Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 444 The Scorpion

The captain's cabin on the Scorpion was not spacious.

Compared to the nouveau riche luxury of the Black Lagoon, this place feels cramped, yet it exudes a savage abundance.

A silk carpet with rolled edges was casually laid on the floor, a few crudely made but heavy gold ornaments hung on the wall, and on the corner of the table, gilded wine vessels from the south were piled up like a heap of scrap metal forgotten by their owner.

Rosa sat at the table, her silver knife slicing through the white bread. The blade sank into the soft dough with almost no resistance.

The butter was spread thickly, glistening with an oily and enticing sheen in the dim candlelight.

A faint chewing sound could be heard from outside the window.

That was the sound of her sailors squatting in the drafty vents on the deck, munching on hardened, dark biscuits.

Dry debris fell into the gaps in the deck and was quickly stepped into the depths of the wood grain by bare feet.

Of course, not everyone is like that.

A small group of core crew members huddled around a brazier for shelter from the wind.

They were given soft bread mixed with oil, and occasionally they could take turns drinking a sip of light wine.

These men were responsible for controlling the sails and operating the cannons; they were the true life-or-death force in battle.

As for those at the very bottom, they were newly recruited pigs, unlucky souls in debt to the ship, or simply unfortunate laborers who were caught on board.

They only deserve to squat in the cold wind, using their saliva to soften those rock-hard black cakes.

Pirates were never a group of equal brothers, but rather a ladder of advancement.

Those who can stand in the middle of the deck step on the stern, those at the stern step on the bottom of the ship, and she steps on everyone else.

In her eyes, the fact that these scumbags were still alive on the deck was already a blessing.

Rosa took a bite of bread and then sipped her wine.

The next moment, her face darkened.

"Pah." She spat the wine back into the glass, her single remaining eye filled with disgust. "Damn sour southern wine."

She swirled the glass vigorously, as if to confirm whether those damned unscrupulous merchants had watered it down. "I really miss the strong liquor from the North..."

Although Louise has blocked the northern air routes in recent years, she has not lacked food.

On the southern shipping routes, there were always unlucky grain transport ships and porcelain caravans that could be targeted.

Grain can fill your stomach, and porcelain can be exchanged for gold coins, but these things have a slow turnover, and the actual profit you get is pitifully small.

What can make someone rich overnight is never this junk.

What Rosa truly desired were the cargo holds along the northern route, sealed with red tide tape.

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

Those things were the real money-makers, but ever since the Red Tide Territory blocked the shipping routes, that gold-flowing vein has been completely cut off.

She hated Louis because that damned Lord of the North had turned her enormous profits into meager ones.

Just then, the sound of flapping wings came from outside the porthole.

A giant albatross landed on the mast and gathered its feathers, which had been ruffled by the sea breeze.

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

Rosa squinted, held her breath to make sure there was no one eavesdropping outside the door, and then slowly untied the oilcloth.

Inside the package lay a Black Reef Token, a letter from that old fellow, Balk.

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

In the candlelight, the pearl gleamed with a deep, mysterious light, as if it had condensed the entire night into its tiny shell.

Rosa’s breathing visibly stopped for a moment.

This one alone is worth three months' worth of income from robbing in the south.

She reached out and held the black pearl in her palm, feeling its cool and smooth texture, before unfolding the letter.

The handwriting was bold and there was no unnecessary small talk.

"Rosa, I know you can make a little money in the south. But don't you miss the arms and steel from the north?"

Rosa gave a cold laugh, and the letter continued:
"I've found a way to deal with that iron turtle, Louis. Corrosive Touch, a venom that can instantly melt black iron armor like hot water splashed on snow."

Come to the Broken Isles, and the seven of us will divide this pie equally. Then every merchant ship of the Red Tide will become a floating gold mine.

Rosa repeatedly examined the black pearl, her single eye gleaming with a mixture of greed and cunning.

That old bastard Balk actually had such a good item hidden away?

Knowing Balk as she did, if it were truly a deal he could keep to himself, that old shark would never let a single trace of his culinary skills slip by.

There's only one possibility for someone to be able to invite all seven families: he simply couldn't handle the food.

Either the thing is too dangerous, or it's not as powerful as he claims.

Or perhaps the old man's courage has waned, and he'd rather drag a group of his kind down with him than daring to gamble alone.

This wasn't the first time Balk had done something like this.

For decades, whenever he encountered prey at sea that was neither tasty to eat nor worth throwing away, this method was always the first thing he thought of.

They spread rumors, gathered their kind, promised to share the profits, and dragged everyone into the same pot to be cooked.

More than a decade ago, when the Emerald Federation route was at its most fertile, there would be a so-called joint hunt every one or two years.

Sometimes there were three, sometimes five, and the most there were was a total of nine black sails.

In their most famous instance, they hunted down the Federation's ocean escort fleet like ravenous hyenas.

On the surface, it's an alliance to share profits, but in reality, everyone is scheming against everyone else, and everyone is using their allies as shields.

In the final battle, seventeen Federation ships sank, and half of the pirates perished.

As usual, Balk withdrew early when the fire was at its fiercest, preserving his full strength.

He has come this far by repeatedly stepping over the corpses of his allies to get to where he is today.

Thinking of this, Rosa's smile grew even colder.

If that so-called corrosive touch really has the effects described in the letter...

She stuck out her tongue and greedily licked her chapped lips.

