Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 810 - 443: Scorpion

The captain’s cabin of the Scorpion was not spacious.

In contrast to the ostentatious luxury of the Black Reef Prince, it appeared cramped, yet it was filled with a kind of barbaric abundance.

Crumpled silk carpets were carelessly laid on the floor, several crudely crafted yet substantial gold ornaments hung on the walls, and at the corner of the table, gilded wine utensils from the South were piled like a heap of forgotten scrap metal.

Rosa sat at the table, slicing open white bread with a silver knife in hand, the blade sinking into the soft crust with almost no resistance.

Butter was lavishly spread on top, gleaming with a greasy and enticing sheen under the dim candlelight.

Outside the window, muffled chewing sounds could be heard.

It was her sailors squatting in the wind on the deck, gnawing on hard black biscuits.

Dry crumbs fell into the gaps of the deck, soon being trodden deep into the wood grain by bare feet.

Of course, not everyone was like this.

A small group of core crew members gathered around a wind-protected fire basin.

They were given soft bread mixed with grease and occasionally took turns sipping light wine.

These were the ones responsible for sailing and gunnery, the real assets that could determine life and death in combat.

As for the lowest ones, the newly recruited swine, the unlucky ones with ship debts, or just the hapless laborers caught up on board.

They only deserved to squat in the cold wind, using saliva to soften those stone-like black biscuits.

Pirates were never a group of equal brothers; they were a staircase of layers stepping upwards.

Those standing in the center of the deck stepped on the ones at the stern, and the ones at the stern stepped on those at the bottom, while she stepped on everyone.

In her eyes, it was already a blessing for this trash to be standing alive on the deck.

Rosa took a bite of bread and picked up the wine glass for a sip.

The next moment, her face turned sullen.

"Ugh." She spat the wine back into the glass, her only remaining eye full of disdain, "Damn Southern sour wine."

She shook the glass vigorously, as if confirming whether this stuff had been watered down by those damned merchants, "I really miss the strong liquor from the Northern side..."

Although Louis had blocked the Northern routes in recent years, she was not short of food.

On the Southern routes, there were always unlucky grain ships and porcelain caravans to target.

Grain could fill stomachs, porcelain could be exchanged for gold coins, but these things had slow turnover, and the real profits received were pathetically small.

What could make someone wealthy overnight was never this kind of junk.

What Rosa truly craved were the cargo holds with the Red Tide seals on the Northern routes.

Refined steel, alchemy parts, crates of standard weapons...

Those things were the real windfall, but ever since the Red Tide Territory blocked the routes, that vein flowing with gold had been completely cut off.

She hated Louis because this damned Lord of the North had turned her windfall into a pittance.

At that moment, there was the sound of flapping wings outside the porthole.

A huge albatross landed on the mast, tucking away its feathers ruffled by the sea breeze.

A small object wrapped tightly in oilcloth was precisely tossed through the half-open porthole, landing with a dull thud on the table.

Rosa squinted her eyes, first holding her breath to confirm there were no eavesdropping shadows outside the door, then slowly unraveled the oilcloth.

Lying quietly within was a Black Reef Order, a letter from that old guy Balk.

Beside the token was a thumb-sized deep-sea black pearl.

In the candlelight, the pearl shimmered with a deep and mysterious glow, as if condensing the whole of the night within its small shell.

Rosa’s breathing noticeably halted for a moment.

Just this one could equal three months of her pillaging income in the South.

She reached out to grasp the black pearl in her palm, feeling its cool and smooth touch, then unfolded the letter.

The handwriting was rough, without any unnecessary pleasantries.

"Rosa, I know you can make a small fortune in the South. But don’t you miss the Northern firearms and steel?"

Rosa sneered, and the letter continued:

"I found a way to deal with Louis, the iron turtle. The Corrosive Touch, a poison that can melt black iron armor instantly like hot water pouring over snow.

Come to the Shattered Isles, and we seven will split this pie equally. By then, every Red Tide merchant ship will turn into a drifting treasury."

Rosa toyed with the black pearl repeatedly, greed and calculation intertwined in her one eye, the light growing ever brighter.

That old bastard Balk, hiding such a good treasure?

With what she knew of Balk, if it were truly a solo deal, that old shark would never even let a whiff of it leak.

Having the seven called upon could only mean one thing, that he couldn’t handle it alone.

Either the thing was too dangerous, or it wasn’t as incredible as he claimed.

Or maybe that old guy’s courage was no longer like before, preferring to drag others into the fray rather than dare to gamble alone.

Balk had done this kind of thing more than once.

For decades, whenever an opportunity arose at sea that was tasteless to eat but a pity to discard, he was the first to think of this method.

Releasing rumors, gathering kindred spirits, promising to share the spoils, dragging everyone into the same pot to cook.

A dozen years ago, when the Jade Federation routes were at their ripest, there would be a so-called joint hunt every couple of years.

Sometimes three families, sometimes five, and at most, a full assembly of nine black sails.

The most famous time, they hunted the Federation’s oceangoing convoy like crazed hyenas.

On the surface, it was an alliance sharing profits, but in reality, everyone was scheming against each other, everyone using allies as cannon fodder.

In the end, that battle sank seventeen Federation ships and killed half of the pirates.

And as usual, Balk withdrew early when the fire burned brightest, preserving the most complete strength.

It was by stepping ashore on ally corpses time and again that he reached where he was today.

Thinking of this, the smile on Rosa’s lips grew even colder.

