Manifestly, as long as Lord Catic and Jack Sparrow drew breath, the cuckoldry crowning Lord Foke’s brow would never fade. For him, all his prior devotion had turned into a massive jest, a humiliation that only blood—his own or his enemy’s—could wash clean!

Naturally, this didn't mean Lord Foke would let Fang Senyan off the hook, nor did it suggest any miraculous shift where he’d thank Fang Senyan for dispatching a “whore.” Fang Senyan, too, was placed firmly on Lord Foke’s list of must-kill targets. As the saying goes: the hatred for a slain father and the grievance over a stolen wife are two insurmountable feuds, and Fang Senyan proudly held a spot among them. However, judging by the sheer degree of hatred, the handsome but ill-fated guard Catic and the debonair Captain Jack Sparrow were undoubtedly ranked first and second. So long as Fang Senyan didn't deliver himself right to Lord Foke’s doorstep for a boastful promenade, Mr. Cuckold likely wouldn't actively seek him out yet.

Bacon, standing nearby, was also privy to the secrets gleaned from the Countess’s memory, and thus deeply understood the emotions gripping the highly esteemed Lord Foke before him. Although Bacon was intensely eager to seize the “Bag of Endless Gold” to examine and play with it, he considerately stood aside without speaking. It was Lord Foke who finally lifted his head, fixing Bacon with lifeless eyes, and murmured:

“Take it. It is the reward you have earned.”

With that, he casually tossed the “Bag of Endless Gold” over. Bacon, heart soaring with delight, immediately reached out with both hands to catch it. However, in the very instant before the bag settled in his grasp! Lord Foke violently drew the eerie, ice-blue rapier from his waist and struck in a swift, venomous thrust, like a snake striking! Bacon’s pupils instantly constricted, and a sphere of black light coalesced in his left hand, launching toward Lord Foke with a sharp bang!

But Lord Foke neither dodged nor retreated, allowing the magic, saturated with terrifying corrosive energy, to strike his right chest. Flesh and cloth immediately began to sizzle, emitting faint yellow smoke. Meanwhile, Foke’s rapier mercilessly pierced the precious Bag of Endless Gold, then plunged into Bacon’s right hand. A layer of pale blue ice instantly crystallized over that hand, swiftly cracking like shattered porcelain!

Old Bacon cried out in agony, unsure if the pain stemmed from the total ruin of his arm or the devastation of the cherished gold bag. But at that moment, the box Bacon had brought with him emitted a shrill owl’s cry. It rapidly flushed red, grew hot, and then exploded violently, releasing a dense cloud of smoke. Old Bacon seized the opportunity, covering his nose and mouth with his remaining left hand, and scrambled toward the exit of the dungeon. Yet, just as he neared the exit steps, he felt the ground tremble slightly. Moments later, wisps of faint blue smoke drifted through the air, and a colossal horse, rearing up, charged forward, slamming its lowered head into Old Bacon’s body—it was the monstrous steed, Momar!

The impact sent Old Bacon flying a full five or six meters through the air! During his descent, he made intimate contact with the hard steps and jutting walls multiple times, surely breaking seventy or eighty bones. His frozen right arm had long since shattered like ice, broken off cleanly at the shoulder, the cross-section displaying a disturbingly mottled bluish-purple hue, as if bone, muscle, and vessels had fused together. The blood gushing from his mouth already stained his chest crimson.

After all, he was merely an alchemist moonlighted as a dark magician; his physical conditioning was nowhere near that of a warrior.

Lord Foke’s figure then emerged from the smoke layer below. His hair had turned completely white. Seeing the massive, corroded wound on his chest, a sudden, stark realization dawned on Old Bacon’s ashen face:

“Cough, cough… hngh… So, you’ve abandoned…”

Lord Foke’s gaze was glacial, utterly devoid of the spark of life.

“It is regrettable to end your life, but the Foke family contains no oath-breakers. I will bury the Bag of Endless Gold alongside you.”

Hearing this, a look of serene relief spread across Old Bacon’s eyes before they rapidly glazed over; he was finally dead. Lord Foke swung himself onto the spectral giant horse, Momar. His white hair streamed wildly in the wind, leaving behind mottled white frost wherever he passed. His voice, as if battered a thousand times within his own chest cavity, resonated with unmatchable power, enveloping the entire castle:

“Catic~~ Where are you?”

