Tortured Captain: The FiveYear Fish Seller Who Slaughtered the Execution Field

My name is Jonah Flint.

Forty years old, bald, with a muscular physique and hands covered in knife scars.

People in Havana called me "Old Jonah," the strange guy who sold fish at the docks.

Every morning at five o'clock, I walk out of my dilapidated wooden house, through the slums, and come to this shabby stall filled with fish baskets to butcher fish.

With a single cut, the fish head separates, the internal organs are removed, and the movements are as fast as flowing water.

"Hey! Old Jonah! Give me two sea bream!"

The chubby baker Pedro shouted at me.

I didn't say anything, grabbed two fish, and slammed them into his basket.

"How much?"

Two silver coins.

"Robbery? They only made one and a half yesterday!"

I glanced at him, said nothing, and simply tapped the fish-cleaning knife lightly on the cutting board.

"Click!"

A deep scratch was left on the cutting board.

Pedro swallowed hard and obediently pulled out two silver coins.

"Smack!"

A piece of parchment was posted on the bulletin board next to my stall.

The crowd surged forward in a commotion.

"Look! The Governor's Office has issued a notice!"

"Oh my god...it's the Pirate Queen..."

I stopped wielding the knife.

At that moment, time seemed to stand still.

I slowly put down the fish knife, wiped the fish scales off my hand, and walked to the bulletin board.

The crowd automatically parted to make way for me—no one dared to block my way.

I saw the parchment.

It was written in Spanish and English:

[Bounty Notice]

Pirate leader Scarlett Hawke

Charges: plundering royal ships, attacking colonial troops, freeing slaves, and sedition.

Bounty: 20,000 gold Ducati

He will be publicly hanged at noon three days later (July 15, 1715) in Havana Port Square.

—Carlos de Morgan, Acting Governor-General of the Spanish Caribbean

A portrait was also pasted on the parchment.

It was a woman.

Long red hair, emerald green eyes, and a scar on her face.

Even the rough woodblock prints cannot conceal her brilliance.

Scarlett Hawke.

Pirate Queen.

My Captain.

The person who saved my life.

"Serves them right! These pirates should all be hanged!"

Someone in the crowd shouted.

"I heard she even liberated slave ships! She's insane! That's the governor's money-making machine!"

"This time, the Governor-General is serious. He's deployed five warships to surround the harbor; not even a fly can get out."

My hands are trembling.

It's not fear.

It is anger that has been suppressed for five years, and it is slowly breaking through the soil.

I remember.

Five years ago, I was a death row inmate.

He was sentenced to death by hanging for accidentally killing the son of a Spanish officer in a tavern brawl.

The noose is already around my neck.

At that very moment, a group of pirates stormed into the execution ground.

Muskets, scimitars, and blood.

Then, a red-haired woman stood in front of me and cut the noose in half with a single stroke.

She shoved a trident into my hand and said:

"If you want to live, come with me. On my ship, there are only two kinds of people—the dead and brothers."

I chose the latter.

From that day on, I became a member of the Redeemer.

She gave me a second life.

She taught me what brothers are.

"Da da da—"

The sound of horses' hooves rang out.

The crowd stirred.

"It's the Governor!"

"Get out of the way!"

I turned around and saw a troop of cavalry marching along the dock.

The man at the head of the group was dressed in a magnificent Spanish governor's uniform, his chest adorned with medals, and he held a jewel-encrusted scepter in his hand.

Black hair, a scar on his left cheek, and eyes as cold as a snake.

Carlos Morgan.

The former third officer of the USS Redeemer.

They are now Spain's lackeys.

He rode a tall horse and slowly walked to my stall, where he stopped.

"Hey, isn't this old Jonah?"

His voice was sarcastic.

The surrounding crowd fell silent; everyone held their breath.

I kept my head down and didn't say anything.

Morgan dismounted, walked to my stall, picked up a fish, and slapped me across the face.

"Smack!"

The fish tail lashed my face, and it burned.

Suppressed chuckles came from the crowd.

"How's business? How's the fish business?"

Morgan leaned down, whispered in my ear, and said in a voice only the two of us could hear:

"Jonathan, guess how many guards take turns 'playing with' Scarlett every day in prison?"

My eyes are bloodshot.

The fingernails dug deep into the palm of the hand, and blood flowed out.

But I can't do it.

Five years ago, when I left the Redeemer, Scarlett forced me to kneel before the statue of Poseidon and swear a blood oath:

"Jonah Flint, from this day forward, you are forbidden from ever picking up a weapon again, from ever stepping onto the deck again, and from ever killing again. You are to live a normal life, and live a long, long life."