If that so-called Corrosive Touch really had the effect described in the letter...

She stuck out her tongue, greedily licking her cracked lips.

To the Shattered Isles? Of course she would go.

But not to shake hands and form alliances.

What she intended to do was to devour that sincerity skin and bones.

If she could get the formula in her hands...

Then the next pirate king ruling the seas will need a new name.

......

The fleet gradually slowed down outside the Shattered Isles.

Mist rose from the sea surface, not the usual white vapor, but a type of murky gray.

The mist rolled along the dark water’s surface like a layer of greasy, filthy gauze that hadn’t been washed in years.

When the Scorpion cut into it, even the noise on the deck seemed to be mostly engulfed by the thick damp air.

The air carried a certain fishy smell.

But it wasn’t just the stench of rotting fish, it was mingled with a cloying sweetness, like some kind of expensive spice slowly evaporating in a damp, dark cellar.

Rosa stood at the prow of the ship, taking a deep breath.

The one remaining eye narrowed slightly, a look of near pleasure appearing on her coarse face.

This smell reminded her of a southern spice ship she had plundered in her youth.

When the crowbar snapped the seal of the cargo hold, this same smell burst forth, pungent and strong, yet it could make one’s heartbeat accelerate.

"It’s the smell of gold coins." She muttered softly, a greedy curve lifting at her mouth, "Looks like the old Balk creature has really hoarded quite a fortune."

Rosa muttered softly, her gaze penetrating the mist to fix intently on that barely visible black fortress on the distant reef.

As the distance closed, the mist partially cleared.

Rosa’s pupils contracted sharply.

In the anchorage below Skull Castle, several warships of various designs were quietly docked.

Though their black sails were furled, those tattered and blood-stained flags on the masts stood out dangerously in the gray mist.

"Bonesplitter Kane, Viper... even that old charlatan showed up."

Rosa’s fingers unconsciously rubbed the dagger at her waist, her original greed instantly cooling into a state of extreme calm.

It seemed Balk hadn’t lied.

This was a grand feast, but wasn’t he afraid that, caging so many hungry sharks together, he himself might be torn apart first?

Unless he had an ace card that could absolutely control the situation.

"Looks like this isn’t just picking up scraps, it’s risking life and limb."

The ship continued forward, and at a distance of five nautical miles from Skull Castle, Rosa raised her hand to signal a halt: "Anchor."

The position was calculated precisely, at the edge of the tailwind and the coastal artillery range, ready to make a turn and withdraw at any moment.

She turned back to the captain’s cabin, hung up her heavy captain’s coat, and began checking her gear piece by piece.

First mate Miller stood nearby, watching her stash two poisoned daggers into her sleeves, finally unable to hold back from speaking: "Boss, at least four factions’ ships are stationed outside. In this situation... Do you really plan to go in personally?"

Rosa didn’t look up, swiftly checking her ammunition: "Since I’m here, who’s gonna be satisfied without seeing the thing?"

"Listen up." She finally turned her gaze, sharp as a knife: "Position the ship broadside, aim all the side cannons at the fortress, but not one step closer."

Miller paused, asking instinctively: "If two hours pass and you haven’t returned, or if we see a red flare... should I lead the crew to charge in and rescue you?"

Rosa chuckled coldly, looking at him as if he were an idiot: "Fool."

"If even I end up trapped inside, leading the crew in will just be delivering yourselves to death."

She stepped closer, her voice edged with undeniable severity: "If anything happens, or you notice something amiss inside, give the order immediately to indiscriminately bombard the fortress. Stir the water, the more chaos, the better."

Miller opened his mouth: "And then?"

"Then you sail away as fast as you can. I’ll escape underwater during the chaos."

Rosa heavily patted the wooden wall of the cabin, her gaze sharp enough to intimidate: "Remember, this ship is my lifeline, my foundation at sea. I won’t let you sacrifice it, even to save me."

As long as the ship remained, Rosa could make a comeback.

If the ship were lost, even if she escaped, the other pirates would devour her leaving nothing behind, like scavenger creatures tearing at carrion.

......

The small boat lowered, and Rosa, with her two finest guards, embarked onto the gangway.

The pier was quieter than she had imagined.

Though several pirate ships were moored, the gangway was eerily devoid of the usual rowdy chatter and drinking songs, disturbingly still.

Several black-robed attendants stood on either side, heads bowed, their movements stiff and sluggish.

As she approached, the oppressive sweet and fishy odor intensified.

Rosa’s gaze swept over the hands peeking from the black robes, her pupils slightly tightened.

The skin was an ashen gray, wrinkled and appearing to be perpetually coated in slime, like it was a severe skin condition or a waterlogged corpse left afloat for too long.

"Is it marine leprosy? Or a side effect of alchemical toxins?"

She assessed inwardly, her hand subtly resting on the hilt of her sword.

"What on earth is that old Balk creature up to..." Rosa did not speak, but her gaze darkened considerably.

Unlike her normal derision for her rivals’ misfortunes, every muscle in her body tensed, like a leopard stepping into a foreign territory marked by the scent of its kin.

High-heeled leather boots clicked crisply against the decaying wooden planks of the gangway.

"Clack, clack, clack..."

With each step, she surveyed the shadows all around.

To her eyes, this place indeed appeared as a lion’s den.

But those standing guard here weren’t necessarily decrepit old lions; they might as well have been beasts driven completely mad for survival.

And she had to muster every ounce of vigilance to ensure she would be the one eating meat, not the one served on a platter.