Victor: "Name."
Karl: "Karl D... Drake." As he said the surname, the young man seemed to choke and involuntarily paused.
Victor glanced at him from behind his glasses: "How to put this, 'Mr. Drake,' your lying skills are very poor."
Karl remained silent. From birth, he had been educated to be honest, brave, and humble; he had never been trained in the vice of lying.
The ship's doctor returned his attention to the parchment, scribbled a few notes, and said lightly, "However, I hear you are a fallen knight, without hope of ransom. Whether you call upon God or Aristotle makes no difference. Unfortunate. On this ship, I am one of only three who can write; the other two are the captain and a little brat... so I alone must record the names of you prisoners. Age, birthplace."
Karl: "...Twenty-three, Spain."
Victor scanned him up and down, then wrote on the parchment: "Well-developed, limbs proportionate, muscular."
Karl made him uncomfortable by asking: "If there is no ransom, what happens?"
Victor replied casually: "Thrown to the Egyptians to pick cotton, or sent to the New World to grow sugarcane. Someone of your stature sells best."
Karl's face flushed with anger: "Humans are God's greatest creation, yet you treat us like cattle to be traded!"
Victor smiled: "I agree they are a masterpiece, but even livestock bodies are masterpieces — veins, nerves, muscles, bones, all similarly structured. Don't be so serious. On land, do those self-righteous gentlemen not treat people like cattle? Look at you knights, how many heathens did the Crusades slaughter? To be honest, our captain is quite merciful. Other Muslim ships caught you Christians and fed you straight to the sharks."
Karl lowered his head, pondering. Now was no time for pride. Having found her after so long, he could not be sold far away.
"What if I stay on the ship?"
"Stay on the ship?" Victor was startled, then laughed: "Do slave labor? I advise against it."
Karl insisted: "I'm strong, I can row, hoist sails, clean decks — I can do anything."
Victor snickered: "Not what I meant. Knight, don't you know you're quite handsome? The captain ordered no insulting women, but said nothing about men. Everyone must protect their own backside. With your looks..." The doctor gave an exaggerated look over the young man, whose physique rivaled the captain's, yet was pure and upright like an angel — which made him even more tempting to torment.
"Tied up with rope as thick as fingers, what can your bear-like strength do? Let me be clear: I don't provide treatment for anal fissures to unofficial crew."
Karl's face turned pale and greenish, annoyed and ashamed by the blunt words. Suddenly thinking of Nick, his expression changed again. She was a true woman, delicate and small — wasn't she far more beautiful? A ship full of filthy men — could it be...
At the thought, Karl was terrified, jumped up suddenly, and kicked over the chair.
Victor was startled, grabbing his silver knife, only then noticing Karl's hands were still tied behind his back.
"Hey, what are you doing! I'm just telling the truth, showing you the way!"
Karl's voice trembled, and he hurriedly, incoherently asked: "What about her… he, that small captain? Has he… has he been injured?"
Victor frowned: "Nick, that little brat? He's often injured… Oh, you mean down there." The doctor waved his hand. "I think only the captain and perhaps a gorilla could overpower him."
Karl sighed deeply, his soul returning. God bless...
Victor cautiously stepped back: "You care about him that much? Haven't you met before?"
Karl shook his head: "No, just admire his skills."
Victor adjusted his glasses — this knightly spirit was beyond his understanding.
"Alright, there's another way. Senior officers at captain level can bring a servant aboard. You were defeated by Nick, so you're her prisoner of war. Ask if she wants you. A servant isn't a slave; if you behave well, you might become a formal crew member. With her protecting you, no one will dare touch you."
To be her servant… that meant he could always be near her…
A sunlit path suddenly appeared before the knight. He was born to be her servant.
Karl gratefully looked at the doctor: "Thank you, doctor, you are a noble man."
Victor sighed helplessly: "One more thing — 'noble' is an insult on this ship."
Nick was in a bad mood.
Though she had taken down an enemy, the fat pig reminded her of old times. A carefree childhood traveling the North Mediterranean with Asa — Spain, France, Burgundy, Italy — trading local specialties, eating well… until that nightmare day.
The branding on her chest burned like fire again.
Back on the Sea Serpent, Nick slept the afternoon away in her cabin before feeling a bit better and hungry. Indeed, white bread was the only true comfort in this world.
