assuming the weak-willed Lord would never dare show his face, and that it was likely the steward, Connor, coming to check on him.

Old Connor was an enigma, but that didn't matter; even if he couldn't save him, he could at least call for the harbor guards. Surely these pirates wouldn't trouble him then.

But it was his Lord who had come.

Alexei felt a chill in his heart. If Hughes could let pirates collect taxes in his own territory at will, would he care about the life or death of a Chief Clerk? Especially since he was an agent of the Empress—Hughes was probably wishing he were dead.

And listen to what he was saying—Gem Bay was changing to collecting people? Was he planning to hand him over to settle the debt?

Alexei’s face was etched with despair, but Jeremiah, nearby, was starting to doubt his own reading of the situation.

His own weapons were laid bare right before Hughes, yet the man continued to dry his hair without a care. As a pirate captain who had fought his way up, though his strength was mediocre, he was a good judge of character. Hughes’s demeanor didn't look like an act of bravado.

Jeremiah glanced at the tattooed man, only to see him furrow his brow as well.

This surprised Jeremiah. Others might not know, but he had witnessed the terrifying extent of this man’s power. Had he just seen a flicker of hesitation in the tattooed man’s eyes?

Jeremiah’s eyes darted around. He lowered his hand from his coat, hiding the pistols and scimitar once more. He gave a subtle gesture to the tattooed man, signaling him to release Alexei.

"Of course not. Gem Bay only collects money, not people."

Pirates lived by the sea; they wouldn't mind looting if they could, but if the target was prickly, Jeremiah knew how to talk reason.

"This is the tax list from the Governor. All the taxes Castor owes are here."

He placed a grimy roll of parchment on the table, then stepped back, looking at Hughes with contempt.

The list was genuine—the Pirate King had indeed given them the list to collect taxes—but...

It was written in Pirate Script.

"Pirate Script" was a loose term. Most pirates were illiterate; they recorded their plundered treasures using a primitive system of drawings and symbols. Over time, it had evolved into a rudimentary language that allowed for basic communication. After the King of the Seas in Gem Bay had unified the pirates of the Storm Ocean, he had mandated the use of this script.

This had not been in effect for long, and Jeremiah was certain that Hughes could not possibly read the tax list written in this script.

*Hah, nobility.* Let him experience the feeling of being illiterate. He pondered how he would mock this Count later. Well, perhaps not go too far—Jeremiah wasn't ready to burn bridges yet—but seeing this pampered aristocrat lose his composure would be quite satisfying.

Looking at his youthful, delicate appearance, Jeremiah glanced at Hughes’s pale complexion and curled his lip in secret.

Just as he prepared to enjoy the show, Hughes’s next words left him stunned.

"No need to look. From today on, Castor will no longer pay the pirate tax."