My Dear Plunderer - Chapter 3
<3> Beneath the Crimson Flag
"A spirit?"
No—in his experience, spirits' powers were more mischievous.
"Magic?"
He couldn’t be sure.
Mages were as rare as royalty—he’d encountered only a handful, and their magic had always been dynamic, not this quiet, restrained force.
But if it was a mage—
Just the thought made his pulse quicken.
Renok watched his crew bailing water, their shouts overlapping.
"Navigator! It’s raining! Make it stop!"
"What do you think a navigator is? I can’t stop the damn rain!"
Misfits. Castoffs. The world’s discarded gears, grinding uselessly against fate.
And yet—
His third family.
"I’ll pray to the gods!"
"You’re a defrocked priest. If you pray, they’ll probably smite us with lightning."
This crew of kindred outcasts had one purpose:
To stand back-to-back against a world that refused to let them stand at all.
The title "King of Four Seas" meant nothing if they grew complacent. The ocean remained untamed, and the imperial blade that had taken everything from him twice could strike again at any moment.
If raising their survival odds by even 1% meant dragging this mysterious power aboard—
If it meant never again burying his family with his own hands—
"Then so be it."
He’d do anything.
If the power’s wielder cooperated, he’d pay them handsomely. If not—
His gaze slid to the rusted chains bolted to the deck, where enemy prisoners had been bound days prior.
---
##Laila’s Side
Müller, uncharacteristically awake at dawn, sent a maid to fetch Laila.
"You should’ve prepared breakfast already! Sitting idle until summoned—do you still think you’re some noble waiting for servants?"
"The stables were locked—"
"One excuse and you chirp ten more!"
(Of course, Müller remembered ordering the stables locked. But the storm’s ache in his knees demanded a target, and his niece existed to absorb his rage.)
Swallowing her resentment, Laila tried again. "Uncle, there’s a ship near the shore—"
"Still squawking?! Change those filthy clothes and cook, now!"
His hand hovered over a wine glass. Another word, and it would shatter against her skull. Stormy weather. Early hour. Empty stomach. His patience had evaporated.
"The maid must’ve seen the ship too. She’ll tell him."
As Laila turned to leave, the maid smirked.
"My lord, might I speak?"
"Ah, Madam Garen! Of course."
(Müller played the gracious lord with the few remaining servants—especially the comely ones.)
"When fetching the young lady, I saw a ship approaching."
Müller shot up, toppling his chair. "A ship?! Unannounced?!"
"Yes, clearly heading here."
"Pirates? Enemy warships?!"
This backwater island had never faced such threats. Cold sweat dripped down Müller’s jowls.
"Soldiers! To the eastern shore! Arrest any trespassers!"
Then he noticed Madam Garen’s arched brow—'Why isn’t the lord going himself?'
Reputation mattered more to Müller than safety. His "glorious past" as a Verche family knight and his "hard-won medals" were his lifelines.
"Fine. I’ll lead them."
(If things turned dire, he’d force Laila to use her power. The desperate mutt would wag her tail for praise, even knowing he’d burn her afterward.)
Donning his never-used armor, Müller bellowed:
"I go forth myself! Follow me!"
---
##Shoreline
At dawn, Renok’s ship lurched ashore and keeled over—as if its sole purpose had been delivering them here.
Sopping wet, Renok and his crew waded through shallow waves. The summer sun would dry them soon enough.
"Thought they’d extort us harder," Renok mused, tossing his soaked shirt to Pedro. No negotiator had appeared.
Pedro, shaking water from his ears, grinned. "You’re terrifying."
"How so?"
"That face." Pedro mimicked Renok’s murderous glare.
Renok relaxed his expression. (No need to scare off his prey.)
"No sentries?" Pedro whispered. "Let me slit the lord’s throat—"
"We take what we came for."
Renok’s boots crunched on seashells as he walked—then paused.
"They must’ve seen the ship sinking. Why ignore it?"
He shoved open the stable door. Inside, a mottled horse chewed hay, dumbly blinking.
"Was it you?"
The horse sneezed.
"No divine beast here," Renok muttered—then spotted it.
A torn scrap of violet fabric, snagged on a splinter.
"So there was someone."
He pocketed the clue, pulse quickening.
Hunting always excited him.
Then—shouts.
"Identify yourselves!"
Pedro ducked inside, grinning. "The lord’s here with five ‘soldiers.’ Breakfast?"
Renok stepped out, squinting against the sun.
If his treasure was already in the lord’s grasp—
"Then we plunder."
Not that he needed justification.
Beneath the crimson flag, he was simply a pirate.
***
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