Hank returned to the main base carrying a thick stack of contracts stamped with fingerprints.
Unlike the filthy and chaotic pirate dens people imagined, this was a clean and refreshing white castle, perched atop the highest hill of Algiers. One side faced the sea, the other overlooked the entire city. The Islamic-style rounded domes were often shrouded in the Mediterranean mist, lending the place an elegant style and beautiful scenery.
Of course, this was not built by Hayreddin Barbarossa.
When it was "taken over" from the previous governor of Algiers, that fat man had cried more bitterly than if his own father had died. When not at sea, most local pirates stayed elsewhere, with only the captain and some senior crew living here.
Hank was in no mood to admire the exquisitely carved fountain in the courtyard. He passed through winding corridors and knocked on the door of a large room:
"Captain, it's Hank."
"Come in."
A tall red-haired man lounged lazily on an Arabic-style divan. At his feet lay a three-meter-long white African lion, half asleep with its eyes squinting, a few brightly colored bird feathers still stuck around its mouth. Hank thought this was probably the last peacock left in the courtyard.
The man casually flipped through a rare sea chart, showing no hint of arrogance or dominance. But everyone knew that like the lion at his feet, the captain liked to keep his claws sheathed — calm and unassuming on the surface, yet ready to shred enemies with a lightning strike at any moment.
This was the most powerful pirate roaming the Mediterranean — the third of the Barbarossa brothers, Hayreddin Barbarossa, known as the "Red Lion of the Sea."
Hank respectfully handed over the contracts.
"Captain, five hundred new recruits."
"Hm, good work." Hayreddin took them and flipped through. "Any suitable candidates?"
"Not many useful ones, mostly inexperienced mediocre folks." Somehow a light and nimble youth flashed through Hank's mind, but it was fleeting. He shook his head, carefully choosing his words, and spoke with difficulty:
"Captain, Captain Arud has been loyal all these years and always leads the charge in battle. Could you possibly—"
"No." The red-haired man interrupted decisively, spreading out the contracts. "Hank, look at these clauses and fingerprints. Even if illiterate, every recruit is read them before boarding. After all these years with me, you don't remember?"
"But that day the captain was drunk, and that woman just happened to pass by—"
Hayreddin said coldly, "Oh, so the woman's fault if she was assaulted? Arud was just forced? Hank Rivens, what's clause four of the contract?!" His tone was severe, his icy blue eyes flashing terrifyingly. Hank stiffened, stood straight, and replied loudly:
"Clause four: No assault or insult of women; violators shall be executed!"
The room fell deathly silent. After a long moment, Hayreddin said:
"Many have pleaded for mercy. Life on the ship is harsh. When off ship, drinking in taverns, hiring women, I've never interfered. But that woman was no common prostitute — she jumped into the sea to kill herself the next day."
Pausing, Hayreddin revealed the crux of the matter:
"Hank, she was from a traditional Muslim family. We operate here in Algiers year-round. If we anger the Muslims, how do we continue here? If we pardon Arud, how do we discipline other crew? When did pirate contracts become empty words?!"
Hayreddin's fleet had dominated the Mediterranean for years, with a heroic reputation along the North African coast. Their power was not from a rabble, but from strict discipline — the principle that "rabbits don't eat grass by their own burrows." These three sentences from Hayreddin struck like landmines. Hank silently nodded, unable to argue.
"Yes, Captain, I understand."
The burly deputy captain disappeared from the room. Hayreddin muttered to himself:
"Arud, you have good brothers."
"Yes. That's enough to die with no regrets." From behind the screen came a sturdy man in his thirties with a hooked nose — Captain Arud of the assault squad.
"Captain, I want to sail on the Siren one last time."
"Want to die at sea? But this voyage might not find an opponent strong enough to kill you."
"Then I'll count on bad luck. The sea god refuses sinners. If I return, I'm ready to face the gallows."
Hayreddin paused a moment and nodded.
That was giving him a chance — a chance to die with dignity. Arud's eyes glistened with tears of gratitude:
"Thank you, Captain. I have over two hundred gold coins saved in the merchant house. No matter how I die, please pass them to that poor woman's family."
One foggy dawn, six armed ships with cannons and twelve small triangular sailboats were ready. Led by a fast ship with a mermaid figurehead carved on its prow, they departed from Algiers harbor.