Just as Nick was about to forage, she was blocked by a wall opening the door — that silly golden-haired fellow from the Pope's ship, looking serious, insisted on becoming her servant. Servant? The word made her imagine gold and clear water rushing out. Servants were for the wealthy; she had hands and feet — why would she want that?
"I don't want pay," the golden-haired one said with burning eyes. "I'll eat and sleep aboard if you acknowledge me as your master. I will wash your clothes, clean, shield you from sun and rain, and protect you."
"Protect me?" Nick suspected she misheard. Did her skills need protection? She refused several times, but the golden one was as stubborn as a rhino, standing at the door and insisting. Hungry beyond endurance, she agreed to ask the captain.
She had been punished on this mission, lost all loot; a free servant might be good compensation… Thinking this guy looked decent, she could sell him once ashore and recover some loss.
With that thought, she knocked on the captain's oak door.
Hayreddin was piecing together prisoner testimonies.
The golden-haired youth was not originally crew, but had enlisted in Genoa with his skills, several times attempting to get close to Bishop Callitus…
He called her Nicole.
Hayreddin stroked his chin — interesting people, interesting relations.
So when Nick asked if she could have a golden servant, the captain agreed without hesitation.
Lions may seem lazy but are curious cats.
So that evening, as senior crew dined in the captain's room, Nick stood with a tall, shining golden servant behind her.
"Stewed peas." Karl laid a pure white napkin before Nick and scooped peas from a communal bowl into her plate, his eyes melting with tenderness. Then he asked considerately: "Water in the wine? That strong will get you drunk."
From the first mate to the navigator, a collective chill ran through them.
Nick ignored it, eating and drinking.
Even men were no match for her — Captain Nick, truly a tough one!
While Nick was calculating how much Karl was worth, the Sea Serpent did not return south to Algiers headquarters but sailed west to Valencia on the Iberian Peninsula. Flying Spain's gold and red three-stripe flag, Hayreddin hung fishing nets and hid in a natural harbor with over a hundred shock troops ready to land.
Nick disliked Spain and initially did not want to go, but "disobeying the captain's orders = whipping," so she took up her sickle and prepared to disembark. Karl was happy, thinking distance would benefit Nick's "pure soul."
"Golden hair, what are you doing?"
Karl perked up — that voice belonged to her, clear and beautiful like spring water, always blunt and direct, with an underlying… danger?
Before he could turn, a little leopard pounced on his back. Nick was much shorter, so she rode his waist and squeezed his neck hard: "Are you stealing my gold?!"
"What gold?" The knight looked confused; he was just tidying Nick's bed, hadn't seen anything, and this position...
"Still lying! Your face is red!" Nick's legs wrapped tightly around Karl's waist, accusing him. If he wasn't stealing, why blush?
"I... I... get down first!" The beauty on his back made Karl's handsome face flush hotter than fire. Not daring to pull her off, he hesitated, when the door creaked open, and a shock troop subordinate peeked in shouting:
"Captain! The captain said you..."
Seeing the two struggling, the subordinate shut the door quickly.
"Cough, sorry to interrupt, please continue!"
Poor Karl was so embarrassed he nearly fainted, hurriedly pulling Nick down gently.
"I swear to God, I didn't see your gold!"
"Then why touch my bed!" Nick persisted.
"Changing sheets. Also, please don't use such rough language, as a gentle... cough, educated..."
Karl was heartbroken; a proper lady spoiled by that bandit leader.
Nick ignored him, pulled open the white sheet on the bed to reveal a golden layer of soft straw. A few coin bags spilled out.
Checking carefully, Nick confirmed nothing missing. She felt embarrassed wrongly accusing her servant, shyly apologizing: "Sorry, are you angry?"
Karl straightened his shirt and forced back the color in his face: "I'm not angry."
Thinking of her childhood struggles, it was normal she valued money so much. Karl felt sorry — if only he had found her sooner…
Nick scratched her head: "Then... tonight I'll buy you dinner. They say Trio makes good smoked meat, I'll get you some. Or do you want rum?"
Karl smiled: "Nothing, master, just your happiness. Also, isn't it uncomfortable sleeping on gold?"
Legend has it a princess slept on twelve mattresses with a pea underneath...
Nick shook her head happily: "Very comfortable! How can sleeping on money be uncomfortable?! Oh, did someone just call the captain?"
