Black Sail

Londen City's inner ring.

The Underground Bank was located beneath a gambling house.

Lending and gambling complemented each other, with zero-cost debts formed on the premise of cheating, and high-interest loans compounded over short cycles, yielding rapid results.

The only downside was that it wasn't stable enough; one needed either a powerful backer or some personal skill to consider this line of work.

An honest person trying their hand at this job might find themselves exposed to the rainy morning the very next day.

The iron gate at the entrance of the bank was violently twisted from inside out, as if someone had been desperately trying to escape.

The main hall on the first underground level.

The room was strewn with dismembered corpses, blood pooled around them, and flies had already begun to swarm, emitting a foul stench.

"Life is filled with joys and sorrows, just as oxen and horses embellish it."

Morison sat on a silk cushion in an upscale red pine chair, legs crossed, letting a survivor wipe the fresh blood off his boots.

He was about 1.8 meters tall, with curly, snake-like black hair that seemed wet, and half of his face severely burned and disfigured. To make the complicated, twisted scars on his skin appear more aesthetic, he had carved over ten diagonal, straight, and conspicuous scars with a knife, which indeed provided some semblance of symmetry.

Morison dressed quite plainly, wearing a cracked, color-faded crocodile skin coat, black cotton trousers, and a pair of thick, durable leather boots. However, he carried an entire arsenal on his person: a rapid-fire crossbow strapped to his left arm, a custom shoulder holster that held approximately twenty Flying Knives, and his signature pair of whip blades at his waist—one leather and the other like the belly of a python, all blades.

He toyed with a large dagger in his hand, the most versatile weapon, effective in a variety of situations.

The remaining enforcers of the bank dampened the backs of their clothes with cold sweat, kneeling and trembling as they wiped Morison's boots with a silk handkerchief.

Fifteen minutes earlier.

A Dark Elf who had been working at the bank for half a month said he had found some easy marks and could make a good score, instructing people to open the iron gate.

Instead, four figures burst in, the tallest Lizardman nearly reaching the height of the floor. These brutes came in, locked the gate behind them, and immediately began killing anyone they saw.

The Dark Elf was no pushover, either; his blade rose and fell, beheading an enforcer in an instant.

The bank also employed several tough characters who had experience running protection for caravans, but they stood no chance against these assassins.

Especially the man with the half-disfigured face.

There's still a Flying Knife with scalp attached nailed to the wall; the head security of the bank had taken a knife from this man with the disfigured face to the forehead, bursting out through the back of the skull and embedding a piece of scalp into the wall.

Morison, seeing his boots were almost clean, got up and walked over to the desk. He didn't recognize the fruit in the fruit bowl; these scoundrels were filthy rich, probably having the seasonal fruit shipped in express from elsewhere.

He picked a purple berry and chewed a few bites.

"Eating this won't kill me, right?"

Morison commented; the fruit was juicy and sweetly tart, with a firm texture that didn't compare to that of cheaper varieties. These rotten people really knew how to enjoy themselves.

The few survivors left dare not speak, merely shivering, afraid to utter a word that might enrage their captors.

Morison walked over to the Tiger-man, Swan, who was currently fiddling with the lock of the vault's iron gate with two strange, rod-like cones.

"Can you manage this? You've been at it so long and still haven't picked the lock," Morison questioned. Unfortunately, they had accidentally killed the person in charge, and couldn't find the key immediately, but this Tiger-man had volunteered.

Among his race, Swan was on the more slender side, not particularly tall, silent when moving, and rather agile when it came to stripping weapons from the dead.

"Give me more time, don't disturb me," Swan insisted, his sparse brown fur and green beastly eyes filled with sullen focus as he concentrated on the lock, listening for the lever inside.

At that moment.

Shadi led Liszt to the scene.

"Not done yet? We can't stay here much longer. The guard outside keeping watch said the sheriff could only give us fifteen more minutes max. They need to clean up the scene, and the dead need to be registered," Liszt said as he kicked aside a couple of corpses and approached Black Sail's First Officer. Fen was currently perusing the ledger; if nothing was amiss, there should be three hundred and seventeen Golden Dragons in the vault—earnings equivalent to robbing two merchant ships.

"We're almost there, Swan is picking the lock to the treasury."

Fen pressed his monocle with chain adornment, his long, straight black hair casually draped over, donning a dark purple silk figure-hugging corset robe, exuding a bit of a scholar's refined air, eyebrows sharp as sword blades, lips thin, features stern, quite a knockout in the looks department, but those excessively cold eyes were extremely sinister.

Liszt scanned the basement, Brother Sha, Tiger-man, they were all there, but one was missing.

"Where is that big lizard?"

Liszt searched around.

The most notably large figure among Black Sail was that thing; it wouldn't be possible to miss such a huge person. There wasn't even a spot for him to rest on the ship, being too big, he always slept in the cargo hold.

"He's gone to the smithy. This place is too cramped, his axe bumping into everything, he said he's uncomfortable without a weapon that fits his hand."

Fen closed the ledger and picked up the booklet, placing it over the candle flame, which quickly consumed it to ashes.

"Forget it, never mind that idiot."

Having said this, Liszt, together with the others, began to observe Swan's lock picking.

The classic scenario, one person works and a few supervise.

Only the clear sound of a bolt being turned was heard.

"Done."

Swan withdrew the pick and effortlessly pushed open the iron gate.

"How much did you get on your side?"

Fen asked Liszt, needing to tally the total.

"Seventy-nine Golden Dragons, and some silver coins that haven't been counted yet, roughly eighty-three or eighty-four."

Liszt replied.

"Is that so...well, that makes about four hundred in total."

Even for Fen, the corners of his mouth twitched into a faint smile, yet this smile resembled more a spasm of his facial muscles. This heist had been a little too easy, the cowards in the city were like cutting vegetables, too simple, making this job exceptionally cost-effective.

"Four hundred?"

Liszt's eyebrows flew up in delight.

"You're the Captain, after you."

Fen gestured for Liszt to proceed first.

Liszt hastily waved his hand and glanced at Shadi, speaking with feigned respect, "After you, my friend, for you are the true hero."

Shadi clicked his tongue because Liszt occasionally blurted out nonsensical remarks, influencing everyone on the ship, who had all absorbed a bit of it.

He didn't care and went into the treasury first.

Liszt was about to step in when...

"We have a big problem!"

Shadi suddenly shouted from inside, his voice full of panic.

Even Liszt's composure was shaken. Could it be there was no money? Without money, this would be a total waste; they wouldn't be able to pay off the sheriff with gifts, and without money, they couldn't even think about recruiting sailors. With just over ten men, they couldn't operate a twin-masted sailing ship, and they would be stranded in Londen City.

He quickly took two steps into the treasury.

"Fuck! We have a big problem!"

Liszt also shouted.

The two of them raised a fuss in a comic duo, and Fen's brows knit tightly. If there was no money in the treasury, they couldn't come back empty-handed. On the surface, this operation was Pirates slaying a tyrant, but in reality, it was one Lord damn another Lord, all to fill the recent deficit of the Pirate Gang's budget. There was only one path to follow: cut off the rival Lord's head and claim the bounty, to be displayed at the top of Yanyang Building.

If their own Lord was willing to pay the reward, that would be fine, but if he dared not, then they would all ascend the top of the building together.