………………

Fang Senyan, observing the lethargic guards milling about the streets, felt a considerable degree of surprise. Logically, the Countess’s body had been taken into the fortress nearly six hours ago—ample time for procedure. Yet, Tortuga Castle was proceeding exactly as it did on any ordinary day. By the standard protocol of this world, even if the murderer couldn't be found, the death of the Countess should necessitate draping black bunting and firing mournful cannon salutes.

“Could it be…” A lightning-fast thought flashed through Fang Senyan’s mind. Prolonged silence suggested a terrifying eruption; such sluggish reaction times could only indicate two extremes: either the denizens of Tortuga Castle truly regarded the Countess’s death as inconsequential, or, the castle’s master had become utterly submerged in his grief, leading to utter despair due to the inability to find the culprit—the typical outcome of such thinking being rampant destruction!

At this realization, Fang Senyan instantly understood that his choice to remain here might not have been wise. If events unfolded as he suspected, Tortuga Castle was undeniably a powder keg with a lit fuse! The closer he was, the greater the resulting devastation he would face. To completely evade risk, sticking to the unmapped regions of the island, as previously planned, was the best course. But this very chaos also presented more opportunities to fish in troubled waters. If Fang Senyan intended to seize advantage amidst the conflagration, returning immediately to the Bell and Mug was the optimal move!

The sky slowly darkened. The vibrant Tortuga Port remained brightly lit, the air thick with the scent of rum and roasting meat. Fang Senyan stood at the bow of the Bell and Mug, gazing into the distance, a trace of bewilderment clouding his mind over his uncertain grasp of the situation. He sensed a massive storm brewing within the harbor, but the precise timing of its onset was completely unpredictable. This agonizing period of anticipation was the most torturous, yet Fang Senyan had no choice but to wait!

Suddenly, a spark of fire ignited in the darkness! Unbidden, it brought to mind blood spurting forth after a severed neck. Immediately, the light spread, surging and blazing, its speed of advance astonishing, like an incoming flood. In an instant, it engulfed all the nearby structures; clearly, the arsonists had made meticulous arrangements beforehand.

Amidst the towering flames, a colossal, dull thud sounded from afar, as if two massive hands in the heavens were alternately striking a monotonous beat.

An indescribable aura, much like the rising tide, slowly swelled and brewed.

That magnificent, overwhelming sensation seemed intent on swallowing both heaven and earth!

In the glare of the fierce firelight, one could make out sails seemingly drenched in shadow, a sleek, beautifully streamlined massive hull, and the chaotic, snarl-like combat scenes unfolding upon it.

The battling factions were none other than the Tortuga Port Guards and the Pirates!

The Black Pearl was under sudden assault!

A fervent, flame-like intensity immediately burned across Fang Senyan’s eyes. He drew a deep breath, striving to quell the excitement churning within him like the waves of the Caribbean. At that moment, a large contingent of pirates noticed the anomaly and rushed onto the deck, pointing frantically toward the distant Black Pearl.

Under the flickering firelight, it was faintly visible that the pirates aboard the Black Pearl, despite putting up a tenacious defense, were suffering heavy casualties from the surprise attack and were steadily retreating. Precisely at this moment, a white-haired knight calmly rode a monstrous ** steed forward, casually stepping onto the Black Pearl via a makeshift gangplank. His demeanor even suggested a measure of leisure, as if he had merely boarded to observe the scenery. Yet, inexplicably, the sight of this figure elicited a low, mournful cry from everyone present.

An ominous neigh.

“Jack Sparrow, where, are, you?” the white-haired knight asked in a flat tone, head bowed as he sat astride his horse. His voice carried a heavy nasal quality, like someone suffering from a severe cold. Although he was nearly two or three kilometers away from the Bell and Mug, inexplicably, everyone aboard could hear him clearly! But not a single pirate on the Black Pearl responded. Immediately after, a dazzling flare shot up from the ship’s bow toward the sky, bursting into a mournful streak of light.

“It’s the Watch Flare!” an experienced old pirate cried out, “The Pearl is calling for aid!”

The Watch Flare was an implement possessed only by armed merchant vessels that had formed an alliance with the British Crown. As long as the two parties had an agreement for mutual watch and assistance, aid could be requested from an ally in dire emergencies. Given that the Queen of England had issued privateering commissions to many merchant ships at the time, some armed vessels functioned effectively as pirates. In later years, even when British ships engaged in internal naval skirmishes, they rarely struck lethal blows, and in facing external threats, they generally maintained mutual support through the Watch system, making the Watch Flare recognized and used by both official fleets and pirates.

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