I knelt on the ground, tears streaming down my face.

"Captain...I don't want to leave..."

Scarlett stroked my head like she would a wounded dog.

"Fool. You've killed enough. Go live a normal life."

So for the past five years, no matter how others bullied me, I endured it all.

Because that was her order.

"What? You want to fight?"

Morgan laughed and kicked over my fish stand.

"Splash!"

Fish basket, fish knife, and cutting board were all smashed on the ground.

"I'm now the acting governor-general of Spain, specifically tasked with arresting you remnants."

Morgan stepped on my fish and rubbed it twice.

"Three days from now, I'll be standing below the execution platform, watching that bitch Scarlett get hanged. Want to come and see?"

I kept my head down and didn't say a word.

My fingernails dug deep into my palm, and blood started to flow.

But I can't do it.

Blood oath...

I cannot disobey her orders...

"Oh, right."

Morgan suddenly turned around and looked at the bounty poster on the bulletin board.

"I heard that a dozen or so old guys from the 'Redeemer' are still alive, scattered throughout the Caribbean."

He pointed his scepter at the bounty poster.

"If they dare to come to rescue Scarlett, we can wipe them all out in one fell swoop."

He turned around and stared at me.

Do you think they might come?

I didn't say anything.

Morgan sneered and mounted his horse.

"Tch, trash."

He spat and led his men away.

I was left kneeling on the ground, picking up the fish that had been trampled.

The crowd dispersed.

Nobody sympathizes with me.

In their eyes, I'm just a coward.

But they didn't know that this coward was using all his strength to suppress the murderous beast within him.

Night falls.

I dragged my weary body back to the dilapidated wooden hut at the end of the dock.

Pushing open the door, I saw a blonde woman sitting on that tattered chair, sewing shoe soles.

Lily.

my wife.

She was mute. When I found her on the beach three years ago, her throat had been cut open, her tongue had been pulled out, and she was on the verge of death.

I saved her.

She then went with me.

Seeing me return, Lily put down what she was doing, stood up, and gestured in sign language:

What happened? Is there a wound on your face?

I shook my head and forced a smile.

"It's nothing, I just tripped and fell."

She didn't believe it, so she came over and gently touched the red mark on my face.

Then, she saw the bloodstains on my palm.

Lily's eyes reddened.

She shook her head vigorously, gesturing rapidly in sign language:

You tolerated it again, didn't you? Why didn't you fight back?

I grabbed her hand.

"Lily, I swore an oath. I can't kill anyone again."

She cried.

Tears fell in large drops.

She gestured in sign language:

But they bullied you!

I pulled her into my arms.

"It's alright. Just bear with it for three more days... After three days..."

Three days later?

Scarlett is going to die in three days.

Why should I tolerate this?

What else can I tolerate?

I didn't sleep that night.

I sat by the door, looking in the direction of the Governor's Mansion in the distance.

The place was brightly lit.

Scarlett was imprisoned there.

My Captain.

My benefactor.

The person who saved my life.

As dawn approached, I finally stood up and walked towards the cellar behind the house.

Move the stones and dig through the soil.

A rusty iron box was exposed.

I opened the box.

A trident lay inside.

It was completely black, with its three prongs gleaming coldly in the faint morning light.

The handle was wrapped in rotting shark skin, emitting a mixed smell of sea and blood.

"The Reaper"—my weapon.

I once used it to pierce the chests of seventy-three enemies.

I reached out and grasped the halberd handle.

Cold, heavy, familiar.

It's like holding my soul, which I've buried for the past five years.

The weight of the trident pressed down on my palm; it was fifty pounds of death.

There are three deep blood grooves on the halberd handle—marks left by my fingernails every time I tried to pick it up over the past five years.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

I said in a low voice.

"This time, I'm going to disobey your orders."

Because I can't just stand by and watch you die.

Even if it means breaking the blood oath.

Even if cursed by the sea god.

Even if it means going to hell.

I want to save you too.

I hoisted the trident onto my shoulder and walked out of the cellar.

Lily stood in the doorway, gesturing tremblingly in sign language:

Are you... going to kill someone?

I looked at her and nodded.

She cried, but she didn't stop me.

She simply took out a cloth from her bosom and carefully wiped the rust off the trident.

As I wiped, the cloth became stained red.

Those are bloodstains left over from five years ago, and they can never be washed away.

I leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"Wait for me to come back."

Then I pushed open the door and strode into the darkness before dawn.

The tip of the trident dragged on the ground, making a grating metallic scraping sound.

"Sizzle... sizzle..."

The sound was like a death knell from hell.

Foreshadowing—

Death has returned.