The Siren was Hayreddin's flagship. Not a heavily armored battleship, but a single-masted medium-sized fast ship, equipped with 28 eighteen-pound cannons. Slow cargo ships laden with goods and heavy-armored warships were slow; pirate ships required speed and agility for chasing, surrounding, plundering, and retreating.
"Darling, bring misfortune to our enemies!"
The helmsman patted the beautiful mermaid figurehead, took a sip of strong liquor, and poured the rest into the sea. Under the experienced captain and sailors' skillful command, the Siren was the fastest death ship in the Mediterranean.
"Set sail!"
The red-haired captain's command saw all sails raised, the bow slicing white waves on the sea.
Rising on the sails was not a black pirate flag, but a red banner with a golden flying lion — the symbol of the Venetian Republic. Pirates would never raise a skull flag before identifying a target; they disguised themselves as merchant ships to deceive enemies.
The new recruits were excited to the point of trembling hands on the ropes. Among the veteran sailors, a strange atmosphere lingered. The idolized assault captain would face severe punishment in this mission; dying at sea might be the only way to preserve his dignity.
Night fell, the dim sky devoid of stars or moon. Thick fog descended from the endless firmament, shrouding the sea completely. Nearby friendly ships were no longer visible. There was almost no sea breeze; silence prevailed except for faint creaks from the hull and taut ropes. Each ship seemed to sail alone in an endless universe.
The invisible was the most terrifying; no solid ground beneath made everyone uneasy. First-time sailors trembled and refused to approach the rails. The once clear blue sea had turned pitch black. Beneath the calm black surface, countless man-eating deep-sea beasts seemed to lurk. Believers or not, all whispered prayers to Allah.
"Pfft, cowards." The old helmsman took a small sip of burn-your-throat liquor, glanced at the newbies disdainfully:
"Foggy days are our best sailing days. If not for the fog forecast, the captain wouldn't have chosen this day to sail. You've heard the stories, right? The captain can smell his prey…"
Lowering his voice mysteriously, more people gathered to listen. He said, "The captain predicts weather, understands seabird calls, sees fish movements, and can smell gold and jewels. Sailing with him, nine times out of ten, you won't fail. It's said the captain once gave the sea god his most beautiful sister to gain these powers…"
A rookie shivered, suddenly feeling the sea breeze turn cold. Trying to appear calm, he asked, "That's just rumor, right? Brother, you're experienced, but have you ever truly seen those… those supernatural things?"
"The giant squid that drags an entire ship under? The carrion bird that tears sails apart? Or the siren that lures people to hell? Hehehe…" The old helmsman chuckled wickedly, sending chills down the newcomers' spines, "Lucky me, I've never seen them — because those who have seen them aren't here to tell you."
Horror stories told at night were always the most popular. Curiosity mixed with fear filled the air. In this place beyond even God's dominion, ancient legends prevailed. Except for the watch helmsman and lookouts, everyone else was lost in tales both real and unreal…
At that moment, from the highest crow's nest, the lookout's rolled parchment telescope revealed an unbelievable, eerie shape. He wiped the lens repeatedly with his sleeve, his throat seemed clogged, barely able to speak:
"Si-siren…"
His eyes bulged; after a few coughs, he screamed like a slaughtered pig:
"Southwest! Southwest! Look!!!"
Everyone on deck was startled by the scream, thinking an enemy attack was underway. Weapons were drawn, eyes peered over the rails — but what they saw was a sight they would never forget.
Through the thick fog floated a vague white figure on the sea surface, drifting with the waves. As the sea breeze thinned the mist, they vaguely saw a bare torso exposed to the air, the slender upper body shining with an eerie white glow. Seaweed-like wet black hair cascaded down, covering the full, pale chest.
"She" floated there, a faint, haunting song drifting on the wind — this beautiful and eerie scene gripped everyone's hearts.
"Siren, there really is a siren. Will her song drag us to the ocean depths…"
With a clatter, the old helmsman's flat flask hit the deck, spilling liquor everywhere.
All the sailors, including the lookout and the supervisor aboard the Pearl, gathered by the port side watching "her." No one noticed a black-skulled pirate ship silently approaching through the fog on the starboard side.
"Hargh!!!…"
With firelight rising over the sea, the beautiful "siren" sneezed awkwardly, complaining as he tugged at the white shirt plastered to his body, giving himself goosebumps. This thin, shoddy fabric soaked through with seawater felt like being naked both to touch and sight.
The musket fire and loud shouts replaced the singing. Nick's bait mission was successfully completed. Though freezing cold, his agility remained intact. With a twist, a small dinghy flipped up from the sea — the very boat he had used to disguise himself as the siren.