Go to the Broken Isles? Of course she'll go. But not to form an alliance.

What she had to do was to devour that sincerity completely, skin and bones.

If only we could keep the formula in our own hands...

Then the next Pirate King who rules the seas should change his name.

…………

The fleet gradually slowed down outside the broken islands.

The mist rose from the sea; it wasn't the usual white water vapor, but a grayish mist with a murky texture.

The mist swirled along the dark water's surface, like a layer of greasy, unwashed gauze.

When the Scorpion cut into it, even the noise on the deck seemed to be mostly swallowed up by the thick layer of moisture.

A fishy smell had appeared in the air.

But it wasn't just the fishy smell of rotting dead fish; it was mixed with a cloying sweetness, like some expensive spice slowly evaporating in a damp, dark cellar.

Rosa stood at the bow of the ship and took a deep breath.

His remaining single eye narrowed slightly, and an expression of near enjoyment appeared on his rough face.

The taste reminded her of a southern spice ship she had raided when she was young.

The moment the crowbar broke the cargo hold seal, this same smell wafted out—pungent and strong, yet enough to make your heart race.

"It smells like gold coins," she muttered to herself, a greedy smile curving her lips. "Looks like that old bastard Balk has really amassed quite a fortune."

Rosa muttered something under her breath, her gaze piercing through the mist as she stared intently at the black fortress that loomed faintly on the reef in the distance.

As they drew closer, the fog lifted slightly.

Rosa's pupils suddenly contracted.

In the anchorage below Skull Castle, several warships of various shapes and sizes lay quietly at anchor.

Although the black canvas was folded up, the tattered and blood-stained flags on the mast stood out starkly in the gray fog.

“Kahn the Bonebreaker, Viper… even that old charlatan has arrived.”

Rosa's fingers unconsciously rubbed the dagger at her waist, her initial greed instantly cooling and transforming into extreme calm.

It seems that Balk was not lying.

This is a feast, but isn't he afraid of being torn to pieces first by putting so many hungry sharks in one pool?
Unless he has a trump card that can absolutely control the situation.

"Looks like this isn't about finding a bargain, it's about risking your life."

The ship continued onward, and when it was five nautical miles from Skull Castle, Rosa raised his hand to signal a halt: "Drop anchor."

The distance was tightly controlled; it was both downwind and at the edge of the coastal artillery's firing range, allowing it to turn and escape at any time.

She turned and went back to the captain's cabin, hung up her heavy captain's coat, and began to check her equipment piece by piece.

First Mate Miller stood to the side, watching her slip two poisoned daggers into her sleeves, and finally couldn't help but speak up: "Boss, there are at least four factions' ships anchored outside. Given this situation... are you really going to go in yourself?"

Rosa didn't look up, deftly checking the ammunition: "We've come all this way, who would be satisfied without seeing that thing?"

"Listen carefully." She finally turned her head, her gaze sharp as a knife: "Turn the ship sideways, point all the broadside cannons at the fortress, but do not come any closer."

Miller was taken aback and subconsciously asked, "If you don't come out in two hours, or if you see a red flare... then I'll lead a team to rush in and rescue you?"

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

"If even I get caught in there, you'll just be throwing your life away if you bring your men in."

She took a step closer, her voice cold and authoritative: "If anything goes wrong, or if you hear any unusual noises inside, immediately order indiscriminate firing at the fortress. Muddy the waters, the more chaotic the better."

Miller opened his mouth: "And then?"

"Then you'll sail away, and I'll take advantage of the chaos to escape underwater."

Rosa slammed her hand on the wooden wall of the cabin, her eyes sharp and frightening: "Remember, this ship is my lifeline, the foundation upon which I stand at sea. I will not allow you to destroy it inside, not even to save me."

As long as the ship is still there, Rosa can make a comeback.

If the ship is lost, even if she escapes alive, she will be devoured by the other pirates like carrion, leaving not a trace.

…………

The small boat was lowered, and Rosa, accompanied by two of his most elite guards, stepped onto the pier.

The dock was quieter than she had imagined.

Although several pirate ships were moored there, the pier was eerily quiet, devoid of any boisterous sounds of drinking games or toasts.

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

As they drew closer, the unpleasant, sweet-smelling odor became even stronger.

Rosa's gaze swept over the hands peeking out from under the black robe, and his pupils narrowed slightly.

The skin had a deathly gray, wrinkled appearance, with what seemed to be a sticky substance that would never dry. It looked like a severe skin disease or a floating corpse that had been soaking in water for a long time.

"Is it leprosy? Or a side effect of some kind of alchemical toxin?"

She silently assessed the situation in her mind, her hand resting on the hilt of the sword without making a sound.

"What on earth is that old bastard Balk up to..." Rosa didn't say anything, but her eyes grew increasingly gloomy.

Instead of mocking her opponent's downfall as usual, she tensed all her muscles, like a cheetah entering unfamiliar territory filled with the scent of its own kind.

The high-heeled leather boots made a crisp sound as they stepped on the decaying wooden pier.

“Click, click, click…”

With each step she took, she observed the shadows around her.

In her eyes, this was indeed a lion's den.

But what guards this place may not be a toothless old lion; it could very well be a monster that has gone completely mad in its struggle to survive.

She had to be extremely vigilant to ensure that she was the one eating the meat, not the meat on the plate.

　and also……

　　
　
(End of this chapter)