Chapter Sixty-Five: The Cunning Blackbeard

Nearly a hundred enforcers of the Black Tiger family moved in groups of three, advancing swiftly through a pitch-black alleyway in a formation that gave mutual cover. Every move they made was nearly on par with the Empire’s most elite infantry regiments. Yet, the equipment they carried was even more lavish than what those elite soldiers could hope for—gear so extravagant that only the Imperial Guard, directly under the royal house, could expect to wield it.

To say nothing of the rest, just the thirty hunting crossbows able to pierce the body of a rhinoceros knight cost over five thousand gold coins each. The enforcers of the Black Tiger family were, in truth, a battle-hardened, veteran force—an elite army ready at a moment’s notice, always victorious in the regions surrounding Dunkirk.

With a somber expression, Lin Qi hurried forward, surrounded by his family’s men. Enzo, whose neck was slightly askew and steps somewhat unsteady, followed alongside him, muttering curses nonstop. At the rear, Bal and several grim-faced giants with great axes guarded against any possible pursuit by those ancestral spirit warriors from the Dark Spirit Continent.

Both Lin Qi and Bal were deeply puzzled. Even on the Dark Spirit Continent, ancestral spirit warriors were precious to any native tribe—so why were so many appearing in Dunkirk? Who was behind them?

Lin Qi had first suspected that Ya and Ling were Arthur’s reinforcements, but now he doubted that conclusion. Arthur simply didn’t have the means to recruit ancestral spirit warriors from the Dark Spirit Continent. It was plausible he might lure a few ordinary native warriors, but those who could, by burning their souls and lives, rival a Heaven-ranked knight? Arthur couldn’t possibly command such beings.

Ancestral spirit warriors from the Dark Spirit Continent were like the berserkers from the Five Great Isles and the Odin Icefield: the proudest warriors in the world. Their so-called pride meant they could kneel before their ancestors and elders, but before outsiders, they would rather die standing than submit. Outsiders could never truly win their loyalty.

“Damn it, truly damn it!” Lin Qi muttered under his breath. “We must seal every route in and out of Dunkirk. Those two women, and their companions—all must die. Hell’s bells, ancestral spirit warriors—where on earth did these monsters come from?”

As he cursed the mastermind behind tonight’s events, Lin Qi nervously watched Bal. He feared Bal would deliver all the spoils to Old Blackbeard. Once such a fortune reached his father’s hands, it would become nearly impossible for Lin Qi to extract so much as a single gold coin.

No one knew a father better than his son. Lin Qi was greedy, but even he had to admit that Blackbeard was utterly ruthless—able to squeeze oil from sand, gold from dirt, even coins from the ashes of the dead. Lin Qi could never match such cunning.

As the group pressed forward through the hidden alley, a sudden commotion erupted ahead.

Blackbeard himself burst out at the head of a group, wielding a large cleaver, absurdly clad in white pajamas with his chest hair spilling out from unbuttoned lapels. On his feet were silk slippers, now sodden and filthy from the uncleared snow and mud of the alley—the once white fabric turned black and filthy.

Blackbeard had brought Iron Hammer, Butcher Knife, and hundreds of the clan’s “servants.” Every member of the Black Tiger family knew Dunkirk’s streets and alleys intimately. This secluded lane was the quietest and shortest route from the docks to Black Beech Mountain. Thus Lin Qi retreated this way, and Blackbeard came to intercept him.

When father and son met, Blackbeard seized Lin Qi’s shoulder and growled in a low voice, “What’s going on? What kind of ruckus have you stirred up?”

Lin Qi recounted the night’s events as concisely as possible, laying all blame at the feet of Ya and Ling, embellishing their arrogance and haughtiness with just a few choice words.

“Two wealthy foreign beauties? And priests, at that?” Blackbeard frowned, then smacked Lin Qi hard on the head. “You fool! You cause all this trouble and just leave? Huh? Leave such a mess for your old man to clean up? Can’t you use your brain—think about how to clear yourself and profit from it?”

Lin Qi was left speechless. He spread his hands and gave a bitter smile. “But, Father, I’ve already profited greatly. Those two women have already been stripped clean by Uncle Bal. Gods above, all that money is mine, you can’t—”

But Lin Qi got no further; Blackbeard’s golden eyes were already fixed on Bal. Lin Qi knew that, though Bal was fond of him, he was even more loyal to Blackbeard and would without fail hand over the night’s haul rather than secretly share it with Lin Qi.

With a helpless shake of his head, Lin Qi sighed. At least he’d gained something tonight—he’d won hundreds of thousands of gold coins from those wastrels, enough to live extravagantly for three or five years.

Blackbeard snorted, smacked Lin Qi’s head again, and, after a moment’s thought, his eyes flashed with a cunning light. He chuckled softly, “Aha, dear Lin Qi, for your beloved father’s sake, if you and your friend, dear little Enzo, are willing to suffer a bit, then your dear father can give you half the takings!”

Lin Qi and Enzo’s eyes lit up at once. Half the spoils from those two women? Ah, for the sake of that lovely, clinking gold, what’s a little suffering? In unison, they exclaimed, “Father, what do you want us to do?”

Excited, Blackbeard tossed aside his cleaver and rubbed his hands together. With glee, he ordered, “Iron Hammer, fetch a hundred of those orc brutes we caught last time out of the water dungeon. Hack them to death, then lay their bodies all along this alley. And make sure their wounds aren’t only from blades, but also from crossbows—understand?”

With a large hand, Blackbeard grabbed several swords and axes from his men. Swift as the wind, he slashed and stabbed Lin Qi and Enzo several times each. Both howled in pain—the wounds were precise, placed where their flesh was thickest, no deeper than half an inch, but the pain of split flesh was very real.

When their blood had stained a dozen swords and blades, Blackbeard handed those weapons to Iron Hammer, instructing him to scatter them among the orc corpses.

Then, at Blackbeard’s command, every Black Tiger clan member present produced their purses. In moments, hundreds of men collected more than two thousand gold coins and over ten thousand silver coins; copper coins, by contrast, amounted to only three or five hundred.

“Excellent. Now everything is ready.”