Then she ran off, kicking the disappointed golden retriever servant back inside.
"Nick, enjoying yourself, huh?"
Hayreddin sat wrapped in a Turkish turban and white cloak, smiling as he watched her.
"Oh yes."
Sleeping on gold — how could she not enjoy it? Nick stared blankly at Hayreddin. The captain's only flaw was his love for costume changes — sometimes Muslim robes, sometimes Christian, sometimes Arab gowns, endlessly swapping. Fortunately, he looked good in anything and didn't torture his subordinates' eyes.
"Anything, captain? Didn't you say to take weapons and go ashore?"
"Oh, plans changed, we're dressing as Moors." The captain smiled and waved a long white cloth: "Come here, little one, I'll wrap your headscarf."
Nick had never worn one before. She thought the captain was a great boss to care about clothing and unguardedly walked over.
"Hey! That hurts!"
"That's how it's done. If it's not tight, it will fall off."
"Ugh… Captain, your hands are heavy!"
"Don't scream. What would your brothers think? Are there men afraid of pain?"
"Tying so tight my eyes are watering >_<"
Nick cried while the captain patiently wrapped the scarf again and again.
"Little one, don't be so extreme next time."
Over a hundred fierce men, headscarved and robed, armed with swords and muskets, marched on Spanish soil, frightening all.
The centuries-long Christian-Muslim struggle on Iberia left Muslims oppressed, but fierce Muslim pirates were never to be trifled with.
Nick's short height in long robes made her look even more like a lackey. Yet, trailing closely behind Hayreddin, no one dared pass the shock troop captain.
"Captain, why are we here?"
"I received a distress letter from the Moor elders of Spain. Let's see if we can help."
The Moors were North African Muslims in Iberia, who brought advanced science from the Middle East eight hundred years ago, illuminating medieval Europe. But eight centuries later, Christian ascendancy made Moors the most discriminated group — expelled, oppressed, forced to choose between leaving Spain or converting.
"Captain, I never knew you had a charitable side."
Hayreddin smiled: "I'm interested in anything profitable."
They found the Moorish settlement in Valencia. Dressed as Muslims, they were immediately granted an audience. When they learned the visitors were the North African Red Lions, the white-haired elder treated them as honored guests.
As Hayreddin's right hand, Nick joined secret talks.
"We can't hold on, every day people are taken to the outskirts and secretly executed; women and children are not spared — they want us wiped out..." The elder cried, clutching Hayreddin's hand, who showed sincere sympathy.
"I understand your situation, so I came here. Since your fate is sealed, say what help you need."
"Oh captain, you're so charitable..."
Hayreddin cut him off: "God is above; we are all his children. Enough with the pleasantries!"
Nick sat silently, thinking the captain was an atheist — when did he convert to Islam?
The Moors wanted to leave Spain but were too numerous to leave quickly. Hayreddin brought six ships, arranged first to transport 1,500 people to Algiers. How they lived in Muslim lands was their own concern.
Staying meant death; leaving this hell was the best hope. The elder immediately notified the nearest settlement to gather 1,500 people by family units to embark quickly.
Common folk were not warriors and slow to organize. Hayreddin left half his men to maintain order and walked around with Nick.
The crisp autumn air filled the fertile land with orchards, citrus, grapes — sweet, intoxicating scents everywhere.
But Nick uncharacteristically drew her sickle and smashed several grape arbors.
"I'll bite you, I'll bite you..."
Kicking fallen fruit fiercely, she climbed a tree and hacked many branches off a heavily laden orange tree, golden fruit falling everywhere. Yet no one came to stop her.
"What, have the owners hurt you here?" Hayreddin leaned against a tree watching her destruction.
"Yes, two fruits, they set dogs on me; I nearly died." Nick recalled with hatred; severely wounded and infected, she struggled alone in the wild with a five-day fever.
After venting, she realized the orchard stretched endlessly, with vast forests beyond — all private land. Like punching cotton — no impact, no revenge satisfaction.
Nick muttered, "Why? Rivers have owners, trees have owners, dirt has owners, all livable places occupied. No drinking water, no fruit, no standing on owner's land — or else death."
This was Spanish land, Moors must leave; Muslim lands, Christians expelled. Such fertile land — can't they tolerate more lives?
"Because humans are such domineering animals..." Hayreddin said softly