Undoing the thin rope from behind his neck, two soul-captivating "full breasts" on his chest fell off.
Looking closely, they were actually two upside-down white ceramic bowls. Men's imaginations are always overly rich; the less you see, the more mysterious and sexy it seems — a sow can look like a fairy descending to earth. Nick cut the rope, wrapped it around his hair, covered it with a headscarf, and instantly regained his flat-chested boyish identity.
He was now a pirate. Though disappointed at losing in Algiers, in this pirate-infested age, the Barbarossa family wasn't the only choice.
"Hey, don't kill so fast, wait for me…" Amidst the burning ship's chaotic fighting, Nick murmured softly, took up an oar, and rowed toward the unlucky Pearl.
Hayreddin's fleet had been betrayed by a small pirate crew called the Sea Wolves.
In truth, this small Sea Wolves crew had never dared to catch the attention of the Barbarossa Red Lion, but the thick fog and the Venetian flag disguise on Hayreddin's ship caused a huge misunderstanding.
The firelight on the Pearl pierced the fog, attracting friendly ships. Standing at the Siren's prow watching the red haze, Hayreddin chuckled. This lone foolish ship was basically food delivered to the lion's mouth. Pirate ships might not carry valuable cargo but certainly had plenty of weapons and gunpowder. Hayreddin thought he might as well loot it for a good start.
Moreover… maybe there was an opponent worthy enough for Arud to willingly meet death.
But things went unexpectedly. Before the friendly ships could gather, musket fire on the Pearl gradually ceased — but the victory signal never came.
"What's going on?" Arud frowned. The Pearl had sixteen broadside cannons and his battle-hardened deputy Hank. The enemy firepower shouldn't have silenced them within fifteen minutes. Arud shouted to the lookout on the mast:
"Check the situation!"
Before he finished, the lookout's terrified voice came down:
"Deputy Captain Hank severely wounded! Supervisor dead! What is that thing!!!"
Everyone was stunned. Arud yelled, "Calm down! No noise!" Then looked back at the captain. Hayreddin showed no expression, only nodded toward the Pearl.
"Full sails! Full sails!" the helmsman ordered loudly. The Siren charged at full speed.
Three hundred yards, two hundred yards, one hundred yards.
As the fog thinned, a silver flash shimmered, accompanied by piercing screams. Blood pooled on the Pearl's deck. Hank was missing an arm, blood soaked half his body. With one hand, he wildly wielded his huge blade, his eyes bloodshot, mind completely deranged.
"Die, monster!! Go back to hell!!!"
Hank screamed hoarsely. But across from him was no towering monster, just a rather slender youth.
The youth held a strange weapon — a two-meter-long, jet-black metal staff taller than himself, tipped with huge sickles gleaming with bloodlust, like the weapon of the legendary Grim Reaper. The weapon weighed at least twenty to thirty kilograms, yet his slender arms wielded it effortlessly. Every sweep of the sickle blade sliced through the air with a howl, instantly disabling enemies nearby.
Hank had resisted too long. Excessive blood loss sapped his strength. The youth seemed annoyed by Hank's frantic moves. Raising the sickle high, he spun several times, the giant blade swirling into a dark vortex. Only a few crew members remained, frozen in place by the spectacle.
Then all the sailors on the Siren witnessed the most terrifying scene.
The whirling giant sickle smashed down like Thor's hammer in Norse legend! Hank raised his blade to block but the sickle's force was too great. The blade was shattered mid-strike. The sickle silently cleaved into Hank's huge body, slicing diagonally from neck down, splitting the giant man in two!
A fountain of blood sprayed from the wound, splattering over four meters high onto the white sail. Silence engulfed the scene; no one dared to gasp or scream. Even the youth's comrades — the Sea Wolves pirates — held their breath in stunned silence, afraid to disturb this terrifying newcomer.
Perhaps surprised that this enemy had resisted so long despite losing an arm, the youth stepped closer, inspected Hank's bloodied face, and suddenly exclaimed:
"Oh! Isn't this the Algiers' recruiter…"
The Siren finally closed to boarding range. The momentary surprise vanished. The youth refocused, eyes locked on that ship.
Many years later, those who witnessed this scene still remembered it vividly. Legends spread across the Mediterranean of a pale, siren-like youth emerging from the sea, wielding a giant sickle to reap lives, with black eyes void of stars or moon.